I wouldn’t bracket Mrs P with Mother Theresa and grey hair is about all I have in common with Albert Schweitzer, but I like to think that we’d help some poor soul in trouble if we could.

Mrs P met one such while out walking the dog yesterday, a young lad living rough in the woods because he had nowhere else to go. He was in his mid-20s and was about as presentable as he could be after sleeping under the stars for a couple of nights with just a thin blanket to keep him warm.

Read the rest of ‘Milk of Kindness Gone Sour’