When I was a zealous, idealistic youth I used to stand on street corners selling a socialist newspaper, convinced the socialist revolution would save the world from ruin. Looking back – to the 1970s – it’s difficult not to see myself as a tad deluded. Not because I’ve stopped believing in socialism – I still reckon it’s our only hope – but, well, pissing into the wind is a phrase that springs to mind and pretty well covers people’s apathy. An incident, one very cold, wintry afternoon in Dudley, West Midlands, spoke volumes. 

My friend, Dave, and I had been standing at a busy street corner for nearly two hours. We hadn’t sold a single newspaper. We were beginning to wonder if we’d finally lost our minds. Shoppers scurried around us looking for bargains in the January sales, oblivious to the two young men freezing to death in what was quickly becoming a blizzard. We sheltered in a shop doorway. About to give up and go home, in fact rapidly losing the will to live, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned. Before me stood a man carrying two large, bulging bin bags.