Stuart: A Life Backwards

Hello, Alexander. It's Stuart.

Hello, Stuart.

You know, admitting I've had lots to drink

and that, but I can't help reflect

I'm Alexander, the bloke

in the glasses driving,

not the mumbly one on the tape.

That's Stuart.

I got to know Stuart in 2000 and

decided to write his biography.

All my friends said it was mad.

I mean, after all this man was unknown,

he wasn't famous, not a celebrity,

but the book turned out okay.

Just wish Stuart could

have been here to see it.

I think it was the first ever biography

of a homeless man.

From birth to the present day.

So, back in 2000 I was earning

a bit of extra pocket money

working as a fundraiser

at Wintercomfort,

which is a busy little day shelter in Cambridge,

normally full of homeless people.

Full, that is, until the morning that

the police decided to raid the place.

They've been arrested.

All of them?

What a good idea.

Uh, no, no. It was, um,

just my boss, Ruth,

and um, her deputy, John.

Some of the clients have been secretly

dealing drugs on the premises

but because Ruth and John ran the charity,

they were held responsible.

They've got evidence, on film.

I was furious at the injustice of it.

And, uh, then really, for the

first time in my life

I actually began to take a real and

practical interest in the homeless.

F*** off, pisshead!

I'd like to introduce to you Alexander Masters,

a dedicated friend of the homeless himself,

chairman of the campaign.

Oh, we were convinced

they'd never be convicted.

I mean, if prisons can't control drugs then

how could Ruth and John be expected to?

As everyone knows, we're here this evening

about Ruth Wyner and John

The judge, Justice Howarth, sent them down

for five years, and four years.

- Shame.

- Thank you.

- Fascist.

- Thank you.

But this is the crunch,

what are we going to do about it?

How is this campaign going to

get Ruth and John out?

- Yes?

- We could send them books.

Bunyan, he's good for prisons.

Hardly. Miracle of the Rose,

by Genet, if you must.

Excuse me, this isn't gonna work.

Sending them books, eh?

It won't fit in the box.

- Sorry?

- The inmate's belongings.

Everyone's got one.

- Who is that?

- No idea. They all look the same to me.

you're also allowed a piece of carpet

what won't fit in your box,

and a budgie

or, or a canary,

and obviously the cage is not

going to fit in the box.

But, it is Ruth and John what will suffer.

All of them books, the screws will just chuck them out

because they won't fit in your box.

I'm not being funny, but you should really know

about boxes if you're gonna have a campaign.

Me name's Psycho, but you can

call me Stuart, if you like.

- Um, what's your address?

- Umm... 2 Laurel Lane.

Yeah, they help me: doctors, a couple clothes,

outreach, sometimes lunch with two puddings.

Yeah, they put it all on,

those two. And the staff.

I'm not being funny, yeah,

but I am really grateful.

- The other day I got a really [indiscernible].

- Oh, great.

- Can I help?

- Yeah, uh, yeah.

That's how I first met Stuart Shorter.

Street brawler, alcoholic, a heroin addict,

sociopathic street raconteur with a fondness

for what he called "little strips of silver".

Knives, to you and me.

- Thank you very much for agreeing to store these.

- Oh, no problem.

Mind the step. Oh, dear.

Here you go, mate.

Welcome to my humble abode.

2 Laurel Lane.

Well, they are laurels, aren't they?

I only heard about the meeting this morning

when I was picking up my breakfast.

- Your address?

- Mm-hm.

A bad idea, number one, mate. You could get

any old riff-raff showing up. Oh, dear, dear.

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