There were a couple of young fellas in dreadlocks riffing on bongo drums. There were a few old guys who looked like the sort of old guys who are younger than they look but are wearing the ravages of a hard life. Nicki’s friend from the café was there, but was too busy snogging some boy to say hello. Somebody sidled up with a 1-litre bottle of Sagres lager and a plastic cup, which I accepted. Everyone was very nice, so I stuck around. Over the next three days I lived a sort of double life. By day, I hung out in the park with this diverse group of street people. I drank beer, lay in the sun, chattered a bit about nothing at all and listened to the bongos. At night I said farewell to my park-mates and hopped over to the hostel where a hot shower and clean bed linen were waiting.