HE had buried his tent – he did so each morning – before packing his worldly goods into his enormous backpack and wandering into the city centre.

Later he’d return to his ‘camp site’, re-erect his tent and endure what the elements threw at him.

But this is no sob story.

I met Darren in New Road Baptist Church, where David and Linda offer tea, coffee and biscuits each morning to all who might drop in.

He may be classed as a traveller of no fixed abode by those who like to pigeonhole everyone, but his clean appearance from woollen hat to walking boots somehow set him apart.

Darren is within three months of his 40th birthday but looks much younger. This one-time Ruskin College student is now doing what he wants to do, spending time here and there, a burden to no-one. Next he hopes to find and buy a small disused boat that he can restore and spend time afloat.

He earns a little money selling origami models. These are real works of art, created from top quality paper. They are made to last.

I was half way down my second cup of tea when he left. It was then Linda told me what had happened to him earlier that day.

A woman asked what he charged for a model of a bird. A couple of pounds, he said. That was fine she replied, taking the model and pushing coins into his hand. She then walked off.

When he counted the cash, there was no more than 40p. He was disappointed rather than angry.

Perhaps her conscience will prick – somehow I doubt it.

I WAS considering Darren’s lot when a delightful voice asked: “Can I help?” The question came from Lianna, a young sales assistant with a smile as pleasant as her voice.

I was in the busy Boots store in Cornmarket Street to hand in a prescription for some goodies designed to keep the Unsworth frame in working order. I asked how long it would take to get the stuff. She didn’t try guessing but headed off to find the answer from the pharmacist. Ten minutes, she reported.

She resumed other duties (which included carrying a large box in one direction only to be told to return it to its original spot) before making a point of collecting my pills and potions and handing them over with a smile. A real personal service.

Thanks Lianna.

“I CAN’T think where all these leaves come from,” said a smiling 51-years-married neighbour as she started to sweep them up.

“From the b***** trees – where else?” replied her sedentary husband.

So much for romance.