Peter Swindon spent the night at a shelter with destitute asylum seekers. Here is his diary...

7pm

I arrive at the shelter and already there is one man waiting outside in the rain. He is standing on the street shivering, his head bowed. People go in and out of the building used by the night shelter but he is not yet allowed access. “We have to wait until eight,” he explains. The man tells me he has been walking the streets since 8am that morning when the night shelter closed.

7:30pm

More men arrive with bags over their shoulders and stand on the street outside as darkness falls. One of them approaches me, points in my face demanding to know who I am. He’s concerned that I’m a “Home Office spy”. Someone steps in to diffuse the situation and explains that the man is nervous because he was detained for two years at Dungavel before new evidence was found to support his claim for asylum.

8pm

The volunteers arrive and the men traipse towards the door one by one in a dignified line. They walk straight to a gym hall where they will spend the night and mark out their territory by placing what little belongings they have on a small patch of the wooden floor. The tallest of the group reaches up and turns on the noisy fan heaters which will remain on all night.

8:15pm

The volunteers and two of the men begin preparing food in the kitchen. The duties are carried on on a rota basis and service users are encouraged to help. The rest of us make tea and coffee in a small room with a TV in the corner.

8:45pm

A local food bank arrives with a donation and at the same time charity 'Bridging the Gap' brings in bags of unwanted sandwiches from Pret a Manger. The men begin eating for the first time in many hours and each of them also squirrel away several sandwiches for the next day.

9pm

The bedding store room is opened and I walk in to see an organised system of numbered mats and cubby holes containing sleeping bags, duvets and pillows. Some of the men have written their names next to a dookit and they are the first to begin arranging their bed. I find a stained mat without a number and put it on the hard floor next to my sleeping bag. Some of the men are exhausted after moving around the city all day and go straight to sleep. The rest of us return to the TV room to tuck in to tonight's main meal - a vat of tuna pasta.

10pm

The fire alarm goes off and we are quickly ushered out to the street, many of the men awoken from their slumber. A head count is done once, twice, three times by officials at the building as everyone shivers in the rain. It turns out to be a drill and we can go back inside. Only fifteen men are permitted to bed down at the night shelter even though demand is far higher. There is a murmur that the drill was intended to ensure the quota is not exceeded.

11pm

Volunteers carry out one to one consultations with each of the men throughout the night. New faces are asked to fill in a form which permits the charity to advocate for them if they are unexpectedly detained by the home office. They are also asked to reveal details of their case and this proves too much for one young man who leaves the room as he is overcome with emotion. “He spent five years as a political prisoner and was tortured every day,” explains one of the volunteers. “He finds it difficult to talk about it, which doesn't help his case for asylum.”

12am

Only a few men remain in the TV room drinking tea and coffee and watching television. I ask one of them if they plan to get some rest. “I can't sleep,' he says. “It's like psychological torture.” Many who sleep at the shelter suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and it is not uncommon for them to shout and scream in their sleep, waking up the rest of the group.

12:30am

I go to the toilets and all three sinks have 'out of order' signs above them. There has been a plumbing problem, according to one of the volunteers, and although the toilets work the sinks can't be used. There are no showers so the men are unable to wash at all, or even brush their teeth.

1am

I return to the gym hall to find my mat and sleeping bag has been moved to the middle of the floor, away from the wall where I placed it. A man is lying where it was and as I look over one of the other men smiles at me, gestures at the floor and says “he always sleeps there. You've been moved”. The room is freezing despite the noisy wall-mounted heaters blasting hot air. I decide to climb into my sleeping bag fully clothed and pull a hat over my ears to prevent any heat loss.

1:30am

Still awake, I survey the room which is dimly lit from moonlight coming in from ten skylights above our heads. Most of the men are asleep and there is a cacophony of snoring and coughing. A few are still sitting up. One man's face is lit by a mobile phone. There is stage at the far end of the room where the volunteers sleep so that the men know where they are. They are often awoken by someone experiencing night terrors who needs a listening ear. They are also called on to unlock the front door when the men want to go outside for a cigarette in the wee small hours.

2am

My back begins to ache after only two hours on the wooden floor but eventually I drift off, only to be woken shortly after by shouting. One of the men has involuntarily called out in his sleep and the others stir. Some of them shuffle past my face as they go back and forth to the toilet.

5am

Light begins to come in the skylight as dawn breaks. Most of the men are still asleep but a few go through to the toilets to freshen up now that a plumber has unblocked the pipes. Some of the men pack away their bedding and go through to the TV room to make tea and coffee and some prepare food in the kitchen.

7am

There is silence in the gym hall as the men. They don't speak to each other. “Some of the men find it difficult to mingle because they don't speak English,” one of the men tells me. I take my mat back to the store room and pack away my sleeping bag.

7:30am

As breakfast is served BBC News broadcasts a debate about immigration. The men watch intently as politicians rail against migrants. There is a general election afoot and the destitute men know the party policies. “We don't want the Tories - they have been bad for us,” one of men tells me. Another adds: “But Ed doesn't look like a Prime Minister so I don't know what will happen.”

7:45am

The last of the bedding is put away and many of the men rush to grab a bite to eat before they are forced out on the streets again. Most of them walk around until the city libraries open. It is their only refuge during daylight hours, aside from charities which are only permitted to help if private donations are used. “We don't have a penny and we have no recourse to public funds so the charities funded by government or councils can turn us away,” one of the men explains.

8am

The night shelter closes its doors and the men slope off aimlessly, with twelve hours of waiting ahead, until they are again given a place to go.