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:

Friday, 13 January 2012

I couldn't do anything yesterday, my walking got worse. I never found stickers for another cuppa. I nearly gave up being in the library to go to the samaritans. But I got some chocolate and stayed in the library until closing time, then I went to the samaritans.

The samaritan I saw was a nice lady who I see sometimes, she had a trainee with her and we all had a nice chat and they got me two cups of tea and some biscuits.

Then I went to soup kitchen, soup kitchen was ok, I ate a nice long tuna and cucumber baguette and had several cups of tea, I took a sandwich and a big cooke for the next day.

as I walked away from soup kitchen, V. shouted me, I didn't even recognise him or know he was there, he was dressed smartly and had his hair smoothed down, he didn't seem to be his usual cheerful self but he came over and he and his friend started tell me about a fight on the dangerous road between a six months pregnant woman and a man. Then V. spotted his brother and shouted him over and they started talking baout the fight and forgot me.

I wnet to the toilets which seem to be open 24 hours. Then I went to sort out my bedding and sleeping situation.
I went to sleep in a new place, sheltered from the weather, cold wintry showers weather, frosty freezy weather, I was half expecting other homeless people to come and sleep here but no-one else was around. The resident rough sleeper of this particular place has wandered off.

I slept but was woken in the early hours by a strange howling noise, I don't know what it was, it didn's sound like fox, cat or human, but I slept again and woke up sleepily when the alarm went off and decided I was too sleepy and needed to stay in bed. So I finally got up at 8am and stashed my bedding. I went to the loo and then went to the surgery too late to get a doctor's appointment, they sent me to see the nurse who referred me to see the doctor at 12.15.
As I walk back through town the thug that assaulted me some time ago walks past me and swears at me, unprovoked, I just replied 'pardon?' and said hello to the bookstall, but I don't want that thug thinking he can go on misbehaving towards me because I feel vulnerable and he is aggressive.

I went to the library but I couldn't write anything. So I had a walk around and went to the daycentre. Yesterday the managers at the daycentre had said hello to me in the street and I stopped and looked at them in bewilderment, not recognizing them at first, they thought that was funny. And today they still think it is funny, especially as I keep apologizing for forgetting them and the daycentre, but I keep being given food vouchers that are valid here, so I have a cup of tea and a bacon roll, and I sit with rudeman, who comes out with a long stream of comments about me being missing and about my walking.

Rudeman sits there and drinks tea with me and another homeless man and tells us everything in his life. He keeps talking when I leave as if he will just keep talking no matter who or what is there. I ask him where are the police who normally pop in for a meeting and a cuppa, and he says that he thinks they will come in, but they don't while I am there, I wanted to talk to them about the sweary thug.

All the staff at the daycentre ask where and how I've been. But I don't stay long. I have Things To Do.

I hobble up to my church, my friend's neighbour is there doing coffee and keeping a rather unwell man amused as the unwell man needs to talk and ramble and doesn't make much sense but doesn't realise it, he is so nice and a long standing member of the church and it is such a pity he doesn't seem to know he is ill.
My friend's neighbour pours tea for me and asks if there are any messages to pass on, I tell him to let my friends and the priest know that I have moved my bedding but I can't walk well enough to move the rest of my things yet.
I collect my giraffe from the vestry and affix him to the backpack, my friend who repaired and washed him is unwell with shingles, which is sad.

I stop off at the hostel where the sweary thug lives and ask to speak to them about him. I meet his support worker who also knows my friend at church, I tell his support worker what has happened and his support worker tells me that the sweary thug has been in a lot of police trouble lately and that though he has a good relationship with him he has had give thug some sound bollockings recently, he tells me he will speak to thug and hopefully put a stop to things and that I should let him know what happens. I am happy about that because getting sweary thug into more police trouble won't help him or teach him anything, or even stop him.

I wander back to the doctor's surgery, and the doctor isn't my usual doctor and he tells me that he will phone the hospital and see if they can see me sooner. So that is that.

Then it is time for homeless lunch, I am a bit late but I get plenty of soup and bread and fruit and cake and tea. One of the kind servers gives me fruit to take away, I know my tummy will get grumpy about the fruit because it doesn't digest fruit well, but I hope I am getting some goodness from the fruit. One of the servers tries to find out about help services for people with PTSD for me but there is nothing of that kind here. The gossips and awkwards do nothing bad, they laugh a bit about my giraffe and I explain to them that I was homeless in London where people say 'Yer 'avin a girraffe aincher?'

What I really need to do is wash my hair and cut and scrub my nails, I never found my scrubbing brush so I will use my old toothbrush, and I need to find my nail clippers, which are hiding out somewhere in my bag.

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