I’m so alone. I’m living in a stair well. Sometimes people piss on me by mistake, thinking I’m a pile of rags or perhaps they know damn rightly what I am, but I would rather give them the benifit of the doubt. I think people are good at heart, you know. Still, it gets really cold sometimes and I can’t feel my feet. Most of the time I sit on some cardboard I robbed from a bin on O’Connel Bridge. Some times, if I’m a bit up you know, I’ll sing a bit, or bang out a tune on some spoons. When its all a bit hopeless I just sit there and weep. I never keep the money I get, I give to other ghosts. Sometimes people give me tea, or a sandwich, and in the winter there’s soup. I love the guys who give up their days to help us. Tea makes me wet myself. Its something chemical.

Last year I won the Euro Millions, got € 35mil. I spazzed it all on a horse. I’m going to get round to killing myself one of these days.