£20

I’m queuing at the cashpoint on Dean Street. A homeless guy, Welsh, 20s, with a pierced nose and a small Mohican, is sat against the wall asking for change. Suddenly a fat bearded man in shorts rushes up to him, hands him a £20 note, says, “There you go. I told you I’d stop by”, and hurries on his way. “Thank you!” shouts the beggar. Then, as the man disappears around the corner, the beggar looks up at the rest of us. “But I’ve never seen him before in my life. I just got here five minutes ago.” Unnerved, he keeps repeating this to anyone who would listen. I suggest that he makes the most of it. “Well, yeah,” he says, “but bloody hell.”