Morese was as nutty as a fruit cake- I'm sorry but there's no other way of putting it!! A tiny 68 year old woman with her hair cropped dead short and the biggest "carbunkle" (her words not mine) on the top of her head.
She slept out in the salubrious Mayfair by her favourite church and her favourite wall. She'd store her sally army sleeping bag and other odds n sods in a disused telephone exchange metal green cupboard (her treasure store).
Morese had slept out for 30 years or so. In her 20's she was a nurse in Ireland, she had some sort of break-down and had disappeared. Only to reappear in a prison in India! She'd hitched to India and they had locked her up for being mad, she'd hitched all over the world by her 40's and been to countries that now have different names- Siam was one of her favourites apparently. Her father told us these stories in long rambling letters from Ireland that he'd send to us at our office on a weekly basis and Morese would store them away in her cupboard- not sure if she read them.
Some of Morese's happiest moments were spent in Woolies. She'd buy something almost every other day- it could be anything but her best purchases would usually be something electronic like a toaster or a drill. She'd then leave them on her wall for people to find and take home with them. Wendy and I would have bets on what would be there, the most bizarre offering was a kettle full of eggs! We both lost our bet on that day!
Every fortnight I'd treat Morese to liver and onions at a little Italian on North Audley Street- we'd sit outside ofcourse much to the disdain of the owner! I knew when Morese was happy as she'd hum an unrecognisable tune and Morese always hummed when she had her liver!
I wonder what's on Morese's wall today?!