Outside, the temperature had plummeted. 'Hello,' he says. 'Hello to you, dearie,' I say. He shuffles nervously on the spot. 'Are you coming in or not?' He removes his cap and scratches the back of his head. Bless him, I thought, but I can't be hanging about on the streets. I begin to lose patience. 'Why don't you come inside, dearie, and warm yourself. Mrs Bird's house does the best coffee in north London,'I say cheerily....