Come. Come see.

I watched a film documentary on Channel 4 a few weeks ago: about people who chose to end their lives by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. Unfortunately, it's apparently a frequent occurrence. In 2004, 24 people fell to their deaths. As I read through the names of the 24 in the end credits, I noticed that most were men.

Of the film, one person sticks in my mind: a man in a leather jacket, his long dark hair blowing in the wind, smoking a cigarette, walking up and down the bridge. If I'd been on that bridge same time as him, what would I have said to him? How would I have sold life to him?


I was at the Royal London hospital a short while back and there was this man who started talking to me. He was drunk. Within 5 minutes, he'd told me his life story: his ex wife, where they got married, his 2 beautiful daughters whom he hadn't seen in years, their names, their ages, his sexuality, his boyfriend. He'd even been a martial arts practitioner for 20 years. His eyes were so sad. Deeply. He'd tried committing suicide before by jumping off a bridge. He said he needed help which was why he’d come to the hospital.

I can't remember what I said to him. I didn't say much. I listened.

Who knows if he was telling the truth; he could have been a pathological liar or schizophrenic. But what I saw in his eyes was no lie.

The doctor called out his name.

I happened to be in the cubicle next to him. The doctor asked him how he was: his reply was he planned on committing suicide by Xmas and that he felt like killing himself and everyone around him.

I hope the doctor listened. Really listened.


On the Channel 4 docufilm, a shot of the Golden Gate Bridge was shown from afar and it looked really beautiful. It must be quite high 'cos I could see a rainbow beneath it. I also saw the glow of the sunlight and greenery on the landscape. I remember seeing the bridge from that angle and wishing I could tell the guy with the long dark hair: come, come see.

3.09 am...

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The prostitutes walk the streets like zombies looking for their next feed. I feel a mixture of anger, curiosity, amazement, sadness, irritation and pity for them. I can't begin to tell you the things I've seen over the past year and I'm just a bystander – just seeing glimpses of what they do. The whole picture must be much darker than that.


I had a dream the other night. For some reason, I dismantled my front door. I couldn't put it back together no matter how much I tried. I then looked out onto a roof which seemed to be on the same floor. It was like one of those roofs you see in New York. Suddenly, I noticed movement and three prostitutes came out from makeshift camps they'd set up. They'd been sleeping there. Weeks before that, I had a dream they were living in my block's basement – a basement that I didn't know existed. There were loads of rooms – as if someone had built a hideout for them.


I've been looking into the history of where I live as I want to find out why prostitution, drug and alcohol abuse are rife in this area. There must be an historical energy about this place that’s feeding the now.


If you're an early sleeper, a heavy sleeper or sleep with your windows shut, then you won't notice a thing. I know this because one of my neighbours didn't have a clue what was going on on her doorstep. During the day, the air flows freely and people generally go about their business. But at night, it shifts. It's still possible not to notice, but once you see one thing, you notice the rest.

Sometimes, the nights spill into the days and some prostitutes stand out there from 6.45pm 'til 7am and approach people going to work. Now that winter's here, it's likely they'll make the most of the extra dark hours it brings. A friend of mine who I recently bumped into and who lives in the same area as me told me that weeks ago he was propositioned by a prostitute at 10 in the morning.


In some ways, believe it or not, things have improved. The police appear to be stepping up, catching and charging some kerb crawlers, patrolling the area, etc. But it's kinda on and off. They don't seem to patrol late enough or frequently enough. Like rats, when the police disappear, the prostitutes and their watchers come out.


The area might get a total breather in the time leading up to the Olympics as there's apparently talk of money being pumped in to do a clean-up. I'm not sure how true that is, but if so, it would seem someone's got their priorities slightly wrong. It shouldn't take the Olympics to do a thorough job of something they should be doing anyway.


I was thinking of moving but I love my flat and in spite of what's been going on, there are good people living here. I hear the cutest little girl every couple of days. And there's a boy with a mop of red hair who sometimes rides his little scooter down the road, secure in the knowledge that his mummy's right behind him. I don't like dogs but I see two beautiful ones walked by their owners every evening. I see a fox every now and then. People still stop and say hello to each other. There's an old woman I say hello to – she reminds me of my mum. The other day, I complimented an old Eastern European woman on her hat and she reached out and held my hand as she pushed her trolley. Her hand was plump and soft. She let go and we walked and talked 'til I got to my flat. There's a nutty woman who seems to have a fondness for me - I find her enthusiasm really overwhelming at times, but her heart's in the right place. I love my shopkeeper. And though we all tend to keep to ourselves, most of my neighbours are quite friendly.

I like where I live. But I don't like what's happening to it.


Sometimes the sun deliberately sets where I can get a good look at it from my back window. The clouds don't need to join in either, but they do.