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:

Sunday, 2 November 2014

Saturday, a special Day


I am just going to look back at Saturday.

I woke at 5.40am and although I was so depressed I just wanted to go back to sleep, as is the way of things at the moment, I was awake and I got up.
I made tea and had a half-hearted clean up of the kitchen, it was dark outside and raining lightly.
I dressed, including my black sweatshirt and packed a light backpack.

Outside, the blue bike was dreaming on it's tether, dreaming of winning the Tour de France, and indignant at being woken, it stamped it's wheels and growled, but I reminded it that it is one of the privileged pioneers of Assistance Bikes, so it belted up and we set of through the dark and drizzle to the station.

I tethered the bike, told it it wasn't abandoned forever, and it just snorted. I crossed the station. It was now 6.15am, and after a riotous night of Halloweening, the town was quiet in the dark early morning.

I didn't have to wait for long, but sadly for me, even at that time of morning, the only other passengers who turned up were smoking.
One of the hazards of public transport for me is selfish idiots who smoke, because I can have an asthma attack from it, and there is nothing at all I can do. The other hazard, especially in the mornings and weekends, is people who use aftershave or perfume, and especially some brands or when it is over-used, it can cause me an instant allergic reaction. Good thing I had an inhaler with me.

Anyway, before 6.30, we were off on our way, and I watched as a vivid pale yellow dawn lit the gap in the clouds over the hills, it was stunning.
Soon we were at the terminal, and on the next leg of the journey, where the perfume allergy became a problem as someone near me was wearing something strong, thankfully the journey was only 20 minutes to the next leg, and there I grabbed a cup of tea and a bacon roll, being very naughty because I am not allowed white bread.

Then off on the longest leg of the journey, arriving in London at around 9am.

London. I have to admit, I can't help it, I love London. I really do, for all it's faults, I love it.

I remember two Londons, the one for years that was hot chocolate and skating and laughter before the diocese destroyed me and took the people who were part of that from me, and the other London, the streets of London where I was briefly, broken, traumatized, full of horror and trying ineffectively to escape the diocese and their continued violations of me.
Both of those Londons are mine, and are awesome.

I got off the train, and my first thought were the cafes nearby where we used to get hot chocolate with mallows, but I didn't stop for a hot chocolate. I walked down under the archway.
I bought a big issue from someone who was obviously not on drugs. Those who still have the privilege of being out there on the streets need money for their hot drinks.

I walked over the road, and there will never be a time, to the end of my life that I wont cross that road without expecting him to be there. But of course he wasn't. Only the memories and the swirling leaves, a ghost made out of ice crystals and fire embers, I jumped up on the marble stones and I looked around me, but there was no-one.

I hate to think of him in some lonely and spike-ringed London cemetery, no grave marker, so, as with all the heartache and horror, I avoid thinking about it and will think of him and the others immortally as they were, in my memory. I will always remember them, but most of all I remember the gentle giant who stood guard over me on the streets of London.

The funny thing about this trip to London was no boots and no walking stick, a bit foolhardy but my boots were still soaking wet from the rain the other day, and, I don't think I have put it in the blog but I have been getting away with wearing trainers sometimes, for short walks and because I am on the bike a lot, this has been since I started gym and the habit of biking to the gym in trainers has become a habit of sometimes wearing trainers, and now I am not on the streets and walking all day, my legs do not collapse like they used to, I am getting stronger, fitter, healthier, but going to London without boots or a stick was an accidental dare and it has left me aching.

Anyway, I had time, so I had a wander round some old haunts, I got up to the strand, and looked at the homeless people dotted about, but of course none of them were familiar, except one, who looked astoundingly like Pete the gangster but he wouldn't raise his head so I couldn't see.

If anyone in London ever took any notice of people, they may have thought I was a bit loopy, because on the Strand, there I stood, with memories flying round me, turning round and round, looking for what the Strand is in the evenings, the homeless feeding ground. I walked over to the triangle by the police station, and I remembered sitting there in my blanket, getting food, getting hit and shoved by men who wanted my place in the feeding line and my food, remembering the other men who defended me, Derek, Bob, Phil, and the Portugese Canadian man. I remembered the night I collapsed on the Strand and the outreach gave me the money and got Phil to go with me as far as the backpack hostel to make sure I got there. Phil said the outreach man was gay, but I doubt it.

Here's the song I used to sing as I sat quietly on the Strand with Patrick, youtube:

Still a lump comes to my throat, because it was my Hampshire I was missing, my home town and county. Back then I never imagined what would happen.

I went over to Temple, and I remembered Gerard and Phil, I hope they are both ok, I will never forget them. I looked at the Thames Waterbuses but the waiting line was too long, the waterbuses are part of the hot chocolate and ice skating London, and I would have liked a ride along the Thames but I would not be able to stand in a line for long without boots or a stick.

I went back over the bridge, I was getting photos as I went, a London memories photo shoot.
I went down to the London eye, and the merry-go-round, all part of the hot chocolate and ice skating London days, but sadly my merry-go-round was out of use, all barricaded up, and round the Eye was very busy.

I went on the underground to London Bridge, I remember London Bridge as a lifesaver, and the Shard as my friend. I used to crawl, barely able to walk, across London, using the Shard as my landmark, to get fed and looked after at London Bridge, and for the rest of my life, that is how I will remember the Shard, the marker of food and help.

London Bridge was busy, and I live in a rural town and am no longer used to the crowds of London and I got a bit bewildered.

I went back on the underground, and made my way up to Canary Warf and the DLR, and I played train driver on the DLR, I love it, it is like a little clockwork train set, and you don't see such curves and hills on train track anywhere else. It is part of the hot chocolate and ice skating London of long ago.

Eventually I went down to my destination and to meet my friends.

It was lovely to see everyone and we shared Mass together and then a lovely soup and bread lunch, and then we had an impromptu game of football because I started dribbling a football around, I am not supposed to play football and it has been so long that my body felt awkward but I think it is part of the road to recovery. I am suffering for it though.

But anyway, after that, we did some gardening, which is always a delight, I hope to return to the career that the diocese shattered and it is always good to do a bit.

Then for me, it was the end of the day, because I had something to get home to, and the others would stay on and enjoy fellowship and worship and a delicious supper but I had to go.

On I went, through the underground, onto the mainline and onto the long long journey home.

I got back to my town, and told my sulky bike that I would collect it the next day.

Then I hurried down to the seafront, where the bonfire carnival was in full swing, crowds of happy excited people, fire brands, glow sticks, sparklers.

I had plenty of time to orientate and settle myself on the beach before the fireworks began, the tide was almost in and the sea was playing up perfectly to the occasion, with a wavey but not too rough, foaming, roaring sea with the moon out over it.

The fireworks were out over the sea, and they were awesome, I did a good photo shoot and enjoyed it, before hurrying home through the crowds and falling exhausted into bed.

What a day! :) I am still aching but it was worth it.

No comments:

Post a Comment