The following interviews are the result of two days spent in the City of Westminster: the UK borough with the highest population of homeless people. Most of the men and women we spoke to were regularly sleeping rough, and all of them acknowledged a recent surge in numbers among rough sleepers; a claim resoundingly backed up by recent statistics. Throughout the UK, rough sleeping has risen by 30% in the past year, and according to the Greater London Authority, 7,581 people slept rough in London at least once between April 2014 and March last year; a figure that has doubled in five years, and doesn’t include the hundreds more “hidden homeless”, who don’t show up on official statistics.

While many of the people we met were understandably reluctant to be photographed or featured in a newspaper, they all spoke articulately about the particular conditions of their homelessness: the misfortunes that led them to the street, the statutory blind spots that make them exempt from or ineligible for immediate help, the numerous personal and legal obstacles between them and a warm place to sleep. Some with resignation, some with disbelief, all the interviewees expressed the lack of sympathy or respect they receive, from local councils, from the police, and from ordinary passersby.

Immigration has played its part in increased homelessness in London, with an estimated third of the capital’s rough sleepers coming from eastern Europe. A greater problem, however, is the dearth of formal accommodation to combat the deepening crisis. Hostels, run by local authorities to provide immediate support for rough sleepers, are constantly oversubscribed and, thanks to persistent funding cuts, increasingly being forced to close. Equally problematic is the dramatic decline in stocks of social housing, leaving fewer and fewer long-term solutions to individual homelessness.

No two stories are similar, and there seems to be no predictable path from a comfortable home to a life on the streets

Only one of our interviewees is female, a fairly accurate representation of the demographics of homelessness. Sophie Balaam, of homeless charity the Connection at St Martin’s, told me that only one in 10 of the charity’s clients are women, these women being “especially vulnerable” and more likely to suffer from mental health issues. The actual number of homeless women is probably much higher than this statistic suggests, but studies by the homeless charity Crisis have shown that women are less likely to seek help or even allow themselves to be seen on the streets. It goes almost without saying that mental illness and substance abuse are locked in a vicious circle with homelessness, each enabling and aggravating the other.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of these interviews is the sheer variety of testimonies we encountered. No two stories are similar, and there seems to be no predictable or formulaic path from a comfortable home to a life on the streets. There are as many ways of becoming homeless as there are homeless people, in other words, and almost no one is immune. It is important to recognise that the thousands of homeless people who share our cities differ from us only in terms of their misfortune, and deserve to be acknowledged and accounted for, not dismissed, despised or ignored.

The one characteristic our interviewees do share is that, one way or another, they are being failed by the systems that exist to protect them. They have fallen though holes in the social safety net, and are unable to clamber back up. Some have failed to qualify for priority accommodation, some have despaired of the interminable bureaucracy they face when seeking social recognition, some have special needs, which the support system in its current state simply cannot meet.

Throughout March, the London homelessness charity Connection has a pop-up shop at 38 Earlham Street, London WC2, selling vintage and designer items. See connection-at-stmartins.org.uk

Mark: ‘Your only help are outreach workers prodding you to check you’re alive’

Mark, homeless in St Martins in the Field church plaza. Photograph: Antonio Olmos/The Observer

I’ve been homeless for 18 years – in Middlesbrough, Edinburgh, Manchester – but this is the worst it’s ever been. Up north, it’s much easier to get accommodation, to get housing benefits; there are cold weather shelters and more support from churches. Down here, practically all the support you get is the odd outreach worker prodding you to check you’re alive. Why is the government closing down all the hostels? The main hostel in Covent Garden is closed; Dean Street, beside the NHS centre, that’s closed; the Parker Street hostel, which had 100 beds, has closed. That’s why there are more homeless people than ever. I’ve written letters to MPs, I’ve tried to talk to people about it.

I’ve got epilepsy from a head injury, after I was seriously beaten up in Newcastle, so I can’t work easily. I’m on disability benefits, but the red tape for accommodation is unbelievable; endless forms to fill out. I want to be put in a hostel in Tower Hamlets, where my dad lives, but they won’t listen. I’ve got a court case outstanding; one of the local churches had me locked up when my sister died and that makes things more complicated. I just hope I don’t end up in jail.

You get the odd few people on the street who you can trust, but things have changed over the years and generally I keep to myself. There are so many fights and arguments, more new faces every day, people waking you up in the night. Passersby mostly just want to get away from you. And with the police, it’s out and out harassment – they seem to want to attack you, like they want an excuse.

Everyone thinks living on the streets is easy. It’s not. Worst of all is the cold, at 4am, when it’s banging through you.

Jane: ‘It’s very hard being a woman on the streets – there’s so much to cope with, keeping myself and my pet, Troy, safe’

Jane, with her polecat, Troy, homeless on Oxford Street. Photograph: Antonio Olmos/The Observer

I’ve been in London since last May, and you wouldn’t believe the amount of grief and aggro I’ve been given by the police. On one day, I was checked against the criminal register 10 times. A lot of homeless people are drinkers, rude, abusive, and they tar everyone with the same brush.

