On a bleak, dull, down-trodden day towards the end of April, I caught the train from the small town of Settle in North Yorkshire heading for Scotlands largest city, Glasgow, a train journey that would take the best part of five hours, so with that in mind I loaded my phone up with music, placed my journal into my inner jacket pocket, and loaded my camera with batteries ready to take photographs of the landscape as we passed it by, I left my front door at precisely 06:00 ready to catch the first train of the day at 06:34 and at 10:38 we arrived at our destination, after a brief change in the Cumbrian city of Carlisle, outside Glasgow central train station the wind howled in a manner that could only be likened to a wild pack of ferocious dogs, as the rain cleansed the city pavements.

Around the corner from the station beneath an ancient railway bridge, two Jehovah's witnesses stood handing out prayers, whilst inches away seated on the ground besides one of the doorways a homeless woman sat begging for any loose change that could be spared, in her withered hand she held a paper cup which after digging around in my pockets for my last few spare coins I filled roughly half way up, as I placed them into her cup, with a sincere smile, I wished her good luck, having been in a similar position myself, I knew just how much she would need it.

I continued my short walk beneath the bridge, which seemed out of place compared to all the modern retail outlets that surrounded it on both sides, making my way towards Jamaica street, my feet were aching and numb from my long train journey, yet compared to the life of the poor woman that I had met only moments ago, I thought to myself, what right have I got, or anybody else for that matter to grumble, afterall just around the corner I was meeting with a television casting agency.

After the meeting I called into McDonald's, purchased a big mac, large fries, and a large cup of tea, before proceeding back down the same crowded route I had taken earlier that day, desperately hoping that I would see the same woman again, so that I could present to her what must have been the first hot meal that she'd eaten in a long time, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, for want of a better word that she was and as I handed the food and drink over to her, a silent tear flooded the corner of her tired eyes and she humbly asked “are you sure” my reply was “of course! I only wish that I could do more to help.”

For the whole journey back home to North Yorkshire I thought of that woman and her plight, wishing that the world wasn't such a dark and cruel place as it often is, and praying that she finds her way home, wherever that may be, and hoping that she has a family waiting with open arms to embrace her, welcome her back and that she may find happiness once again, but her chances are slim, in a world that doesn't really give a shit, a world that thinks people whom have to beg are druggies looking for an easy way to get their next fix, a world to caught up in its own problems to show a little bit of compassion to those in the most desperate of need.

Her name was Amanda, she was thirty four years old, only six years older than I am, yet she'd been homeless for four years, had sold her body to the night in desperate need to buy food, she'd seen things that nobody should ever have to see, things that most people could never imagine, she hadn't eaten for a week at least, she had bruises from where she had been beaten, which she informed me had come from the authorities when they last told her to move along, authorities that should have been doing everything within their power to help find her somewhere warm to sleep, providing her with a hot meal and a shower, yet perhaps they don't care, perhaps she is just another statistic to a government that has never given a shit and never will do, her name was Amanda.