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, 22 July 2018

It's the lyrics 'I saw the end before we began' today.
Sometimes love is like that.
I saw the end before we began.
Those of you have followed my writing since 2014 will remember that I chose to settle and to love, despite the very real and overpowering risk to my life and wellbeing by the church if I did. I chose to love again, even though nothing could heal the way I was ripped from Jersey, and Jersey was ripped from me.
I also, as you know, chose not to take up offers of accommodation and work in Jersey after the church attacked me in the press in 2013, because I knew it wasn't safe or sustainable, and again, I was correct. Instead I chose here, and rather than fall in love as I did with Jersey, I chose to love, against that risk that turned to reality. Knowing that the likelihood of my weakness in choosing to love and settle would cost me my life at the hands of the church.  And now we have re-enacted every scene of Jersey, we have gone backwards forwards, to the same outcome, or is it?

If you try to reconstruct a situation, the strengths and weaknesses are reversed, and that was the gamble.

So here we are at the end.

 So here we are at the end,
and in the end, there is never enough time,
it is always sudden, time runs out,
and all I can do, is say I love you. Break our unwritten rule,
but sometimes short time is a mercy. 

Now I watch you,
I see your beauty, your life,
I see everything I love,
and I try to memorize it beyond time, 
so that it can never ever leave me.

If only someone would speak,
break the silence and the tears,
and tell me that it is all a dream,
and that I can live alongside you, 
gruffly pretending not to care, forever. 

I wake in the night and the dreams turn to tears,
How can this be? How can you and I be parted?
How can our mutual pretence of indifference be brutally ended?
I know you,  you are my life, my lifeline.
You held me here and we had an agreement. 

Will I forget you one day?
Forget what you look like? 
Will I laugh in scorn,
At our bond?
I don't think so. 

Here I watch the sunset on the jagged clouds
The grey water shining in the fading light
I turn my head so that no one can see my tears
My broken heart.
I loved you so very very much. 

Saturday, 21 July 2018

Last night I dreamed about a place with a garden that went up and up a hill, up into the clouds. Someone told me it was for me, and I didn't have to do any work on it as there were already gardeners.
It was a wooded garden, with the trees going into the clouds, and fruit and flowers, there was a greenhouse and gardeners area.
But I didn't really take to it, wasn't too keen.

There were gangsters and church people and a film in my dream as well, mainly mixed together.

Friday, 20 July 2018

Do you remember Marvin the Paranoid Android, singing a lullaby?
I have no idea why I suddenly do.

As I lay me down to sleep,
try to count electric sheep,
how I hate the night.

Funny what we remember from decades ago.

I am suffering very severe trauma and despair.

Isn't it funny how my therapist did a test on me that showed I was suffering trauma and despair several years before the church really took to destroying me? 06 or 07 I think.
I think she would be surprised that I am alive, well actually I am not. No human being would withstand what I have been through.

I dreamed about the farm last night, I guess grief has to come out some way or other, doesn't it?

I was looking for that bit in 'Broken' where Skunk and her dad are at the Church when she is in a coma, and she wants him to say goodbye.
She reminds me so much of me aged 12, only I was very depressed and much more ragged and slow by then.
I had already had the spirit beaten out of me by age 12. I think if I had had a family who loved me, it may have been different, but there is no one to grieve me, I could have died 8 years ago and not been either missed or grieved, I have had no place on this earth for a long time.

This trailer kind of ruins the moment, but it is a nice reminder of that devastating film:

I can't really come to terms with the damage to me by the police, NHS and other authorities, it can never be put right.

Last night I dreamed very vividly that I was back at the farm, the farm people and housekeeper were there.

Thursday, 19 July 2018


Good evening peeps.

There is still no word from the police, even though professional standards have been forced to acknowledge the complaint.
I remain overwhelmed with exhaustion and uncontrollable trauma, things have been dreadful for so long, but now they are past dreadful, beyond hope.

There were four police searching the park earlier, I watched, and considered going over and asking if they were looking for me.

My arms still hurt really bad where they brutalized me, and it has been five weeks, the nerve damage remains. But nothing has been done.

Wednesday, 18 July 2018

What I remember most from this song is that Juliet had it on a CD in her car, and after her dad died we used to listen to it when we went to Sarum Road to see her mum in the hospital or Basingstoke to see Jean in hospital.

