Mr van de Ven can't enter any establishment to get bread, lottery tickets and so on without coming out and finding me chatting to a homeless, abandoned or neglected person. ''How much money have you given them now?'' he will ask. Sometimes I give them a euro or two, or three or ten. It depends. Nobody seems to carry money anymore so I fill my coat pockets with shrapnel just in case I bump into someone who looks like they could at least do with a cup of coffee. I tell them to go to the refuge where they can sleep for the night but they often put their hands together as if to pray and tell me they absolutely do not want to go there. I don't just chat with homeless people, I chat with everyone. Well, within reason. It's a great challenge if you are shy but curious. I regret not talking to a lot of people because there was no time to stop. When I did stop I found out that Tomas was in the POUM, the Workers' Party of Marxist Unification, active in the Civil War and claimed to have shot nuns and priests. That Antonio spoke fluent English because he once had a job on an oil rig. And this evening with my limited French I found out the French guy with the German Shepherds who addresses me as ''Mister'', reckons his dogs are working for Interpol.