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, 25 December 2016

Sunday - Christmas Day

Good evening peeps,

I got home about 45 minutes ago. Watched the end of the Princess Diaries and am watching Home Alone.

I didn't open all the presents yet, shall I open one live on blog?

Damn. Liquer Chocolates. What the hell do I do with those? Don't answer that.

Try again. Damn. Viennese Biscuits.

I can't take these things down to the shelter because they will be swamped.
Maybe I can dump them on Miriam's doorstep. Snik Snik.

People are bonkers, my health is deteriorating and I should not be eating these things even if I liked them, I have been given loads and loads of biscuits and chocolates and stuff.

Start from the beginning,

Yesterday I got Max round the front and gave him a much needed wash before it got dark, then I was working on books and watching television.
As the evening went on I watched The Lady in the Van, and then the Vicar of Dibley and I had to leave the end of that as it was time to walk round for Midnight Mass.

Mass was good but I was too hot.

After Mass I headed home and was puzzled, something was wrong. The bus was going the wrong way, there were blue lights and tapes over the road.

Someone was lying on the road, but it was too late, he was dead, killed in a fight. Just up the road from home.
We are not really a rough town and I was shocked.

I staggered exhaustedly over to the sea, the waves roared in the dark and the lighthouse beams swept over the darkness. My memories were horribly of both the dead man in the road in 2014 and that dreadful Christmas at John Averty's house in Jersey, the one that destroyed Christmas for me forever.

I staggered home, too tired to be awake at just after 1am in the morning. Being up at that time is not natural to me, I am glad that Christmas is only once a year.

I came home and slept. I only had two alarms set, for 7am and 7.30, but there was no way I was getting up, I was tired and in pain so I slept for a few more hours.

I got up eventually and dragged myself into the waking world and through some painkillers. Somehow I managed to take meds without food, totally forgot to eat, had a shower and got ready to go to the foster church.

I put some Christmas cake in my bag, meaning to eat it on the way to church, but I forgot.

We had a nice service at Church, and then I went to my neighbours up the hill for the day.
I know it was a bit up in the air as to where I was to spend Christmas, due to my health and volunteering, but in the end I went to the peeps on the hill.

We had a nice day, talking, eating, especially a nice turkey dinner, as the fog drifted over the hill, breaking and settling. It was strange to have the fog after the gale was roaring over the hill last night.
Anyway. I am home, and the disgusting Archbishop has been showing off for PR and upsetting his victims, especially me. Spoiling Christmas for me.

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