I am part of their good works. I know that. I’m their good deed, I make them feel good. They’ve taken me of the streets, well not so much off the streets but off the estate perhaps, and in return for washing my hands, putting on a cap and smiling at the customers, I get to work here every Saturday and they pay me. Not much but at least it’s something and you never say no to a few quid, do you?

 I help them run this café but I’m not what you would call the main man. That’s what Bernie the manager says to me, “Billy, no-one is indispensable; we are all sinners before God.” But if I wasn’t here as their pet project, their good works in action, they’d be lost.

 “I once was lost, but now I’m found.” They play that over and over again; the happy-clappy gospel music, singing along as they serve the tea and biscuits. Man shall not live by bread alone but also by flapjack and a healthy wodge of Victorian sponge. Lost? I doubt if any of them have ever been really lost. No, it was me that was lost and now I’ve been found, smartened up, given a job and the chance to welcome Jesus into my life.

 And I have. I have welcomed Jesus and the customers every Saturday morning, and they glow. That’s our Billy who used to run wild around the estate but now he works for us, smiling, serving ever so politely and taking the money.

 Oh yes, the takings. Pieces of silver in the till. Coffees are eighty pence, toasted teacakes - seventy-five, and anything from the cake display, one pound fifty. Then around twelve o’clock we get more in for lunch. Four pounds twenty-five for the day’s special. Yorkshire pudding, mince and gravy – always very popular. And if it rains the café fills with even more customers and the cash rolls in. No more orders for lunch after two o’ clock and by three the till is emptied, the cash is bagged and then left lying around because it can’t be banked until Monday.

 Loads of it, just lying about. Jesus Saves. Jesus is a wealthy man.