Andaw Don't think I haven't been tempted. A hundred shopping trolleys must have groaned past the window as I've been sat here and a thousand rusty voices have asked for loose change from blushing passers-by. I could have been down there like a shot and arranged the trade in seconds. There's a bottle of premium quality vodka in the freezer, a few stray cigarettes, even a little pot in my top drawer, and my bank account tells me there's more where that came from. Or something more outwardly noble perhaps. I could offer one of those stinking strays a new life. Yeah, set him up with a room, a new suit, a toothbrush for God's sake. Get him into rehab, force-feed him oxtail soup, get antibiotics to cure the clap he's scratching with. A job ' I could get him a moron job down the local grocer's, joke that I only hang out with him for the staff discount, spray away his fleas, burn his ragged tracksuit, make him tea. All this in exchange for you sitting in a chair, slapping this soft plastic thing on your belly and clicking OK. Whaddya say?