But I rewrote it to be about the way my community of Littleton and Winchester was taken from me by the Diocese of Winchester in their vengeful hatred when I reported abuse.

I haven't asked Dakin to play any song when he disposes of me after killing me, apart from the Notre Dame Victory March at St Clems Bay, because part of the price I am asking for his murder of me, is t be taken home and laid to rest in Jersey.

But this was my rewrite.

See the bay tree, how big it's grown, 
but friend it hasn't been too long,
it wasn't big,
you laughed at me and I got mad,
the first day that I planted it, was just a twig.

She was always young at heart,
kind of dumb and kind of smart,
and I loved her so,
and Bonnie, I miss you, 

Now all that's left are bitter tears,
and memories of happier years,
in Littleton, 
and I remember still, 
how she pulled you up that hill, 
while I laughed and clapped,

Now my life's an empty stage
where Bonnie lived and Bonnie played
and love grew up. 

The Bay Tree was still there when I went back, very big and tall, but the home and community that was beautiful and full of joy, was taken over by the d,ark evil of the Diocese of Winchester. And even in the beginning, that evil showed, when Roger went off with a girl from the diocesan office when his wife was dying and people accepted that as OK, compared to the way they condemned me for reporting abuse. Horrific isn't it, that a  million pound company such as the diocese, is without safeguarding or morals or proper regulation, and worse, they use God's Name as they commit their evil.

When Fisher and the Scott-Joynts had me destroyed and left destitute on the streets of Winchester and slandered me round my friends and community, leaving me outcast. I had nothing, I was destitute, all my possessions left behind. But I got a CDs was the musical 'Evita' and I remember listening to this as I rode around on the buses to keep warm, and thought about death as my whole life had been taken from me:
My late best friend used to get sick, but that was before the terminal illness, but she used to say to me that she would simply go to Dignitas if it got too much.
I used to get worried by that, and I would tell my late adoptive mum about it and say it worried me.
But in the end, by the time the cancer was diagnosed, she was already dying, and had a few short months at home with her family.

Last night my nightmares, when I finally slept, were about the police beating and imprisonment by my abusers at Sussex, where I was not allowed to defend myself or have a voice.

Tuesday, 17 July 2018


As I go, remember,
I smiled, I tried to smile
as the world got darker and darker
and hope got further away

I loved people, even though I couldn't bond
and I cared even though I couldn't be close
and my life was to help others

I was bewildered and confused
by the cruelty of those who took my life
and their denials to cover their own wrongs

I went on and on having hope
that those inflicting the inhumanity would have a change of heart
and I would be able to regain my life
and return home

No one is all bad
even though those who destroyed me
wanted me to be

Every happy time I managed to squeeze
out of the endless darkness
poetry and music, days out and learning

Remember me smiling
and know that although eternally branded and condemned
I did my very best
through tears and anguish, hatred and condemnation, 
I did my best. 


Good evening peeps,

I just finished reading one of my Stephen King books, it only took a large coffee at the late night coffee bar.

Last night I had the same dream, Winchester Cathedral as a ruin, everyone gone. Then I dreamed of my late friend who died a few years ago, she was alive, but not alive, because even in dreams, I tend to know that people who have died are dead, but she was just there in the dream. It made me sad.

Each day is a struggle with severe trauma and depression, waiting for the end. It is hard to sit alone in a dead world. Mornings and evenings are the worst times, and nights can be utter hell if I don't sleep properly.

Last night I really struggled to sleep, and when I slept, it was dreams and nightmares. I was always waiting for that last beating and imprisonment, as you know, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.
I hoped it would kill me, but it stopped just short, and you know how if you see an animal injured on the road, you should put it out of its misery? I wish they had finished it off, not left me waiting for another one.

This reminds me of my childhood on the South Coast, watching the ships go out:

Monday, 16 July 2018


Good evening peeps,

The wait between what was my life and what be my death, continues.
It isn't nice or fun.

I dreamed about Winchester last night, as I often do, it was one of the Cathedral series dreams, but this time the Cathedral was dark, ghostly and derelict, cold, the water of the river had risen around it and in the dream, for the first time, my abusers had gone, but I was dead, so it didn't matter. Usually they are there, officiating and living, while I suffer in those dreams. I didn't remember the dream this morning, it came back as a flashback in the afternoon.

