The brightly painted old bus carries meals to homeless people in the heart of the city; it started operating two nights a week in July and has already increased its service to five nights a week.

More than 200 volunteers make up the roster and they serve an average of 40 meals a night, although that number can vary greatly.

Those figures are staggering after just a few short months, but they mean very little to people attending for a meal. That’s where the greatest lessons were.

For people experiencing homelessness, the chance to engage with others was equally important.

One chap, a loveable local known for spinning a yarn whenever he gets the chance, told me bluntly that if it were not for the food van, he would hit the booze pretty hard.

His wife had been in hospital for months, he was isolated and “going mad” with his own company.

“I don’t come here for the food,” he said.

As he correctly pointed out, homelessness doesn’t mean he is sleeping on the streets. He has a home, but no one to share it with. There is no one to sit down and talk to at meal times or debrief with after visits to his very ill wife.

Many others visiting the bus had found beds in crisis accommodation for the night. They’re also not sleeping rough, but certainly homeless. Each night they go to crisis accommodation houses hoping for a bed.

Some keep their belongings in storage; others carry all they own on their backs. The soup bus brings them together, to talk, laugh, cry remain healthy. Physically and emotionally.

Horizon House in Bendigo is now trying to achieve the same goal, albeit narrowing the demographic.

The organisation has started operating a food van and hopes to bring together homeless young people for a meal and social interaction.

In Bendigo about 300 young people are homeless. They’re not just those sleeping on the streets - in fact, those make up a small number.