Burnham’s pledge to end rough sleeping is doomed
From our UK edition
In 1983, having fought with my stepfather, I spent a night beneath the stars. Having run away from Yorkshire to London with a few pounds I’d saved working, I slept in a bed and breakfast but soon ran out of money. When a policeman kicked me awake in Victoria Station, I decided the coast might be an easier proposition. So it was that one night, after hitching across Sussex, I curled up in a bush near a railway station called Three Bridges. I was 16. Though I had known homelessness as a toddler with my teenage mum – sleeping in tents, communes and squats – and would experience insecure housing over the following years, as far as I can remember, that was the only night I had absolutely no choice but to sleep rough.