Homeless, The First Time (Part 5)

Not again, I thought. But I had only two choices. Check in at reception and fill out the necessary forms, or sleep rough.

I arrived from Wales on the Saturday afternoon. By the Monday, I was drinking a bottle of cinzano on the Cathedral Green, not really caring who saw. The sweet intoxicating liquid offered some relief, though only temporarily, and when I woke in the morning, I knew I couldn't go on in this way.

Having no idea of how to rejoin normal society, I prayed quietly, pleading with God for a place of my own. Later, I spoke to a Baptist minister whom I'd known previously through his links to the business training scheme at Palace Gate. The business training centre had since moved, but the minister still held his pastoral position there and had an office in the building.  

He made some enquiries by phone and managed to locate a Bed and Breakfast landlord willing to take me in. I moved in that same day, mid afternoon. The B & B was close to the city centre.

By noon the following day, I had accommodation, money and access to a piano.
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This concludes the brief story of finding myself homeless in London. Two years later, I returned to London from Exeter, having achieved some modest musical recognition as a piano performer.

After a real battle, I won a piano scholarship within seven weeks of my return and was able to give regular piano recitals for ten years.  

I continue to follow my Musical aspirations via recording videos and mp3s, the latest of which I recorded this morning, and I take part in performances where possible (the most recent in May when Lockdown measures were eased somewhat).

Although fully a part of the local community, some conflicts from the past remain and elements of PTSD persist.