A surprising reason for homelessness (London)

The homelessness issue has been getting worse over the years.

I don’t want to give them money because they might buy alcohol or drugs with the money, but when I offer them food, they more often than not say no.  Perhaps I shouldn’t be imposing my own standards on them — I was once offering a homeless person some chicken wings when another woman came along with a takeaway box of sushi, but the homeless person said, “No, I don’t eat that sort of thing.”  The same thing has happened with my offerings of sandwiches, fruit, chips (french fries), pizza, so I don't think it's because the homeless person is a vegetarian.

Some 30 or 35 years ago, I heard about a woman (let’s call her Mary) who’d met a homeless woman (let’s call her Jane) in a park, and started to chat to her, feeling sorry for her.  Mary went back every Tuesday to see Jane.  

One day, Jane was not there.  Mary went back the following Tuesday — still no Jane.  This went on for a number of weeks, until Mary gave up.  Maybe Jane had died, she thought.  

A bit later, Mary ran into Jane.  Mary said, “I’d been turning up every single Tuesday to see you.  Where have you been?”  Jane said, “The reason I became nomadic was I couldn’t stand all the rules governing how one should live.  I like my freedom.  Then you came along, and you set up a routine: seeing me in the same place on the same day of the week every single week.  I just couldn’t take it.”

(London, 1980s)