Life in the day.
Deano, 44, is a homeless man living on the streets of
Darlington’s town centre. He has friends and family but has spent the last six
years of his life jumping from city to city begging and busking for money.
We don’t have curtains on the
street so wake up time is when the sun rises. Obviously it’s hard, it’s bloody
horrible. This time of year you get drenched if you don’t find good enough
cover. Slides in parks keep you dry for a while, we get kicked out of bus stops
and shop doorways. After I wake up I stash my sleeping bag somewhere dry and
hidden then I start foraging for things.
If you walk around town on a
morning you can find all sorts of things people have dropped form the night
before. I mostly look for cigarette butts and spare change but dropped clothing
is always good; means the next nights sleep might be a bit warmer.
The drinking starts pretty
early, I can usually find enough change for a few cans or I sometimes find half
drank bottles and cans on the pavement; it seems disgusting to you but it’s all
I can think about most days. The drink helps deal with the shit of living on
the streets but I suppose without the drink I might not be living on the
streets.
The one thing I’ve always
hated though is begging for cash – I have my guitar now, a friend gave me it –
but before I had to just beg and I felt worthless. There’s no pride in begging
for cash. The guitar means I’m sort of earning my keep. I provide a decent
quality of music in exchange for spare change. I say spare change but one time
a guy came out of a bookie’s and gave me £100 of his winnings. I spent it on
drink and drugs and I regret that ‘cause he’d told me not to waste it and
that’s exactly what I did.
I regret a few things
actually. Not being a great father for one. Before I became homeless I lived in
Chorley for a while, I had two kids, one’s 9 and one’s 7. The woman I was with,
their mother, she kicked me out because of my drink and drug addictions. That’s
when the homeless life began. It’s my fault; I can accept that. I have another kid;
he’s about 20 now, he lives here in Darlington. I see him from time to time,
which is really great. He’s goes to college, I think he’ll make something of
himself one day.
It’s usually around eight or
nine o’clock when I start busking, it’s when everyone’s coming into town for
work and school so I can make a bit of money then. Some of the kids can be
little shits, one always asks if I’m still homeless and laughs when I say I am
but to be honest most people are pretty nice. They either ignore the fact that
I’m there, which doesn’t bother me at all, or they throw a bit of change down.
Some of them give me bits of food cause they don’t want me wasting the money on
drink and drugs, which is fair enough.
I only came back to
Darlington a week or so ago, I was in Bristol for a long time because that’s
one of the best places for soup kitchens and food banks. When I came back I
went to the old peoples home to visit my Grandma. When I got there I found out
she was dead. It hit me hard, the fact I didn’t know she had died. I was
expecting to see her and then couldn’t... I contacted my mum but she didn’t
want me to be at the funeral, she didn’t want to see me at all. She told me I
was an embarrassment to the family.
Anyway, I busk until about
two then I go to the church for their food bank. I know a couple of the
homeless in town so we meet there and have a chat and a bite to eat. I am
really grateful to the church for doing that. It means I rarely go hungry which
is the worst aspect of being homeless. I
actually prefer the term ‘home-free’; you have to look at life with the glass
half full. The way I see it I can make as much noise as I like, I don’t have to
worry about neighbours ‘cause I ain’t got any. You probably worry when you have
house parties but I can have street parties all night long.
I was in a band in my twenties;
we called ourselves The Viral Junkies. There was me and 3 other guys, one of
them I’m still good friends with, he’s called Lou. I thought we were going to
be huge but he saw through all the bull shit and left the band when he was 19
and moved down to London. London’s a great place, there’s so much diversity, and
people in Darlington are pretty one dimensional to be honest.
After the church we’ll
sometimes busk for a while longer but when it gets dark, which is pretty early
at the moment, there’s not much point in carrying on. People can’t see you,
can’t be bothered to hunt for their cash, and after a day at work they’re
stressed; you can see it in their walk. I remember one time a guy asked me if I
wanted to stop on his couch, he said how the weather was no good for sleeping
rough and I wasn’t gonna pass up a warm home. An hour into me lying on his
couch he came downstairs and asked if I wanted to sleep in his bed with him, I
said ‘nah mate I’m fine’. He carried on pestering me so eventually I took back
to the streets. I might have been warm and comfortable but it ain’t worth that,
sometimes people expect something in exchange for their kindness.
Most nights I drink until I
pass out, it’s a lot easier than trying to fall asleep in the freezing cold on
a rock hard pavement. I know how bad it sounds, a father of three homeless and
choosing to spend his money on booze. I get £500 a month sick pay, I could use
that as monthly rent for a little flat but I choose not to. It’s an addiction,
I’ve been in a few rehab centres and things but when I get out I do the same
thing, buy a drink. Nothing works for me.
There have been nights I
haven’t drunk; nights I’ve had to attempt sober sleeping on the streets. The
thing is though, you don’t sleep, not really anyway. You’re too cold, too
worried, and too uncomfortable. When you do drift off you wake up at the
slightest noise, the slightest change in wind. It’s a shit life but I guess
I’ve made my bed, huh; actually I never have to make my bed.