I would rather dream of my old Winchester, before them, the Winchester where Poppy and the Arbour and Norf Walls were. When I was struggling to learn to live after my childhood, but I told you without any doubt that last year's Norf Walls was my last one on earth, and I knew and know it to be the case. I could barely stay on my feet to salute my home city last year. But at least I lived to know and love the firebrands, and to my death, my Winchester, the not the Diocese of Evil's Winchester, will live in my heart and all that will be left when I die, is for the Diocese of Evil and their Church to be held accountable for their merciless and relentless destruction of me. And I am sure you know how Welby will react, with his lies and duplicity and fake weeping for the woman he murdered without remorse.

'It's getting late, give me back my friends',
'It's too late, it's too late'.

I will never return to my home city as my home, but it was the foundation for all of my life after I left my family, and the Diocese of Winchester destroyed it all to scapegoat me for their failures and abuses. I have suffered more injuries and deeper injuries than a human being can survive.

The waiting continues, with the silence from the police. I  guess the police intend to kill me when they find me. They have not contacted me since the beating.

What has happened to me because of the church's ownership of courts, police and authorities and refusal of responsibility should not be able to happen in this day and age and must never happen again. Jesus gave His life to save many, and He was scared and didn't want to die. I am not Jesus or comparable to him, the church have damned me to hell, but they do to me as their predecessors did to  Jesus, for similar reasons, they want to drown out the nasty truths that prick their consciences. I will die if it means that my death will mean that the church are prevented from killing others, that  they are regulated and stopped from lying about safeguarding while abusing their power to destroy and silence victims.
I may as well be killed, I can't recover from the weight of harm, no one would be able to.

I got two new Stephen King books to keep me occupied as I wait.
I forgot to say, I gave up watching Under the Dome, because as it progressed, it was nothing like the book and it was just the usual tripe that many films spew out, sex, relationships, silly emotions and people messing with each others' heads, do you neurotypicals really find that stuff entertaining? I liked the book, even though it is grim, Barbie and Julia were brilliant in the book and the book is much more realistic and imaginable than the film.

Hello Scott and Christchurch,  pray for me?

Sunday, 15 July 2018

Hey peeps,

I haven't felt much like writing. It's hard to write when you are between death and grave.

I have bee watching 'Under the Dome' on Amazon. In some ways it's true to the book, in some ways the story runs very differently. Barbie is a lot like he was in the book.

I haven't really recovered from the police beating, physically and mentally. I am struggling to even put my affairs and possessions in order because I am stupid with shock.

It is hard to think, but I try to think in terms of it being the end of a very horrific and comfortless life, and I try to have something reasonably appetizing to eat and I read and I watch things like Under the Dome, and try to find decent books to read. But when I look at this beautiful place that I chose to call home even though I knew the Church would destroy  it, I just cry. And I don't see the beauty, I see the swirling blackness of approaching death.

Do you remember this?  September 2016 after the seige of my home by the police for the church:

Thursday, 12 July 2018

Thursday Evening

Good evening peeps,

It seems strange talking to you again. I walked in the dark alone for a while. Like I did in 2010.

I remember this blog in its heyday, when it was alive, and I, despite the increasing damage, was also alive. It has been quite a journey, from 2011 when apart from chasing me through the authorities with slander so I couldn't get help or settle, the church saw me as dead and alone and sleeping rough, the whole world saw me as dead, and on to the church's massive launch of their attack in 2013 and the three years of hell, before they destroyed me publicly, and the years since when they routinely attack me with the police but refuse to do anything about my case, and now, between the violent police attack and my death, this short and very sad wait, with absolutely everything gone. You know no human being could possibly survive what I have survived don't you? Now I am walking to my death, the Bishop and police will oblige, I am sure.

Today I had to go through those awful press attacks by the JEP, BBC and ITV for the court, and it left me very shaken. although in this fugue dream state between life and death, it seems more like a faraway nightmare. It is what they did to me, and there has been no justice or resolution. It is as horrific now as it was then.
But it brought back clear memories of Jersey. See you soon Jersey. Who will join me for that last walk?

I am so tired. It is nearly dark, nearly sleep time. Always so tired now. Tired and drifting aimlessly in  space, no hope of gathering the pieces up this time. My hand will never have feeling again, it will always be a strange cold thing that isn't really mine anymore, and I don't want to live like that, so lets hope the Bishop arranges the death soon.
It seems like years ago I lost my home because of the Bishop and his safeguarding director and their beating and imprisonment of me to cover up their wrong, years ago, my home, my friends, my work, my volunteer roles and community, my island, wasn't it years ago? Was it four weeks ago? How long has the walk in the dark been?

