Imagine a 66-year-old widower who gets a letter from a bailiff. He's tearful. He's petrified. He thinks he's going to court and he feels guilty already, even though he's done nothing wrong. It's not his fault oil prices have gone up.

We're the place people come when they have nowhere else because of homelessness, immigration problems, or if they're one of these older people who are frightened by bailiffs. I make sure our approach is informal. People get their cup of coffee and it's, 'Where are you from? What part of Liverpool? Oh, do you know so-and-so?' You go down to their level - not by patronising but by trying to understand. When billions of pounds go into the Olympics, it's organisations such as ours that suffer. Sure, I'd be unhappy if we lost all funding, but the people we help are the ones who would really be affected.

I have my family around me. My mother and father are still alive, and it makes me happy to see them maintain their values and political beliefs. My friends are ex-dock workers who haven't succumbed to the Murdoch society. We're bombarded with this one idea: make money and you'll be happy. I suppose we're a country of individuals now, but we were never like that. Liverpool was famous for believing an injury to one was an injury to all. We still believe, but I'm fearful the era is ending. I hope not. That would make me truly unhappy.