“I am just standing there, staring down at the moon’s perfect reflection in the canal. It is a clear night and getting colder. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and no noise other than the shuffling of boxes between vans. There is a pub just opposite us but it’s closed. It’s 1am now and its patrons and owners have retired for the night. As have the people who live in the nearby boats. They are all in bed now. I don’t know where I am sleeping tonight. I don’t even know if I am sleeping tonight.

I break away from the chatter and get distracted by my own thoughts or, rather, thought. It’s hard to have more than one at a time at this stage. I tried to sum up what it feels like on a Saturday night to be on a canal towpath just outside of Tring, cold and tired, not knowing when or where or if sleep is coming, eyes hurting from being blinded by head-torches, wet feet, and a mouth that feels like a badger’s arse. I am surrounded by others who are here just like I am, for the same reasons I am and I try to pick a word that describes all of this.

The word I go for is ‘normal’.

This then starts off another sequence in my head. Why is this normal? When did this become normal? Why would being wrapped up in bed at home with my wife in West London feel abnormal tonight? What happened in my life that made this normal?”