The Shabby Brown Suede

in the house, broken windows and filth. Compared with my own home it looked appalling?and yet, and yet?somehow it was the desperate human need that came across rather than the physical aspects of the environment. Later that day I met the parents. His dull eyes bore no resentment, just a vague lack of interest; her aggression regarding implied criticism of her treatment of the children harboured guilt; the many tired lines on the young face told of infinite weariness. Sympathy and warmth came flooding in on me, but also the big question, where and how best to make contact. Two aspects of approach struck me as particularly important?one to draw on one's own personal experiences, and the other to recognise that what divides us is far less than the common