I am absolutely going to sleep, never mind how early it is.


Good morning peeps,

I hate typing with this left hand not as it should be. I really need some help with it, counselling maybe, 'My hand is no longer mine, I am bereft'. It is like the shock of being told that my spine is broken, it will never get better.
I did my first article since the police attack the other day, it was an alcohol tasting gig, it was quite interesting, I learned from the research, which is what I love about writing, but whereas before the Bishop of Winchester's police attack, I was trying to improve my typing speed, now I am just trying to be able to type at all, I haven't done any transcription, but I am not sure I can, considering that I had only just achieved a competent speed before.

My article was accepted, it turned out surprisingly nice, I have taken on a rather complex grade 2 one now, not sure I can do it although the money is good. Ideally it should be in today, but I am waiting for a court form.

Anyway, I am blogging to tell you about my dream last night.

I had to get up and add an extra layer again as the temperature dropped a lot. I always say that from the longest day, there is a long slow bowl down towards autumn, but no one believes me. But as a veteran rough sleeper, I can assure you it is true.

Anyway, I dreamed I was at Riding for the Disabled. I have never been before so it was a strange vivid dream. I dreamed I went on the horse and cart ride, round and round, and I got to meet a cute Shetland Pony, and the boy leading the carriage horse was autistic, so after the ride, he just wandered off and stroked a ginger cat.
That was a funny dream because it was vivid.
I will never get to do riding for the disabled because of how the church have branded me.

Anyway, how about England? They were knocked out on penalties. I didn't need a TV or anything, I just listened, to the people in their houses shouting :) actually I did have a live updater on the laptop. I did actually support England this time, because I was kindly a guest to watch the match against Columbia and I saw England trying to steady the game as Columbia played dirty tricks and used violence, so I have been rooting for England this time. It was a very sad near miss in yesterday's match, especially as England scored early and kept that lead for a large part of the game.
Now England can only play for third place.

I wish I was young and strong again, playing football up by Jersey Airport and being distracted by the planes, I loved it :) but even playing football as a homeless person, before the extent of my injuries was known, my physiotherapist said it was too much impact and I shouldn't play :(
You know my memories of that though, they had funding to get the rough sleepers playing football. And we played on that harsh astro turf, but one day, the coach said to us 'It's Jim's last match because he's having his leg amputated tomorrow'.
That's what I remember.

So, I hoped to be dead by now, instead, the tense wait for the end continues.

Wednesday, 11 July 2018


Good morning peeps,

I still don't feel much like blogging, it is still way strange to type without my left hand.
Most of you will be aware that the Bishop of Winchester had me violently beaten  by police and imprisoned to try to silence me, and the result is loss of some of my hand, which is a shame because if I was to live, I am going to lose my legs eventually due to the broken spine, because the funding I needed to save my spine, has been taken, so I need both hands for a wheelchair :)


So, the situation is that I am homeless and with no choice but to remain that way  and as a complete fugitive this time, no friends, community or anything that will enable me to be found. The oppressive hot weather continues, although last night was surprisingly cold, I had to wake and find warmer apparel. As I write, the police have failed to communicate with me after the police attack described in the appendix of Cathy's blog.

I hope that you have seen Cathy Fox's blog.

But I have an unrecorded story to share, that may make you chuckle, although it was far from funny at the time, very serious indeed.


A week after the police attack, I was homeless. Literally sleeping rough. But none of my remaining clients for gardening would accept my resignation and all were trying to ignore and override it, which is both strange and callous, considering that I was ill, injured and homeless and not in any state to work. A good gardener who charges a low wage because of her disability is apparently rare, idiots. 

But as a result, I ended up in serious trouble with poison. 
It was the farm, refusing to accept that I wasn't in a position to work. I was there, working. It was a very sad time because not only was I going to override their determination to keep me on, but the poulty, ducks and geese were getting a disease that was killing them, and I was heartbroken. The farm, as you know, had been one of the lights of my life during the tough times, it had given me pride and responsibility and happiness. 

Anyway, a gardener of 17 years career, even if it was at an end, I knew my plants, but I was distracted and distressed, and I wiped the tears from my eyes, after cutting back a very toxic plant.
I am sure you can imagine what happened.

