I go to sign on at the labour exchange in Shepherd’s Bush Road and sit in a cavernous room on the first floor waiting. There are some twitchy lads across the room but I don’t take much notice. As I am going down the stairs again a small apoplectic lad bursts out of the door behind. “Who were you looking at? Whatchoo mean screwing me in front of my mates? You want some? I’ll ‘ave yer.” I back away placating, hands out as if I am taking a wardrobe carefully down the stairs. In the street outside I shake uncontrollably.