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, 25 October 2012

Good morning bloggys,

Well I have made it safely to today, and today there is money for laundry and shower and food and storage for the bag and food. In about an hour or 90 minutes.

Last night I stayed in the library and managed to get some of the book written, then I went to soup kitchen, it was a misty and warm night.
Soup kitchen was good, I had soup and dipped my cheese sandwiches in it, I had plenty of coffee and a bit of cake.
Then the thing I had been looking forward to, the minister with the white baseball cap came to see who would like to come to the church service for homeless and vulnerable people. He and his wife are lovely people and I enjoy the service, I sit with another homeless woman who is a nice old lady.
So I happily head for the service and the minister's wife makes me a cup of tea, we start the service and one homeless guy repents and turns to God, and we have some lively and nice praise hymns, but then it is all ruined, a drunk woman comes in and starts insulting everyone and shouting about how she is homeless and what do we Christians care? It doesn't seem to matter to her that half of us are homeless and have come to worship.

I am really pleased though when two of the homeless men stand up and talk about how safe and content they feel in their sleeping places with God looking after them and how they don't need many possessions, and I agree with enthusiasm.
But this drunk woman gets worse and starts calling the men names and swearing and saying Christians are psychotic. This lot of Christians are far from psychotic, they are some of the most down-to-earth and grateful people around, mainly men but there is me and the other homeless woman and the minister's wife and another teacher. But this woman keeps calling the men names, she smells of meths and she is really horrible and when she starts calling them peadophiles the minister asks her to leave and walks her to the door.

Then more people come in and I am feeling crowded and unsettled and I decide to leave, it is a pity because I love this service and these people, I have been here before when I was in this town before, and I still belong here.
The minister comes out with me, and he thinks I am upset that he threw the woman out but I tell him I totally agree with that decision, and I am just too crowded and stressed, he prays for me and I head back down to the soup kitchen corner where Santa and some of the others are still nattering away long after soup kitchen has finished, and some of them have rebuilt the fire, so I stop for a natter.

I walk back into town with Santa and ask about his reindeer and he laughs. We part company and I go and sit in the bus station, then I head for bed.
I bed down, and sleep, and am woken at the usual 1am by drunk people shouting and the damn midnight freight train hurtling overhead, I love trains but not when they run over me.

I get the terrors and distresses, night time flashbacks, which are the hardest to control, but I fight them back into the back of my memory and sleep again.
I wake lazily at nearly 7am and sort out my things because that was the last night, this is the last day.
And then I cross the road, take my hat off and brush my hair, which has become a routine.

Then into town, and almost straight away I gather enough stickers, I go into McD's and use their loo and get my cuppa, which they make with real milk because they have run out of the awful stuff.
So I have sat here and read the metro and done my typing in comfort. What a good start to the day.

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