A Soft Touch.

I was going to post about the head teacher and the slaughtered lamb, but it's getting a bit late so I thought I'd keep up the daily routine by posting something I just wrote to somebody in an e-mail. Don't really know why; it's nobody's business but mine. But you know how you sometimes get a feeling that you just want to throw something out into the ether...? I'll do the other one tomorrow.

I admit to being a bit of a soft touch for beggars. They have a look about them that I can’t ignore. I know some of them are making lots of money and living the life of Riley, but I think most of them ended up there because of some tough circumstances, the likes of which most of us never encounter. I used to rub shoulders with a number of homeless alcoholics when I worked for the charity. I heard some of their stories, and I learned that life can be a real bastard at times. And if they want to use alcohol as an anaesthetic, what has that to do with me? What right have I to judge them? I remember encountering a Chinese beggar near Euston Station in London once. I only gave him a pound, but the look of joy on his face made me very sad. So when people tell me I’m stupid for giving them money, I ignore it. I am who I am.