This is Troy – he’s my best friend. He’s a polecat, and I saved him from being put down. The lady who owned him couldn’t afford his vet’s bills, and his brothers and sisters kept attacking him, because he was the runt of the litter.

It’s very hard being a woman on the streets – there’s so much to cope with, keeping myself safe, keeping Troy safe. I sleep in a car park, but you always have one eye open. The other night a big homeless guy was threatening me – clenching his fist and asking for money. A man walked past and I said: “Can you help? He’s trying to rob me,” but the man just walked away. Then a woman came and stood with me for 20 minutes, until the guy left me alone. I thought it was funny that the bloke wouldn’t stop and help, but the woman did.

I was a chef for eight years, but my circumstances changed and I had to quickly move away from where I was. If I manage to get in some place, get settled, I’d like to make wedding cakes for a living. Recession or no, people won’t save on their wedding cake.

People often stop and talk to me – they say I’m too young, too well spoken to be homeless. I came to London because I thought that as there are loads of hostels, I wouldn’t have to live on the street. How wrong I was. I spent a few nights in a place for the recently homeless called the Hub, but they kept moving me around and then they said Troy couldn’t sleep inside. The other people there were all men and they kept saying he smelled. I just said: “If he can’t sleep here, neither can I”, and that was that.

I tend to keep myself to myself because of the situation I was in before I came here – I don’t trust other people. It’s lonely, but Troy makes it easier – he gives me something to wake up for. People say to me: “You should give him to someone who has a home”, and I think, so it’s fine for people to have dogs that they leave alone in the house for nine hours a day, but this is unacceptable? I give him all the attention he deserves. Tomorrow’s his first birthday. I know it sounds sad, but we’re going to have a party.

Ziggy: ‘When I was 22, all the things from my childhood caught up with me’

Ziggy, homeless on Camden High Street. Photograph: Antonio Olmos/The Observer

Homelessness has certainly risen, that’s clear. I read in the Camden New Journal that homelessness in this borough had risen by 37%, and I see new faces all the time. A lot of people blame the government, but it’s not like the government made me homeless. They don’t purposefully want people to be homeless, but most of them don’t care.

It began when I was made redundant, which was the last straw in a series of problems that led to my homelessness. I’m from Oxford originally, and when I was 11 my father died. Three days later, my mum disappeared. She said she was just popping out, but I didn’t see her again until I was 17; she had mental health problems and she’d gone to live with my nan. My nan hated me – she didn’t like my dad and she used to say I was my father’s son.

I was alone in the flat, which was a council flat, paid for by housing benefits, and I just kept living there. I kept going to school, and an old couple who were my immediate neighbours helped me with food and taught me to cook. When I was 12, I got a job in the fruit and veg shop on my road, and I always had a job somewhere from then on. I had to grow up very fast, because I was alone until the age of 16, when I met someone and she moved in.

But when I was 22, all the things that had happened in my childhood started to catch up with me. I was in a major relationship, which ended, and I was made redundant from my job as operations manager in a mobile phone warehouse after the company went insolvent. I had to leave my flat, and when I went to the council I was told to expect a long wait for accommodation.

Oxford was a terrible place to be homeless. The council and the police were very hard on us, getting rid of people. Oxford’s a tourist city and the council thinks having homeless people doesn’t fit with the image. Then it was difficult to get through the day without people trying to rob or attack you; for a lot of homeless people, violence is the only response to any situation. Then I met my friend, Mark, and we just had a connection – he’s like my brother.

We both got a lift to London, and I suggested we go to Camden, because it was the only part of London I knew. It’s much better here in every way, and now that we’ve been here for six months the council has given us a local connection. It’s hard though – we’ve been ringing the council’s “safer streets” people every morning for weeks and they just keep saying: “Wait, we’ll contact you.”

Because of everything that’s happened to me, I’ve struggled with various issues. Forming relationships was a big thing. Because I’d never had a proper family, it was hard for me to feel close to anyone. You’ve caught me on a good day, but I’ve got bipolar, and I have times when I feel like giving up. I want to get off the street, I want a place and a stable income, but I’ve known people who’ve been homeless for 12 years, who had a plan, but they’ve given up.

Wolfie: ‘Revolution’s on the way. We’re not just going to die on the concrete any more’



Wolfie, homeless under a railway bridge, near Waterloo Station. Photograph: Antonio Olmos/The Observer

I’m from Glasgow, but I’ve got no family left and I’ve been homeless for two years. I met these two guys in London and we stick together. You need friends when you’re on the street. You become more than friends; you become family. There’s a lot of hostility towards the homeless – people who call you scum, drunks who piss on you, people who try to set fire to your sleeping bag at night while you’re inside it.

Homelessness isn’t just a problem any more – it’s an epidemic. It’s a virus that’s spreading rapidly and soon it’s going to blow up. I’ve seen the lives of homeless people in Manchester, Newcastle, Hull, Birmingham, and the general feeling among those on the streets is that something has to be done. We’re not just going to lie down and die on the concrete any more – revolution’s on its way.

