My brother and I were born in the overgrown back garden of a house in
Paddington sometime during February 1995. When we were a few days old,
our mother was bitten by a rat and the man who owned her tied her to a
fence post and left her to die.

For nearly a week, she survived on water which was leaking from a pipe
and she fed us till she died. Then Diana, the lady who lived next door,
rescued us. Being too young and stupid to recognise kindness, after a
couple of weeks we ran away and started to live rough.

It was the beginning of my fascination with refuse. Even now, with two
square meals a day and more biscuits than are good for me, I find black
bags and waste bins irresistible.