A Roof Over Your Health
What an amazing feeling it was to be part of such a positive and human event.
Huge thanks to Trevor Saunders and Emma Stimpson, and to everyone who gave their time, care, and energy. Most of all, massive respect to the people who came — not just to receive support, but to share something deeply personal. What stayed with me most were the tiny moments.
- A woman who came because she had promised herself she would. Because she knew she was in a better place. Because, whatever her past, it was clear she was thoughtful, intelligent, and empathic.
- A man who had just lost a close family member — and had also overcome addiction.
- A woman who had just completed training for the job she had recently secured.
We split into small groups to offer personalised advice and create space for conversation. Each group became its own little world. I sat with two women and one gentleman. The gentleman had severe social anxiety — the noise and movement constantly triggering a fight-or-flight response that he held in check by focusing intently on our discussion.
What struck me was how much people knew.
Men and women could name the red flags for bowel, breast, and cervical cancer.
- They knew what to look for.
- They knew when to worry.
- And, crucially, they felt they could get help — that they could get an appointment and talk to a GP they trusted, at Park Surgery and ENMP.
Every person there had become homeless for different reasons: fleeing domestic abuse, debt, sudden life events. Yet they all wanted the same things — a home, stability, a job, dignity.
We talked about the practical realities of daily survival:
- where to shower,
- where to use a toilet,
- how to wash clothes,
- how to charge a phone.
- How to keep belongings safe.
- How to stay quiet, tidy, and out of the way.
- And how people in these situations quietly look out for one another.
They spoke warmly about the Marina Centre, about council support workers, and about how the DWP and GP surgeries would hold their mail. They knew they could get a bus to hospital if needed — even though the thought of navigating crowded waiting rooms filled them with fear and anxiety. Still, they would go. And they would look out for each other along the way.
We talked about screening.
Bowel screening — tricky when you’re homeless and the kit arrives by post; Where do you keep it? Where do you do it?
Cervical screening — and how waiting for appointments can be overwhelming when you live day to day and time slips away. One woman shared something that stayed with me. She had booked a GP appointment for something else. The receptionist noticed she was due a smear and offered to do it there and then. She was surprised — and relieved. In that moment, something that could have been delayed or forgotten was simply done. It was a small thing. But in that room, it felt huge.
This day wasn’t just about health checks or information. It was about being seen. Being listened to. And being reminded that even in the hardest circumstances, people still care deeply about their health, their future, and each other. And that is something truly worth holding onto.
The James Paget published a news item about the day.