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:

Thursday, 27 September 2012

When I left the library I walked down to soup kitchen, to see who was there more than anything. My pal with the dog was there, waiting, but I was looking for a few of the others as everyone waited, my friend V. is conspicuously absent from the library or the gangs on the steps and in the squares. I hope he is ok and not in any trouble.
Then I see the other person I was looking for, he doesn't see me, I am shocked at the state he is in, he is hunched up and staggering, talking to an imaginary radio and raging. This is my friend M.

I jump off my stone ledge where I usually stand and wait for soup kitchen and I go to talk to him.
It takes him half a minute to recognize me, and then he tries to hug me, but not our usual friendship hug, he gets carried away, and I have to tell him no.
I ask him what has happened, but he is rambling and incoherent and keeps deliberately mishearing me, finally he tells me that he is homeless and useless.
I am saddened because last time I saw him he was looking great and was sober and actively helping himself to get back on track, and he was housed.

He tells me he is an idiot and he keeps trying to explain that he has been fighting, he is very drunk indeed and keeps wandering off talking into his imaginary radio.

Leo comes over to join us and says he is pleased to see me back and tells me one of the other women has been housed, good, I wish they would house the other woman with the same name as mine, it causes such confusion that there are two of us on these streets with the same name.
Anyway, I ask Leo if M. is drunk and behaving like this all the time, he says he isn't, so that is one good thing, M. starts looking up the tree and telling an imaginary cat to come down.
I distract him by reminding him he used to work with cats, and he says 'yeah there were 104 of the little so and so's'. and goes off on his imaginary radio.

Leo and I have the usual conversation about soup kitchen, he tells me it is still a nightmare and that the hostel boys are still grabbing food off the rough sleepers and there are fights, I thought the organizers of soup kitchen were going to put a stop to that, but obviously not.
Leo goes on about how he tries to ensure that the other rough sleepers, especially the women, get some food, and I applaud him for that and tell him that at least there some of us good ones out here helping each other still. (he thinks he is the only one who tries to share and help, but he isn't :) )

I don't stay for soup kitchen, I go for a walk and breathe in the memories, then I go up to my old porchway, no one else seems to be living there so tomorrow night I will re-inhabit it.

Suddenly I am very tired and I wonder how I will walk all the way back to the old chap's place, but I manage, and I get some hot chicken to eat on the way.

Sleep time :)

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