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:

Monday, 6 February 2017


I think I should record this one before it goes.

It was quite fitting. The mind is a remarkable thing.

As I prepare for destruction, the dream spoke.

I dreamed it was show day, and everyone was there.

But even though it was show day, I knew, I felt, that something was wrong, I was out of place.

We were all waiting, of course, for the judging.

But we were all there, and I was being who I was, the multi-tasking helper.

Probably most clear in the dream for some reason were David and Pam Langton. David was limping, as he did, as they walked round arranging their exhibits.
Everyone else was there, the children were playing, and running in and out of the stalls.

At the end there was a kind of strange collective question about why I never came back, this was their thought not mine. My answer was that it was no place for me and I didn't belong. But I could feel my own grief, which rose above the reality of what actually happened, the way Jane Fisher and Juliet slandered me to the whole community.

The dream ended with Juliet trying to talk to me outside the hall. And it is funny that although I only dream of my estranged community rarely, the same lie jumps from dream to dream, about me trying to contact her since she left, I never have and never will, but anyway, in the dream this lie came up, and in the dream I am not even sure what she was saying but I was sobbing, and she wanted me to talk to her but I said I would end up killing myself if I did, and then I was worried about the church trick of setting the police on me because I had said that.

I turned away from Juliet, who was little more than a grinning ghost, but the grief as I left her and my old community was overwhelming, and I woke up.

The mind is a clever thing, it has just taken my thoughts and memories and what is about to happen and created that, and it is no bad thing. I never got to grieve for the life and community ripped from me by slander. I never got to grieve for show day and the real me that was taken by slander.
I never got to grieve for the sunlight and the joy of what was, and yet it has been gone and sleeping in that churchyard for many years now. Frozen in the dark and frosty grass, killed by my abusers.

Goodnight Littleton, it is time to lay you to rest.

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