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:

Tuesday, 10 April 2018


Good evening peeps,

Well last night I had nightmares and it wasn't easy to wake up this morning.
The weather was wet and there wasn't much chance of doing anything.

So I went up to the cliffs, it was a grey and dull day, pouring with rain as I headed out, but it dried into a grey low cloud that made visibility over the sea poor, the sea was boring too, but there were surfers out on the bay.
I sat by the kiosk and drank tea, I like their tea, I like their staff too, then I headed back to my usual favourite cafe where I also like the staff and tea and the view, but today it didn't seem worth it.
I phoned my friends who live up there but they were out.

So I phoned a potential new customer, but they had already taken on one of the other gardeners, which I don't mind. What I mind is that one and all of these customers tend to come wailing to me when they are let down. That isn't arrogance, you get all these pushy men who call themselves gardeners and push for jobs, whereas I do not fight for jobs, but over and over again, the customers get let down and come back to me, and Ted told me never to work for people who treat me as second choice, but it is a slightly different industry and way of life now.

Anyway, I went to the mail handling centre, and my letters included the DWP having magically redacted their threats and found my missing paperwork, and asking me to fill in the next lot for the next stage of the PIP claim, the idiots.

So, I came home, picked up a 400 word article to write, and got on with that until time for the delivery driving shift.
The shift was dead so I finished at 8, came home, and finished the article while watching films.

Now it is bed time.

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