Black. Black cast iron, with black wire springs holding a creaking, black wire mesh under a thin, unsprung mattress, sitting on a linoleum covered concrete floor, my haven, my home, my kingdom. Twelve beds down each side, the dormitory a tunnel of corrugated asbestos panels, three wire windows down each side.

Just a sheet over me in summer, three blankets and a dressing gown in winter, and a red rubber hot water bottle that never stayed hot long enough, clasped between the knees.

Each day, the bed made up exactly like its neighbour, sheet turned down, hospital corners for the brown blankets.