It was lashing down as I walked down by Merrion Square, in Dublin. I was on my mobile phone, talking loudly about work, when a woman stopped me.
"You might be interested to know," she said, as though what she had to say was more urgent than my conversation. This turned out to be correct, but I didn't know that at the time, and to be honest my first instinct was to ignore her. My second instinct was to listen, which turned out, as it sometimes does, to be the wiser one. "You might like to know," she said, her tone not exactly friendly, "that there's an old man down there who needs money. You might like to give him some."
I asked the person at the other end of the line to hang on for a second and thanked the stranger on the street, mostly because I didn't know what else to say. Then I resumed my conversation, asking my colleague whether she had heard the woman. She had. And we laughed, because it was odd. Strange, you know, to be interrupted by a do-gooder on a mission when you are minding your own business, chatting on the phone.
I walked a bit farther, and, sure enough, an elderly, bearded man was sitting on the edge of the park railings. He had a hat in his hand, but he didn't look as though he was begging. He just looked defeated. The way people do when they are soaked and they've nowhere to go and their bones are aching and the wind goes right through them and it's no place for the old. My hand went into my pocket and my fingers found a forgotten fiver, and, because I'd been instructed to, I handed it to him. He took it, smiling and surprised, and secreted the note somewhere in the layers of clothes.
I did all this while I was still on the phone, walking at a pace so brisk it makes me ashamed now. It was too easy. I wasn't going to miss the fiver, so the moment hadn't cost me a thing. I hadn't even wasted any of my precious time on the charitable transaction, multitasking as I was between appeasing my conscious ("You might be interested to know," the woman had said, as though I was probably the type who wouldn't be interested in anybody except myself) and concluding my business on the phone.
Now, writing this, I want to know his name, his story, his situation. At the time, though, I just wanted to do what I was told, give him the money and dive back on to the cosy beanbag that is my life.
A girl called Sarah recently wrote to tell me of a similar experience she had on the quays in Dublin. She and her boyfriend have just moved from Galway to the capital. On their way to Soup Dragon, on Capel Street, they passed a man who was asking for money.
"I had my usual awkward moment," wrote Sarah, and her description of it will be recognised by anyone who has ever eyed a homeless person at a cash machine or outside a supermarket.
"Yes, I want to help, but what will he spend the money on, drink or drugs? And do I have any right to question what he spends the money on? Ideally, I would like to be able to give him food and shelter directly, without money changing hands. But if I went and bought him a sandwich, is he even hungry right now, and what fillings would he like in the sandwich? Surely someone has a right to decide what sandwich they get? But asking him is so patronising and awkward."
Her head spinning with questions, Sarah applied what she called "the usual solution". Avert eyes, keep head down, walk on. "Which is no answer," she wrote.
Sarah might just have found one, though. After eating at Soup Dragon she asked the lady behind the counter for a €20 voucher. They don't normally do them, but she wrote one anyway, and, when passing by the man again, Sarah asked him if he would have any use for it. And he said he would.
None of us needs to be told that the best thing we can do for people who are out of home is to support charities such as Sophia Housing Association, Focus Ireland and the Society of St Vincent de Paul, organisations that are in a position to make a lasting difference to these lives.
But also, to make a temporary difference, couldn't Nude and O'Briens and the Bagel Factory and Starbucks and Café Bar Deli and all the other cafes around the country start making vouchers - call them Streetwise Vouchers - for us to keep a steady supply of in our pockets and our bags? A voucher that as well as providing the practical support of food or a hot drink might facilitate a conversation - a connection, even.
You'd have to consult the potential beneficiaries first, of course, but, as an idea, it strikes me as more considered and, therefore, more meaningful than, say, a €5 note thrust guiltily at an old man in the rain.