An old lady in a bobble hat hobbles in and sits down. The young person behind the counter offers her a free cup of tea.

“How many minutes until church?”
”Two and a half hours.”
”Ok, I’ll just sit here then.”

There’s a cafe near where I live which doubles up as a women’s refuge, “Hope Centre” and general place to go when there’s nothing else.

Chatting to the staff today, I’m devastated to learn that they’re shutting next month – not due to the end of the lease, but because of the inherent unaffordability of the project.

A new development recently opened next door – a chain chicken restaurant, a Seattle-themed coffee shop, and a pricey supermarket.

Opposite, new “luxury” flats inch up, month by month. This is not a wealthy bit of Brighton, but this space did feel increasingly doomed by the march of what was once unironically called progress.

It is run by amazing staff, a mixture of older chaps and young students, one of whom – appropriately enough – is studying social work. This is a referral point, with people in need being sent on to various other, often volunteer-run services.

There’s a link with the local church, St Peter’s, and some other charities offering the limited services and assistance that supplement the remnants of the welfare state.

Cameron’s “Big Society” working as intended, in that it is painful, unnecessary, and cruel.

I have written before about how the collapse in community services post-austerity has led to staff in places of rapacious profit taking on the role of social workers.

I’ve watched a burger manager, in garish uniform, gently explain to a crying pensioner that she has to move on. Budget supermarket staff negotiate with a camp of homeless with clear alcohol and mental health issues.

Meanwhile the Queen of the chain pub, Wetherspoons, is the chief community centre of many towns and cities.

Cheap beer and bottomless tea and coffee in exchange for a few hours’ warmth, comfort, and a sympathetic ear.

Back in the cafe, our old lady, with excellent flowery cane, is happily chatting away, though she remains worried about the time.

“How long til church?”
”Now it’s only two hours”.

In a few weeks, when the Hope Centre closes, there might not be anyone else to ask.