Coming in from the rain I encounter a banquet in a tunnel. A double line of tables runs down the centre and every chair is occupied by someone talking, shouting, laughing, eating, smiling. The roar of it fills the space and bounces off the walls and ceiling.

Walking along the line I see that many small groups, unknown to each other, have come together in this white-tiled place between two weather-swept streets, united by their common desire for shelter, warmth and hot food.