Page 2 of 2

To avoid having to look people straight in the eye my secret was to fix my gaze on an imaginary mark on my trousers so that I continually looked downwards.

People are nosy and most of those that walked past couldn't resist seeing how much money I had in my pot.

I started with a float of 24p and had a policy that anything over 50p was hastily removed from sight so passers by didn't think I was so flush I didn't need their money.

As it was, only two 50p coins came my way and a £1 coin was the stuff of dreams.

The sight of someone begging generates some forthright opinions from the public but it's a too way process.

Watching the world go by highlights the sheer innocence of youth.

While adults went to great lengths to avoid you the instinct of young children is to look.

One young boy in khaki trousers even had to be dragged away by his embarrassed mother.

Although my sojourn into the world of begging was brief it was long enough to establish that a certain pecking order exists within it.

For instance the more experienced - or desperate - pitch up directly outside a cashpoint while novices like me go for the submissive approach.

During my whole day I never asked people for money once - preferring instead to play the sympathy card.

Those who favour the proactive approach normally have the worst drug habits.

It was while sitting in McDonalds that I first caught sight of one, who I nicknamed "Stigerthal".

I called him that because he was a cross between an old TV character called Stig, who used to live on a rubbish dump, and Neanderthal man.

With the obligatory blanket over his shoulders Stigerthal's favourite lines were "got any loose change?" or " can you spare 20p for a cup of tea?".

However his biggest weapons were his emaciated face and matted hair.

People were so shocked by his appearance they handed over money just to get rid of him.

The obvious conclusion about Stigerthal, who I was to see later, was that he was a drug addict and everybody knew it.

My next pitch was outside the now closed All Saints Church in Corn Street.

After my experiences with the police I kept my sign out of view, relying only on my cup.

Although my new tactics didn't prompt any fresh donations it did attract the attention of two alcoholics.

The brotherhood that exists within street people prompted one of them to tell me a photographer was sitting 100 yards up the road taking pictures of me.

"It's all wrong," he said, feigning genuine indignation.

However his next comment was more of a shock.

"Do you want a bottle of methadone?" he inquired as he knelt down beside me.

Looking at his associate he added: "We're both alcoholics and we only want £1.99 for a bottle of cider."

He explained that he was also a recovering heroin addict so the methadone was prescribed.

"The bottle is yours for £2," he added.

The fact was that if I didn't buy it then somebody else would so I paid the asking price and he left as quickly as he came.

The remaining hour outside All Saints Church was fruitless so I returned to Broadmead and a spot outside Tesco.

Once again with no "homeless and hungry" sign I failed to get many handouts.

However the 45 minutes I spent there were memorable for the sudden appearance of Stigerthal.

He hadn't changed much from earlier except he appeared more desperate.

As well as McDonalds his favourite haunt was near the Bristol Eye Hospital.

"The police seem to leave you alone round there," he said, after deciding to sit down beside me.

Then he made me an unexpected offer.

"Do you want to go halves with me on some crack?" he said.

He referred to the drugs by their slang names and pulled out a pocketful of change.

"It normally costs £15 but I can blag it for £13 or £14, " he said.

He counted out £8.30 and said if I could come up with the rest I was "in".

Oblivious to the shoppers that walked past he said he knew a car park in St Pauls where we could take the drugs.

"See how much you can get and I'll see you back here in half an hour," he said.

Needless to say I didn't see him again. There may be honour among thieves but there is none among drug addicts.

My last hour on the street gave me an insight into the psyche of a beggar.

To reduce the risk of arrest most don't use cups or placards - preferring instead to ask passers by direct.

Many have blankets draped over their shoulders - even in the summer - to counteract the cold chills associated with drug taking.

Walking back to the office I passed a relatively fresh-faced beggar outside Dixons.

His "homeless and losing hope" sign was identical to the one I had seen earlier and even had a smiling face and the words "God bless you" next to it.

My day as a beggar had yielded £5.65 but the most overriding feeling I felt as I walked away was relief.

Relief that I had a choice and could just walk away.

Relief that I didn't have to continually look over my shoulder for the police.

And relief that I wasn't trapped in some sort of Ground Hog Day existence, where your only goal is to get enough money to survive.