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I am sure I am not the first to have to do this, but my brother had learned to live in the street, I watched him share a bottle with a man with grey whiskers while empty bottles of port and dry sherry lay in the gutter around them. He had no idea I was there. After searching frantically for two nights, finally I had found him. The sight of him in that appalling state upset me; he was lying in a dingy lane like a dirty pile of old rags. Quietly, I crept away, to race for my car before he could move on again. He was light and he stank, and I bundled him into the back. I had chosen the coast road in the hope it would gain me a few days to straighten him out. He needed to understand what was happening. There had been no recognition, and it surprised me that he could have reduced himself to
