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He's slept in shop doorways, church porches and on railway platforms, but also - he says - in some "great places". He now lives on an abandoned allotment in North Yorkshire, and has no desire to live in a house or flat again. Although he has ambitious plans for the future, he's content with his life as it is. The old pigeon shed where Stewart has lived since June last year is a patchwork of chicken wire, wood and plastic tarpaulins. Around it the bramble bushes are thriving, but the plants in the raised beds have long gone to seed and the dilapidated greenhouses look beyond repair.
The housing charity, Shelter, says there are abouthomeless people in the UK, though this figure does not include "hidden" forms of homelessness, such as people sofa-surfing with beeds.
Part of a mini-series of downloadable guides to the big issues in the news, the housing briefing has input from academics, researchers and journalists and is the BBC's response to demands for better explanation of the facts behind the headlines. There were the drunks who urinated on him as he slept, and the "nice" men who'd approach him on cold nights offering him somewhere warm to stay, only to turn predatory once indoors.
He had gone for his eye check-up after returning he saw that his sister and brother in law had left him alone, selling the house where they used to live before. Having been used to nice houses loev the respect guh comes with having a good job, it was a shattering experience to go through such a loss of comfort and status. After a while, I suggested we head to a Spanish restaurant for dinner, especially as I still didn't know many people nedes Bath.
They sniffed around, asked some questions, and returned later with some gifts - a smoke detector and a carbon monoxide alarm. He was squatting in Cardiff when he heard about a group of travellers living on the outskirts of the city, across the River Ely in Leckwith Woods. Soon after he'd settled Hoomeless, Stewart had a visit from some curious police officers. I knocked on the loev and Jason was inside a caterpillar sleeping bag, reading.
He's slept in Homeles doorways, church porches and on railway platforms, but also - he says - in some "great places". Inwe travelled to Scotland and stayed in an eco-community called Findhorn. Inside the shed, the low winter sun pours in through the corrugated plastic that Stewart used to replace the broken window panes. The old pigeon shed where Stewart has lived since June last year is a patchwork of chicken wire, wood and plastic tarpaulins.
They had a treehouse, a teepee, an army tent, a generator and a kitchen sink plumbed into a spring, bringing clean running water straight up through the mud. Lobe a while he gave up his mobile phone, and didn't claim any benefits. This became our 'shop' to sell Jason's paintings from, saving up for four years until we could buy my grandmother's home.
He has no family now and he is not able to walk properly also.
We registered as no fixed abode and lined up with street people for our dole cheque. We're not perfect, but something keeps us together, so it must be love, and I still find him very dishy. Jump to How I fell in love with a homeless man Good salary, own home. Louise and Jason with their little girl today I published a poetry collection around My head deer let me change my clothes at work to go to appointments in London, but I soon started to feel very down about living like this.
And two years ago, we moved to Devon where we are now, to open a new gallery. She's a regular, he tells me later, and probably gives him that amount most weeks. Briefing: How many families, children and lone individuals in the UK have no home of their own and are living in temporary accommodation or sleeping rough?
Louisa and Jason from their boat days Soon after, Jason had a motor accident, and with the insurance pay out, we bought a narrow boat.
He's lined the floor and some of the walls with insulating boards that he salvaged from a skip, and olve himself a bed - his army surplus Arctic sleeping bag is laid out neatly on top. Still, there was something about him Ho,eless got me hooked, confirmed when he walked me home and hugged me goodbye. He explains which types of wood burn best, and which smell nicest as they burn - cherry is incredible, he says, but his favourite is birch.
There was a "stunning place" in Worcester - the wheel-less rear section of a removals lorry, rather like a shipping container, which backed on to Worcester Arena.
I earned a salary that just about afforded lofe a comfortable flat. There was the man from the shop in a Welsh market town who gave him a day's work stuffing envelopes, then got him so hammered he passed out. Although he has ambitious plans for the future, he's content with his life as it is.
That's about eight o'clock just now, but during the summer I could be up at four in the morning - you just get used to getting up when it's light and going loove bed when it's dark," he says. And why? He jokingly refers to the wood-burner as his television.
Jason came but didn't eat, apparently he had been too nervous. Stewart spent about five years there. Inside though, I knew life had needd things in store for me.
He is staying inside a primary school and people of the village are providing him food. His condition is very bad. When I look back, it's hard to believe the many ups and downs Jason and I have been through, and yet here we are.
There was a wild look about him that caught my eye. My family thought I'd flipped.
But it's not just about the money. One of his main occupations is collecting driftwood from the beach, to use as fuel.
One of the lowest points for me was our time staying in a tent in a farmer's field. Working just to get by seemed less important after meeting Jason, so we made a crazy decision to leave. They'd built shelters known as benders from the branches of hazel and willow trees dug into the ground and curved to form arches. This is his opportunity to chat to people, and the people here are mostly friendly - unlike some he's met during his years on the streets.
It was a few weeks after first arriving in Whitby, while walking his border collie, Cariad, on the Cinder Track - the old Scarborough to Whitby railway line, which closed more than 50 years ago - that Stewart came across this place and set about making it his home. I was writing a lot of poetry by now and Jason was selling lots of art.
Around it the bramble bushes are thriving, but the plants lovf the raised beds have long gone to seed and the dilapidated greenhouses look beyond repair. The following day, Jason dropped a card through my door joking that he'd bring step ladders next time we met I am five foot one and he is six foot threethough I had doubtful thoughts about seeing him again. I continued my job at Bentwoods, although the flat was expensive. About four months later we bought a motorhome with our wages — a step up.
Still, I couldn't stop thinking about Jason and went to look for his car in the multi-storey car park a few days later.
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