This is a merge of my 'Wanderer' blog that tells of two years of my three years on the streets, and a new blog that tells of my life after the Diocese of Winchester ripped through my life for for the last few years on top of the previous serious harm that left me homeless
This is a day to day blog of my life as I continue to survive, work on recovery and on the social problems that I have and try to come to terms with limitless traumas I have survived along the way.
This blog is in tandem with my blog about my experiences in the Church of England

The former name of this blog and the name of it's sister blog are to do with my sense of humour, which I hope to keep to the end, which appears to be ever more rapidly approaching. At least I laughed, and I laughed at the people who were destroying me. Don't forget that.

Here are my books, which I wrote for you if you would like to know more:

Saturday, 5 November 2011

I went to film club last night and enjoyed a dramatic war film and some chocolates and tea, the people there know me and they had a blanket and hat and scarf ready for me.

I was concerned that one of the people who has been involved with the mess that the doctors and homeless services was there, but what can he do? he isn't allowed to discuss it or me with people because of confidentiality.

I went to my sleeping place and settled down, it was a cold night and the new sleeping bag is only a summer one, I couldn't find any cardboard so I had to put the blanket mainly on the ground under the sleeping bag, you have to have soemthing between you and the ground or you don't sleep at all for the cold. I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders but it wasn't sufficient, in the early hours I realised that the sleeping bag would come further up and keep me warm better if I unzipped it and spread it out like a duvet, so I did.
My mouthguard didn't trouble me so much last night.

The cold clear night turned into a grey rainy morning and I got up having slept enough, it was a night where I was woken a number of times by cold or by drunken shouts, which is normal for weekend nights.

Last nights dreams were as wierd as ever. I dreamed I was with a nice old lady from church, I don't know what church but I obviously knew her well, she and I were walking along the centre of a dual carriageway and we kept finding money, she was getting more and more excited about the banknotes we found when we came upon an A4 sheet of paper with banknotes printed on it and realised that the money was all fake.

Very strange.

7.30am, I went to the market stall briefly to hear the gossip, then to the toilets for a wash.
I have no money for hot drinks and it is raining. I walk around, try to get the courage to go into a community hall and beg a cuppa, but I can't, I look in all the bins and find one sticker and no coins on the ground.

I talk to a sick pigeon and then wait for the library to open.
Now in the library, I am waiting for 10am, when I will be able to go and get a cup of tea at a daycentre.

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