The Connection at St Martins-in-the-Fields, Adelaide Street, London

On the streets, unlike in The Connection, you'll be treated with respect (Google Street View).

The abuse, that was flung by staff at me in this registered charity, was vile, aggressive and quite unbelievable. These peoples’ stated mission is to assist and advise the homeless but on three consecutive visits I received not support or direction but contempt and loathing.

I made a prearranged visit here one Tuesday to seek advice and information; hoping that I’d be aided in my quest for accommodation. First I had contact with a couple of receptionists who brought contrariness to levels that well might have last been seen in Stalingrad era prisoner-of-war camps. They – showing no fear that anyone in authority might observe or overhear – spoke to me in acerbically belittling tones which left me with the impression that, not only were they competing with each other, but that a condescending attitude had been imbued in them.

Seemingly against their will they informed me to take a seat in a nearby, well populated, recreational area to await a person named Elena who was going to deal with my query. After a short wait Elena made her presence known in a very unconventional way. She entered the recreational room and stood about three metres away from me and, staring directly at me, loudly and condescendingly stated ‘you look surprised?’

In what way, I wondered, am I supposed to reply to an arrogant question like that. I suspected that Elena didn’t actually want a verbal response; that she might have preferred if I threw myself on the floor and grovelled, and then crawled away out of her sight. Nevertheless I informed her that my looks and outward appearance were much the same as always, and that I wasn’t aware I was projecting a surprised look.

She then instructed me to follow her and as she led the way down a stairway she stopped, turned around and again stated to me: ‘you look surprised.’ And again – this time realising that I was in the presence of pugnacious irrationality – I informed her otherwise.

The Connection wax lyrical about decency on their website.

We then made our way to an office where Elena continued with a disdainful and arrogant attitude. After about 5 minutes of her irritating stupidity I mentioned that recently while trying to make similar enquiries elsewhere I had been on the receiving end of abuse; and that I had made a written complaint about the perpetrator. I told her this just to see if it would persuade her to control her atrociously abusive manners; it only worked in so far as it temporarily disrupted her sarcastic oral flow.

She responded to this unconsciously solicited piece of information by saying: (here I paraphrase) ‘you were just making enquiries, you should have been able to do that without getting abused.’ Then, feigning decency, she asked: ‘what are these peoples’ name, I’d like to contact them to find out what went on, of course I couldn’t contact them without your permission, is it OK with you if I contact them?’

Elena had me pegged as an illiterate lowlife, a scuzzbag who’d be unable to write my own name, let alone put a complaint in writing; she suspected that I might be lying, trying to bluff her, and wanted to see my reaction by threatening she could expose me.  

I gave her the name of the organisation I had complained to (Cricklewood Homeless Concern (CHC)), and told her that, if she so desired, she could ask them to reveal details of my grievance. I then waited in wonderment to see if she’d have the neck to ask me to sign something to that effect. She never asked, and if she did I’d have refused. I’d never have given this weirdo written consent to delve into any of my correspondence, but if offered something to sign I’d have gladly kept it as a memento.

The Connection's staff can be very hostile.

It was clear to me by this time that I was in the company of an extremely unqualified (in every sense of the word) person. Elena had no right, without my written consent, to contact CHC and seek information about complaints I had made to them. And CHC would have no right to furnish information to a third party without the correspondent’s written consent.

After this surreal exchange Elena decided – probably because she was apprehensive about my willingness to accept abuse – to bring the meeting to a halt; and informed me that I’d need to pay another visit to have my queries answered.

I again met Elena the following Friday and her demeanour and temperament were still quite nasty. She told me that her colleague, Steve, would now be dealing with me and that she’d inform me when he was ready to do so. Knowing already her pugnaciousness, and other staffs’ general rudeness, I made a point of asking her where I should wait. She answered by telling me that as long as I remained on the premises she’d ‘find me.’

In the meantime – having seen a notice and having checked with a very uncivil lady at reception – I was informed that a creative writing group were just about to commence a meeting in the art room. Being interested I went to the art room and was invited by a chap named Chris to join in, which I accepted.

After Chris wound up the session I proceeded back downstairs and on the way met Elena. She was in a disgustingly combative mood; irate beyond belief because she hadn’t easily found me. I exasperatedly told her I had been attending a creative writing class in the art room and that this room was ‘on the premises.’

An extremely arrogant Elena brushed aside what I’d said and patronizingly told me: ‘you might have fun with the class but you should have been where you could be found.’ At this I decided I’d had more than enough of this childish nimcompoop and told her so. I then, intending to inform her managers about her behaviour, asked her name. And, true to form, she gave me her name with all the petulance you’d normally associate with a sulky 5-year-old. This attempt at researching my rights ended with me being told to return three days later.

And the following Monday, as I passed her on a stairway in these premises, Elena reinforced her aberrant mindset. As we passed each other she emitted a short sharp grunt that clearly indicated both her arrogance and intense dislike for me. Later this same day I saw her, in a domineering manner, walk up to another client and grab him by the arm while loudly telling him: ‘I want to have a word with you.’

