Multi-millionaire Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho and homeless beggar ‘Nick’ have one thing in common – their nicknames sound similar.

While Mourinho is known as ‘the special one’, Nick tells me he is known by Chester police as ‘the polite one’, a tag the wealthy football coach is unlikely to acquire this season.

“Spare any change for the homeless, please. Have a nice night,” comes his gentle plea as I pass him in Bridge Street on my way home after a couple of pints with a pal in a city centre pub.

Usually I am wary around beggars.

We’ve all been told by the charities and cops that our donations only go on drink or drugs but tonight it’s me who’s ‘the tipsy one’ and somehow this guy seems genuine so we get talking.

Before long a Scottish gentleman joins the conversation and asks if Nick is all right. He recounts how many years ago he spent a couple of nights on the street, an experience that has never left him. When the Scotsman discovers I’m a journalist he says this is an opportunity to give Nick a voice.

So Nick and I head to McDonald’s because he’s hungry and he does look scrawny.

Dire situation

From the start Nick insists he doesn’t drink or take drugs to excess. His main vice appears to be that he smokes scavenged fag ends. He is certainly sober the night I meet him and open about his bipolar disorder made worse by the dire situation.

He wolfs down the steakhouse burger meal and apple pie as he begins his story.

Originally from Manchester, Nick, 36, fell on hard times after he and his wife split in January 2014 following 10 years of marriage. He finds it tough that he rarely sees their daughter, seven, and five-year-old son. Last year he was arrested for shoplifting Lego. It was meant to be a birthday present for his boy.

A former Airbus aircraft fitter, he was studying social work at the time of the break-up because ironically he wanted to help others. He walked out of the family home in Broughton but had no money.

And because he refuses to remove his name from the mortgage, having contributed financially towards the family home, his entitlement to support is limited.

His friendship network around here is weak, he is counted by the authorities as having no local connections with Chester and his dad and grandparents are dead. Mum is alive and cares about him but it’s awkward because he doesn’t get on with his stepfather and his brothers in Manchester are busy getting on with their own lives.

Street life

So what’s it like on the streets?

“In the summer time it’s more bearable because of the nice weather. You can go and sit by the river, keep yourself occupied and go outside. In the winter time when it’s dark, cold, raining, places to go are limited.

“I feel angry that no matter how hard I try to get out of the situation, there always seems to be a barrier put up in front of you.

“Sometimes I start off the day quite happy, quite carefree, happy go lucky but by the end of the day I’m a lot more introvert, I’m a lot more into my thoughts and I have crazy dreams at night where basically it’s eight hours of regret, what I could have done differently.”

There is support in the form of meals, a shower and advice at Chester Aid to the Homeless and Chester City Mission.

Where does he sleep?

“I’ve slept in the Rows, stairwells, a tent,” said Nick. He’s also stayed in emergency accommodation at the Richmond Court homeless hostel in Boughton.

“I’ve stayed there but they only have so many beds available. First come, first served. I do feel safe in there but I’ve seen a lot of kicking off in there as well.”

Homeless people don’t judge each other and have empathy, but living with lots of people with a range of substance abuse and mental health issues can be ‘a toxic mix’, he says.

Normality

As for the future, he just wants to get back to normality.

“I need someone to give me a helping hand to get a bond together to get a flat. Everything else I’m capable of doing.”

Instead of support, Nick may well find himself falling foul of a proposed Public Space Protection Order (PSPO), currently under public consultation, and see his benefits docked.

If implemented, he could face £100 on-the-spot fines for sleeping in a public place, begging and busking, which could rise to £1,000 if he ends up in court.

Nick juggles to boost his meagre income and he begs ‘to survive’ as the cash supplements the £260 per fortnight benefit he receives because of his condition – which would become a banned activity if the order is implemented.

In the past he was issued with a dispersal order for being in the ‘begging position’ and had to leave the city centre for a set period.

“I was sat outside McDonald’s hoping to either get money or somebody to buy me a meal because I was hungry, rather than go shoplifting. I usually juggle in the daytime. I hadn’t even had time to get my balls out of my bag and he jumped on me,” added Nick, who laughs at his unintentional double entendres.

As for the PSPO, he comments: “I think you’re labelling homeless people as scum, riff raff, not your problem. It’s their fault. Penalise them.

“You need to find the root of that person’s problem whether it be drugs, alcohol, mental health or if they just need a helping hand.”

Speaking about those who judge, he comments: “I’d love to take their pedestal down, let them experience a couple of nights on the streets and then I’m sure their views and attitude would change completely.

“Because I won’t lie, when I had my house, my wife, I’d walk on the street, sometimes I’d walk straight past people in doorways, sometimes I’d get a feeling it was genuine or it wasn’t. Now I’ve been on the other side of the fence I’ve got a lot more empathy towards whoever that person may be, because it’s not nice and it is hard.”

As I leave, Nick is back on the street begging when two homeless workers turn up armed with compassion and a donated baguette courtesy of Prêt a Manger. Nick’s calmly delivered parting shot: “Don’t tar us all with the same brush.

“And think about it, that could be you. A year ago I’d never dreamed in my wildest dreams this would be me, but it is. That’s life.”