when I left the library yesterday I had the vague idea of looking for stickers and going to the Samaritans until the Salvation Army opened for the evening service.

I headed for the Samaritans, I stopped at the church opposite them that once did me a cup of tea, I went in to see if they had an evening service later, (this was at about 4.10pm), a priest came out of a room to see what I wanted, I said I was checking if there was an evening service, he said yes there was, and he got another priest who would be leading the evening service, and asked that priest to talk to me about the service, the priest asked about me and got me to sit in the church and got me a cup of tea, then asked if I would like to join in what they were doing in the other room, a little group looking at perceptions of Jesus and church, so I went and joined in.
At the end of the service, the priest who had got me the cup of tea asked if I wanted some food, and took me across the road to the pub and paid for me to have a roast dinner and several mugs of coffee, the priest had to go and prepare for the evening service and told the barman to give me the change from the money paid for the meal, it was only a few pounds, but that is enough for several cups of tea later or tomorrow!

The roast dinner is a huge mountain of roast potatos and vegetables and gravy, with a few slices of roast beef hiding shyly underneath, the beef is good despite being scarce, but it is late in the day for a roast dinner so they were probably running out of meat, the food is all nice and tasty and hurries down into my startled stomach very quickly, and the coffee is nice as well, so I am very happy.

I back to the church and end up sandwiched between two old ladies for the service, and I hope I don't smell.
the service and the sermon are good and stodgy and solid, which gives you an indication of the denomination maybe? I don't suffer any terrors or distresses anyway, and afterwards the priest asks the treasurer to give me some food vouchers. I am given three food vouchers, this means I now have 7, that means I have enough for a meal every day until giro day.

After the service I wander into the Samaritans Centre as it is only 8pm and I don't really have anywhere to go until soup kitchen or bedtime, and it is too early to bed down safely now.

The Samaritans have got the hang of me now, they know how to help me, and they provide cups of tea, this is a branch that doesn't normally do tea.

After the Samaritans I go to soup kitchen, not out of hunger, but because soup kitchen is like a little light in the dark, and the homeless people are like moths round the light.
As we wait for soup kitchen I end up talking to a punk couple who were there yesterday, yesterday they discussed the merits of stink bombing the protesters camp, and I was most interested, I wouldn't mind them stink bombing that horrible girl's tent, but there are nice people in the camp as well, the couple who let me kip on their sofa, and my friend V. who is a bit of a character, I didn't know what to make of him at first, he always comes to soup kitchen and is also heavily involved in the protest camp as well.

This couple have just got a flat but they have no furniture or cooking facilities, they have a kettle, a meat grill that hardly works, they find it difficult that the food bank give them things that need cooking, and the grant they have applied for will take ages to process.
They say all they have in their flat is a duvet, kettle and grill, but if I need to be out of the rain ever then I will be welcome, and when they get a sofa then I can kip on it.

We further discuss stink bombs, and the girl tells me she was suspended from school for stinkbombing it out, she asks which tent the horrible girl lives in on the protest site.
 Soup kitchen provides the usual tea and sandwiches and also some tasty coffee walnut cake.

V. comes over and starts winding people up by flicking them with his keychain, he is so funny because he is a wild young lad, and yet he is in the St. John Ambulance and all sorts of other responsible positions, he is in charge of first aid and health and safety on the protest site, when he almost flicks me with his keyring, the punk girl, who also knows him, tells him off and he storms off. He is such a character.

Then a row breaks out about someone being accused of rape, a situation startlingly similar to one among my homeless pals in London, and people talks about their convictions and prison sentences and court cases, all of this always makes me sick and shuddery, especially as they talk about their crimes and results in such a matter of fact way, as if it is alright, normal, acceptable, so I leave and head off to bed down.

My bedding down routine goes like this: I go to my sleeping place, I check it is safe and that the bedding I left is still there, if it wasn't then I would know it isn't safe. Then I go and get rest of my bedding and come back, it is quite easy to check my sleeping area and get my bedding without being seen, all quite descreet and quick. Then I arrange my bedding and keep watch for 10 minutes or so before I settle down to sleep.

Last night I slept well, I woke once to pull a blanket round my head and neck at 2am when the temperature dropped. The temperature tends to drop at about 2am in the morning and starts rising again at about 5am.

I dream that I am talking to my brother, jokingly telling him about my 'camping out', 'You have a better life than I do' He says gloomily. I wake up worried, he was the first one to reach my dad after both his strokes, he was the on to do the resuscitation and call the ambulance, he took the weight of that, and his wife left him and took his children to America. I worry about him.

I get up reluctantly, it is cold but not too cold, but I wish I could have stayed dozing in my blankets.
I go down to the market to spend my coins on a series of cups of tea while I enjoy the gossip for an hour or two. The stall holders give me plastic bags to wrap my sleeping bags and blankets in as there is rain on the way.
I have a wash of sorts in the toilets, I run out of anti-fungal spray and my socks and boots are wet, I really need a shower and a change of clothes and some new toiletries, maybe I should have saved some of the money I spent on tea and used it on wipes or socks, but it wasn't much, and I really need the tea.
I am now in the library waiting for the centre to open so I can get my bacon roll with my vouchers.

I have a lot of strange dreams like the ones I have described to you, my old friend said I should write a book about them.
In the last few nights I have dreamed a variety of things. I dreamed of a war and ruined buildings, I dreamed that my dad was sitting with my brother in the ruined buildings, my brother who I mentioned above, but my dad was dead even though he was sitting there.
Another dream was that I was back on the island and the tide was rushing in, there was a court case and someone said I had been punished enough and could come home to the island.
I had better not ever think about that dream.

I wonder if the dreams about Dad are because tommor it will be two years since he died.
He died two weeks after he went into a coma and three days after his life support was switched off, he died three days before his Birthday, and he went into the coma a day before he was due to go to Israel, he loved Israel, and he and mum were going to go to live there, his ashes are there now, and there is no headstone or memorial to him in this country, nowhere to go to remember, I was going to have a memorial stone put in the garden of memory on the island, because my two priests were offering to pay for that, but it was shortly after that that I left the island. so it never happened.

The song that the family remember Dad by is called 'While you were sleeping' by Elvis Perkins, a rather unusual song, not one I would have listened to if it had not been for Dad's coma and death, but it does descibe emotions about him and his coma and death, the song was written about Elvis Perkins' own parents as far as I know, his mum was killed in 911, and his dad died in a coma?
The other songs that remind me of dad are 'Grocer Jack' by Kieth West, 'Sylvia's Mother by Dr. Hook, (dad liked this song) and I changed the words a bit to make it more about him, I often rewrite songs, so did Dad, so do other members of the family, and a song called 'Time to say goodbye' by Sarah Brightman? sometimes a song called 'The joy of living' by Ewen McColl.

Anyway, excuse me while I chase my bacon roll.