The World According to Bob

‘What can I say?’ he muttered. ‘Go and talk to Rita. She’ll fill you in.’

‘I will, mate, don’t you worry about that,’ I said, marching straight across the High Street towards the co-ordinator’s spot on Islington Green.

It was obvious immediately that something was wrong because Rita’s face crumpled when she saw me.

‘Oh, hi, James,’ she said, refusing to make eye contact.

‘Look. It wasn’t my decision. I told him it was your pitch and that you were on a month’s suspension. He stayed away for a fortnight but then he went down to Vauxhall and someone there went over my head. They told him he could have it full time. There was nothing I could do.’

I was stunned. For a moment I was lost for words.

It may sound boastful, but I had turned that pitch into a money-spinner for The Big Issue, and myself, obviously. Until I had arrived there, no one had wanted to work there. The conventional wisdom had always been that people were in too much of a hurry to slow down at that spot. They didn’t have time to engage with a vendor. But, largely thanks to Bob, of course, I had established myself there. Even the outreach workers had said that the number of people who came to see us was amazing. As were sales of the magazine.

‘I can’t believe they’ve done this to me,’ I said to Rita, scrambling to work out why this had happened. ‘Is it because I’ve got this book deal and they assume I don’t need to sell any more?’ I said. ‘Because if it is they’ve got it all wrong. That’s only a flash in the pan. I need to keep working long term.’

But Rita wasn’t responding. She just kept shaking her head and saying ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I’m sorry’.

In the end I just stormed off, with Bob on my shoulders.

Looking back, I am not proud of what I did next, but I felt so cheated and badly treated that I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I headed back to the tube station and confronted the guy again.

‘Look mate, here’s £20 for the pitch. How’s that?’ I said.

He pondered it for a moment then grabbed the note, picked up his magazines and headed off with his dog in tow. I had barely been there ten minutes when he arrived back, this time with Holly in tow.

‘James, this isn’t your pitch any more,’ she said.

‘Yes, it is. I just paid the guy £20 to get it back,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t work that way and you know it, James,’ she said.

My head was spinning now. I couldn’t understand why they were doing this to me. Had I behaved so badly? Was I that unpopular amongst The Big Issue fraternity? I must have been. They all seemed to have it in for me.

‘So can I have my £20 back?’ I said to the guy.

‘No. I haven’t earned anything yet,’ he said.

I could see that he hadn’t bought any magazines, so he couldn’t have spent the £20. I lost it this time and started busking about twenty feet away from my usual pitch.

‘James, what are you doing?’ Holly said. I just ignored her and played on.

She slipped away briefly but reappeared with a police officer and another outreach worker, John, in tow.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to move on, Sir. Otherwise I will have no option but to caution you,’ the PC said.

‘James you are also going to have to hand in your tabard and your ID,’ Holly said. ‘You are going to get another suspension for this.’

I’d only got them back a couple of hours earlier. But I handed them over.

This time I knew The Big Issue were going to be even harsher in their punishment, and I’d be given a six month suspension. I decided that enough was enough. I decided that I would end my association with them. I didn’t feel great about it. Selling the magazine had done wonders for me. But I just felt a deep sense of injustice.

I wasn’t an angel. To be honest, I don’t think anyone who sells The Big Issue really is. We’ve all got our faults. We wouldn’t be working on the streets if we didn’t, would we? I also realised that I had probably over-reacted and lost my temper when I’d discovered my pitch had been given away. I just felt betrayed, especially because Bob and I had become unofficial ambassadors for the magazine. After we’d gone on the first Night Walk, we’d effectively been the public faces of the event and had featured in a lot of the publicity for a second one that had taken place. By this point I’d also been in the Islington Tribune a couple of times and the Camden Journal. The Independent had even published a piece. Each and every one of them mentioned that I was selling The Big Issue. It was the kind of feel-good coverage they wanted. We embodied the ethos of the charity: they had helped us to help ourselves. Or at least, so I thought.