Have you seen the old man in the closed-down market, kicking up the paper, with his worn out shoes? In his eyes you see no pride and held loosely at his side, yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news.

So how can you tell me you're lonely and say for you that the sun don't shine? Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London. I'll show you something to make you change your mind.

In the all night cafe at the quarter past eleven, same old man is sitting there on his own, looking at the world, over the rim of his tea-cup, each tea last an hour, then he wanders home alone.