o-HOMELESS-570Marcus Glinock, 32, from North London admitted this week that his decision to become homeless may not have been as well thought-out as it first seemed. 

He said: “It’s not all that great, to be honest.”

“I was really up for it at the start. I mean who wouldn’t love sleeping in a ditch with metal spikes lodged up your rectum?”

The Hampstead Village Hobo, as he is known among locals, has been without a home since realising one frosty mid-winter morning that he did not like heat, despised any notion of bedding, and preferred the company of diseased pigeons to that of his friends and family.

Marcus has joined 112,000 fellow ditch-dwellers taking part in the nation’s fastest-growing fad.

Latest figures show that homelessness in the capital has soared by 75% over the last four years; proving to be trendier than milling about in Hoxton pretending to have a good time.

Despite living in the world’s seventh richest nation, droves of UK citizens have turned their noses at this wealth in favour of sporadic donations of Heinz sachets.

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Margaret, 67, a homeless woman living in Westminster, said: “I feel fine, to be honest. I may look a bit dishevelled. But that’s only because I don’t like any human contact whatsoever – whether it be people trying to strike up conversation, give me food, or even moral support.”

She added: “I heard lately we’re doing quite well lately in the numbers. Growth is up 0.8%. That’s a good number. It’s not as great as 1, but it’s better than 0.”

“It has made a fantastic impact on my life. My food tastes 0.8% better – that is, whenever I get a chance to eat. The weather is 0.8% warmer – that is, when it isn’t bucketing down. And I am conscious for 0.8% less of the time – which is great, that is, when my dreams don’t reflect my miserable day-to-day existence.”

Mary Whetstone, organiser of a homeless charity in North London, spoke of the criticism she regularly faces for interfering with those sleeping on the streets; disturbing the natural order of things.

She said: “Last week I saw a man out in the ditch, weary-eyed and vacant, so I got him a bottle of water and a sandwich. But when I approached him he spat in my face, threw the sandwich into the gutter, and lectured me on respecting other people’s life choices.”

“I don’t know,” she pondered. “I guess some people in this world just prefer to chew on second hand chicken bones.”