A change of plans

I left the library, fully intending to go straight home. The bitter cold and the sleet changed my mind for me, and I went to the butchers instead. I bought five good-sized pieces of fried chicken for the shockingly cheap sum of £1.30. On the way back down the High Street I noticed a homeless woman sitting in a doorway, so I gave her a piece of the chicken. I don't like to give money to the homeless, because there's always the possibility that it will be spent on drink or drugs instead of on food.
It always saddens me when I see someone with nowhere to live. To me homelessness has nothing to do with laziness. It is not a lifestyle choice. What it says to me is that the person just couldn't manage, and that something went terribly wrong for them. Whether drink or drugs are involved or not is not the real issue. I'm convinced that there must invariably be some sort of mental health issue underlying it, and that is the issue. After all no-one in their right mind would want to be exposed to the elements for twenty-four hours a day, whatever the weather. No-one in their right mind would want to be in a position where they could not look after themselves. And the homeless are vulnerable to abusive behaviour.
I remember a time when I had nowhere to live, through no fault of my own. I am so lucky that I wasn't completely destitute. Daytimes were horrible, but at least I could always find somewhere to flop down for the night. I am very lucky indeed compared to the people who have to sleep rough, as well as live rough. I just wish that people could be just a bit kinder to them, instead of treating them as a nuisance.
And it is also high time that governments gave the same priority to mental health as they do to physical health. We are a rich country (at least on paper). It's time now for those who can most afford to pay (their fair share of) taxes, to be compelled to contribute their fair share. I'm heartily sick of the workhouse culture we have at present.