There used to be a bloke sat near Oxford Road Station every day. Just sitting there with his dog - on cold days, he zipped the dog inside his jacket, and every morning, as people dropped change into his hat, the first thing he bought was a tin of dog food. He had no sign, never badgered anyone, just sat there quietly, obviously broke, but sober and clean and perfectly pleasant to chat with, whether you gave him money or not. It was a world away from the in-your-face, you-owe-me sort you get now. I gave him money now and then, but being me, I tended to turn up with a couple of chocolate muffins and a meaty chew for the dog. It never seemed like begging, more like sharing with a friend.
