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:

Saturday, 31 January 2015

Saturday evening

Broadcasting from Winchester, hiding out from the police.
No wonder the stats have shot up.

Well I was sitting at home among the muddle, sorting out legal letters, and I realised I was about to go to Winchester, I am always the last to know.
Winchester is my home town, but I am, or was, exiled from it by the Scott-Joynts and Fisher slandering me to every church, the homeless services and all my old friends here, basically I was driven out and branded as mad and bad, until I couldn't be in my home town.

And when I last came here, it was to serve the second legal letter to the Bishop in person, sadly there was only a Sally to serve it to, and she is a clone of Lou Scott-Joynt, who played such a henious part in destroying me before.
This time I really couldn't be bothered to serve the third letter or request for the Bishop to resign, I just popped them in the letter box, but Jane Fisher's idol, Sally Dakin, came out anyway.
Really I am not supposed to serve letters in person, but the truth is, they are not court documents so I can, and it means the Bishop can't claim not to have got them.

Winchester is not the home town of my youth, it is quiet, run down compared to what it was and the areas round the Cathedral are positively unkempt. And I noticed no homeless people sitting in blankets, well, until the police and ambulance were up the High Street, that looked like a homeless person, or it may have just been someone collapsed on the ground.

This is my home town, and I am claiming it back. This is my heritage, my heart, my home, that they took from me along with everything else I owned or knew. It is mine again now. I will keep it as a spare, and one day, the people who shunned and vilified me will either be gone or hear my side, until this will be the Winchester I knew and loved, not the Winchester controlled by Fisher and Scott-Joynt, where I was treated so terribly, so shockingly.

I walk these streets and remember
and everywhere I look,
there is someone I knew
from before the darkness

the people who were young with me
when I was young,
here they are, married and children
and no-one remembers me,

but this is our shared heritage
St. Giles Hill and the Broadway
so you remember the lanterns
the people gathering for North Walls?

Do you remember rolling down the bank on the Arbour
with the dog, in the snow?
Do you remember North Walls in the Dark and Worthy Road on the news run?
The hat fair and the fire brands, the Cathedral bells and the scarred hill?

but no, I am alone,
and my memories are ice crystals and fire embers,
 shining and fading, I am alone,
Winchester, my heart my home, 
my heart my home.

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