My heart is hammering, my head is humming with tension and there’s a real possibility I may vomit. No, I haven’t been set up on a blind date with Piers Morgan. Instead, I’m about to approach a stranger in a packed King’s Cross station and ask to borrow £100.
I choose a middle-aged man with a kind face and a red scarf, and quietly make my request so as not to be overheard by commuters grabbing their lunch. He studies my face for the longest three seconds of my life before deciding, not unreasonably, that he “can’t really say yes without knowing what it’s for”. That’s fine: I’ve already succeeded. The whole point of the exercise was to experience the soul-crushing embarrassment of being rejected by a total stranger – something I have committed to doing every day for a month.
