Introduction

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 http://whatreallyhappenedinthechurch.blogspot.co.uk/

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: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/JJNP

Thursday, 18 October 2012

Good morning bloggypeeps,
It is cold and I am sitting outside on a bench in the street trying to type.

Yesterday afternoon I went back to the cafe, the underground was killing my legs and lungs, but I got there and had two cups of tea and then there was nowhere else to go and it was rush hour, so I went and sat on the strand, my black bag of bedding has proved to be a very handy and comfortable seat as I have struggled round London, and so I sit on it on the strand and wrap myself up in my multicoloured blanket (complete with fox poo stains), the wind is holwing through the strand but I am simply too tired and my legs are painful, so I sit and rest, people give me sympathetic and kind looks and I just grin cheekily at them, but I am not begging.

Eventuallu otheer homeless people start to congregate. Barbera from my old street gang appears and looks at me, looks again and looks confused, then she says hello.
There are some other girls, and they start looking at me and talking about me, I raise my eyebrows in a question markbut I don't go over.
Then one of them comes over and says hi, she tells me sorry for talking about me but that some of them thought I was new on the streets but someone has told them I am an old veteran, I tell her I don't mind.

I go over to the Charing Cross and put my thermal top on and come back as the food runs start.
I get a chicken baguette, and am content with that, andf then a lemon curd muffin.

Then the worst thing happens. The cult men appear and start trying to recruit, they see me, recognise me and seem to forget what happened last time. It is not a good scene and they end up in the Thames with everyone else who annoys me, only joking, but I mention police and people traffikers and cults in a loud voice and advise them that most people on the strand know them for what they are, this causes an outburst of them trying to God me and then changing to trying to call me crazy and and even saying that I will 'reap what I sow' I advise them that they will too, and that I will keep my God and they can keep theirs but that I will call the police over if they persist.
I have never seen them leave the strand so fast, and no one goes with them, hallelujah!

The tea run men are Christians and it starts pouring with rain as they arrive, and they laugh and thank God, I tell them that the cult have just shattered my peace and left me screaming mad and that I am not getting enough sleep because of the weather and the forecast is bad tonight and I need shelter.
They laugh and pray for me and make me lots of cups of tea.

And yet another food and tea run comes down. The food and hot drinks runs can be endless from 7-10 some nights.
The new food run gives me a sandwich that I will save for tomorrow, and yet more tea, they are giving out information on a project that mainly helps addicts and alcoholics off the streets.

I head for waterloo, intending to treasure hunt on the station, but there is nothing on the station.
I stand and wonder what to do, and as I stand and look through the cards in my wallet I find a valid ticket, I was sure that that return was a day return, the return half of which I had never used.
But it is an open return, as most of my tickets are, which is how I manage to travel so much.
Open returns usually only cost a pound more than a single on long distance lines, but the circumstances were that I thought I had a day return that time.

So I decide that if I go on the journey then at least I can sleep for a few hours on the train, warm and dry out of the weather.
I need to make another underground journey in order to get to the mainline station, and I can do that, I just wonder if I have missed the last train as it is now 9pm.

I get to the mainline station and there are two trains I can get, one is full and about to depart, so I wait for the next and last one.
I am lucky in that I get a single seat alone in a corner, I sit down but the other seats nearby fill with rather noisy and big people even though this is the quiet carriage.

I put my netbook to charge in my backpack by my feet and doze off. I wake at each station and the noisy people get off at some point.
Finally I wake at my station and get off.
I took my thermal top off earlier and now it is too late to go to the loo and put it back on.

I head for the railway arches.
Most of them are open and exposed, which is no good, but there is one that is more sheltered.
I fall down the bank trying to get to it after several near-falls, my backpack and I get plenty of mud on us.

I go in and go to the corner of the arch where the shadows of the small scrubby bushes and washed-in rubbish from storms will hide me.
The ground is patchy with wet and dry and water drips from the roof and walls and there is damp.
The place smells of dead animals.
Believe me bloggys, I am glad it was too dark for me to see my sleeping place, and I am glad you will never see it.
The only advantages are that I was protected somewhat from the wind and rain, and was hidden.

The ground is damp and wet, there are dry islands, and I choose a dry island by the wall.
Lying down will leave me cold and wet, so I put the bedding and cloithes bag down, sit on it, get into my sleeping bag, put the blanket round me, and doze off. It is midnight.

I wake after 3am, there are drunks around, shouting, but no one near me, I sleep again, 4.40am, I wake, look around and sleep.
The alarm goes off at 5.30 but I stay dozing until 6am, I have stayed warm and reasonably dry.
I decide to leave the bedding and clothes bag there, an instant advantage of having moved here.
But I have no idea where I will get a hot drink or even a cold drink from this morning, I left my water bottle on the train.

6.30, I need the loo, there are no loos open. I sit on a  bench and watch the sky in the east growing lighter.
I sneaked into McD's and used their loo, wish I could get a drink as well.
It is very cold now, the rain and clouds have cleared.

I am now in the library at last, the computer conked out when I was writing the last bit.

I am in slight crisis because I have lost my water bottle and have no money for tea, I have had a long drink of water out of the taps in the loo and a long luxurious wash.



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