It isn’t just the Tories either, it’s the way the problem’s been handled for the last 50 or 60 years – there’s been a lot of “brush it under the carpet” sentiment, and it’s getting worse. They want to get rid of us and the police are everywhere. I sat down to roll a cigarette the other day and I was told I’d get a fine for vagrancy. That said, they’re not all like that. I’ve known police officers who will look for you if you’re not in your usual spot to make sure you’re OK. I suppose some roses grow from shit.

The hardest thing is staying off the drugs and booze. It’s so easy to succumb to those things when you’ve got nothing left to lose but your sleeping bag. Life is especially hard for the homeless in London because of the migrant problem. Immigrants think there’s a good life here and they descend in these huge numbers. We don’t beg, we don’t ask for change, that’s not how we live, so we get our food from food vans, but imagine the three of us having to fight our way through 90 big Polish guys just to get something to eat.

That’s why we stick together and watch each other’s backs. We spend our days wandering the city and we always have a laugh. When you’re walking around like this, you see more of the world than most people do. You can’t spend your life with your eyes closed and your ears shut. I’ve been educated by the world and from my perspective, there’s something terribly wrong with this country.

That’s why I want to get out. We’ve been to Dover to suss out the ferries, see how much it might cost, and we’ve had a whip-round among our friends around the country so we can nearly afford passports. I want to make it to Europe and just travel. Put one foot in front of the other until I die.

Andy: ‘I still have my family, but I’ve broken, burned, demolished, exploded all my bridges’

Andy, homeless in St. Martins in the Field church plaza. Photograph: Antonio Olmos/The Observer

This is my little corner, my personal space, and it’s my choice to be here. I keep everything clean and the street sweepers appreciate that; you give respect, you get respect. I’ve been sleeping rough since 13 February, but I’ve had bouts of homelessness throughout the past few years, from 11 days to a couple of months at a time.

Yeah, I’m scruffy, and I haven’t washed in a while, but that’s my choice. I’m not claiming any benefits; I rely on charitable organisations for food, clothes, water. This is where I need to be to get the help I need. There’s a clinic on Great Chapel Street that’s a one-stop shop for everything I need at the moment – counselling, mental health, podiatrist – but I can only go there if I’m a resident of Westminster or registered as homeless in Westminster, so I can’t go into accommodation now because they’ll house me somewhere further out and I need to finish my treatment.

Let’s just say I’ve had some issues – it’s a hell of a story. The whole base of everything is depression. Things went from bad to worse a couple of years ago – I started to realise I was a failure and I couldn’t face it. I tried to end it in November 2012, but it didn’t work. My family offered me immense support, but at that time there was only one person who could help me: myself. And I didn’t think I deserved help. That’s how the cycle of mental health problems begins; you get trapped in your own mind, going round and round. I still have my family, but I’ve broken, burned, demolished, exploded – every thesaurus word you can think of – all my bridges, and I need to prove to them I’m getting the help I need.

There is a community among homeless people, but it’s tested at times by hierarchy, fights, resentment. I used to work in events security – I’ve worked at Royal Ascot, the Epsom Derby – so I’ve often had to act as a fixer in difficult situations. The Sikhs, for instance, who often provide free meals, ask that you cover your head, wash your hands and don’t be drunk – just be simply respectful. But some people can be very aggressive and there’s often a breakdown in communication. It would help if there were more people who were willing to help organise, interpret, be persuasive. I’m quite a big guy so I’ve sometimes played that role.

I want to be able to tell my story, in a book, or a documentary maybe. I want to show people the raw truth of life on the street, straight from the horse’s mouth: the people who give me inspiration, the knowledge you need to get by. If I can tell my story, I’ll be rich in many ways.

Paul: ‘One of the hardest things to take is people instantly assuming you’re a junkie’

Paul, homeless with his dog outside Waterloo Station. Photograph: Antonio Olmos/The Observer

I suppose the reason for the increased numbers of homeless is council cuts, losing stocks of council flats. I used to be a carer for my nan; she lived in a council flat, but it was hers, and when she died I had nowhere to go.

There’s less support for the homeless now, with all the cuts to funding. It used to be easier to get a bed for the night. Some people don’t want to get off the streets, because of mental health problems maybe, or drug problems, but those I see who want to move on are hindered by the fact that there’s no support. Just basic support makes a difference. If you have a job interview, you need to have a shower, you need clean clothes. Simple things like that.

I’ve got a couple of good friends, but other than that, I don’t really use the homeless services unless I have to, and I don’t tend to hang out in that atmosphere – it’s not nice, basically, and I don’t want to live on the streets. One of the hardest things to take is people’s attitudes; people instantly assuming you’re a junkie. Not everybody has the same issues.

My initial plan is to get work. I’ve got the chance to get some construction work, but first I need a CSCS (Construction Skills Certification Scheme) card, which is essentially a health and safety qualification. To get the card you have to pay for the training, then take a test, and then pay for the card itself. It’s not easy, but work leads to everything else.