‘But should you do so you will be denied entry to our building.’

Just after Elena had removed from me any doubts she wasn’t completely obnoxious I met Steve. This was the person who had been designated to deal with me due to Elenas’ sudden cessation the previous Tuesday, and the person I’d missed meeting on Friday due to my having partook in the creative writing group. Steve approached me with a swagger and athletically announced he was from north west Ireland. And from then on his way of speaking vacillated between self-importance and antagonism.

He started by informing me he wasn’t happy with the ID I had shown to his colleagues on two previous occasions. It seems, according to Steve, that two of his colleagues, Elena and Chris, aren’t capable of judging, or checking, whether official ID’s might be fraudulent or not. He eventually backtracked when I pointed out that it was actually official ID and that the police had never had any problem in accepting it.

Steve wasn’t at all interested in simply giving me the information or advice I desired; mostly he seemed intent on displaying that he had a much superior intellect. At one stage – within less than two minutes of him having said it – I questioned a statement he had made and he had the gall to deny having said it. There were no if’s or but’s, no sidestepping, just a point blank denial.

Another weird habit he displayed – which I found totally out of place in the circumstances – was when he took a pen in his hand and, as if to stress a point, started to jab it towards me. When I saw the pen dart back and forth towards my forehead the thought drifted through my mind that this was probably a man who had the full box-set of the Apprentice tucked somewhere near his DVD player. And every night, with pen in hand, he’d refine, what he believes is, the way moguls treat and patronise their underlings. Steve wasn’t so much a bully as an annoying idiot with a grand sense of self-importance. My short meeting with him was one of those occasions when a candid camera would have produced massive hits on Youtube.

I suspect that on the previous Tuesday Elena had cut short her meeting with me because she feared I might make a written complaint; as if bullying was encoded in her DNA and she couldn’t act in any other way. My two later encounters with her, though, appears to show she had overcome any anxiety about her vile behaviour being related to others. And I believe that unethical words passed between her and Steve regarding me; that Steve was programmed with the belief I was an uppity trouble maker that needed subduing.

It was bad enough that two receptionists had an 19th century type orphanage rudeness but the way the two senior staff, Elena and Steve, carried on was disgusting; my encounters with these two people left me traumatised and distressed. It’s disorientating and depressing to be suddenly without a home but words cannot describe what it feels like to have the personnel in a registered charity – an establishment that is specifically dedicated to advising homeless people – treat you worse than an animal.

A complaint I made to this charity, about the behaviour of these two people, elicited a response from its Advice and Housing Manager, Anna Norton. Ms Norton let me know that she wasn’t pleased with analogies I used to better relate a description of Elena and Shane’s conduct and personalities. She also informed me that these two had denied my allegations of wrongdoing; that they insisted they had not said or done anything that was inappropriate. Ms Norton finished her response by stating: ‘I can confirm that your complaint has not been upheld.’

An interesting aside to Ms Nortons’ response was how Elena tried preempting me lest I was to bring up her sly request to enquire about my complaint to CHC. I hadn’t mentioned in my complaint to The Connection that she had made this improper request; Elena, anticipating that I might bring it up in future, was trying to outflank me by falsely telling Ms Norton that she had: ‘confirmed with you she would liaise with the Cricklewood Homeless Concern regarding your last contact with them, again to establish what the best opportunities were for you.’ The crafty and boorish Elena, having left herself open to several allegations, was cunningly trying to shoot one down before it was launched.

If Ms Norton had bothered to check she’d find that, other than my complaint, I’d had no other interaction with CHC; and that this organisation would have been unable to relate anything other than the fact I’d forwarded remonstrations to them.     

Elenas’ initial sarcastic statement, ‘you look surprised’, was loudly made within earshot of other staff and clients in this premises’ recreational room. And her stopping halfway down a stairs and making statement to me would have been recorded on CCTV. And when she walked up behind a person and aggressively grabbed them by the arm would also have been captured on camera. Her body language in the latter two incidents would have said quite a lot about Elenas’ gross arrogance at the time.

In hope of coercing a more adequate investigation I forwarded my displeasure at Ms Nortons’ curt dismissal of my complaints.

This drew a response from The Connections’ Director of Services, Mick Baker, who seemingly didn’t like some of the adjectival phrases I used, and who informed me that: ‘it is my responsibility to give you the Connection’s final response to your complaint about our 2 staff members,’ adding, ‘that both staff members denied dealing with you in the way you claimed.’ He then went to to tell me: ‘you had been treated no differently to the way that the Connection needs to respond to all new people.’

Mr Baker winds up his email by surmising: ‘I find it extremely unlikely that you would return to the Connection,’ and then warning, ‘but should you do so you will be denied entry to our building.’

This reminds me of what could pass between two children who had just fallen out in a school playground. One sulky child might say to the other: ‘I know you won’t come to my party on Saturday but if you do my daddy will tell you to go away.’ But this is what young children do, they test boundaries, they’ll take each other’s toys, they’ll bully each other, and all the while their teachers and parents will strive to cultivate them.

And the teachers and parents will nearly always be successful, but there’s exceptions to the rule.