Only it didn't happen immediately. It was a bit later, when I got into town, I was trying to work out where to sleep when I realised that my sore and streaming eyes were not just caused by upset or hayfever, I could hardly open my eyes.

I wasn't sure what to do, although I remembered the time I got that wasp sting above my eye. So I went to the chemist, but they were too busy chatting and then they were just bumbling around and muttering about eye wash, and by now I was in agony. So I left.

I didn't know what to do, I was homeless and outcast, no one to turn to, everyone had turned away because of the police attack, and I hate asking for help.
In the end I collapsed on the steps of a Catholic Church. Haha. 
The Catholics got me water and tissues to bathe my eyes, and I think that really helped to save my eyes, I still didn't realise what I had got in them, or I would have gone straight to Casualty.
Then one old Catholic woman tried to 'Move me on', thinking I was a 'homeless', well I was, but she got the sermon of a lifetime from me, and I think she actually learned from it especially as I wrote to the priest the following day!
Ha. You know how it is. 
Anyway, the Catholic Server told me to try the other chemist, it was getting into evening now, so there was a late night chemist within walking distance, so I walked there, blind, opening or closing my eyes was agony. But I got there.

The chemists were at a loss, they gave me eye drops but they hadn't seen anything like this and didn't know what to do. They told me to go and bathe my eyes in the toilet and put drops in. I did, but it was agony.
I knew I had to go to casualty, even though I am terrified of the NHS and had only been in casualty a week earlier with the results of the police beating, and it was not only a weekend night but a very crazy one with a local festival bound to be supplying casualty with many drink and drug related emergencies.

I managed to walk blind to Casualty, about a mile and over the main road, God must have been looking after me.

Weekend and festival evening with casualty already doing brisk business, it is never the place for someone with autism, but now it was utter hell. 
The blurred shadows on the desk were too busy talking to turn and speak to me, so after a few minutes, I left. But I knew I was in serious trouble, so I went back in.

A paramedic came and spoke to me, random but at least someone did. I told him I was alone and had Aspergers and that I had got something in my eyes and they were agony.

He told me to hang on a few minutes and they would book me in.

Eventually they did, but I was cold and sick and they gave me a hat to be sick in, I am terrified of the hospital, so I was sick with fear. They repeated their stupidity of a few years ago, when I was there when Bob Hill collapsed, they read out the lies and inaccuracies. 

Hours went by, casualty was swamped, and they told me it might be six hours before I was seen. Yes, really. And I had realised what plant sap I had got in my eyes and I knew it was dangerous and the result could be blindness, God I was scared. I want to die because of the church and police, but being blind as well while they kill me, it doesn't bear thinking about.

The two casualty departments had a dialogue because of the effect of me waiting was not going to be good, they shunted the conversation up and down between them and made a decision to have me sent to another hospital.

I was nervous, had never been there, but I was greeted by the most happy nurse and receptionist, they got me water to drink and made me stay awake, the hospital was less mad and stressed and I enjoyed listening to two ladies who knew each other and who had both been brought in as precautions. 

It didn't take long to see the doctor, he looked very grave, he told me it was very toxic sap that had got into my eyes, and the affect could be delayed and serious. He told me that there was no eye specialist available and that I might have to travel some distance, he also said he was tempted to send me back to casualty at the other site for an in-depth, but I told him it was a six hour wait and that I was freaking out up there, so he said he would do his very best with my eyes.

He put drops in my eyes, you will hear more about the hilarious result of that later, the drops turned my eyes and the area round my eyes orange and gold :) but wait and I will tell you. Anyway, he examined my eyes carefully, because that sap can cause ulcerations and destroy the cornea and eye, eventually he said it looked as if I had got away with it, the agony had begun to ease a bit now, he said that the damage can be delayed and that if anything happened within the next day, I was to rush to the big hospital, 10 miles away as the eye specialist was there and I would have no other hope of saving my eyes. Easier said than done, how would I rush there, blind and without help?

Anyway, he made me read a letters chart, and I could, so we decided I would probably be OK. And it had meant casualty had one less person to worry about, he did also check my mental state and asked if I was suicidal, as it was obvious that all was not well, so I told him that I wished I was dead but that is not the same as being suicidal - never tell a medical professional that you are suicidal or you will be imprisoned or beaten and locked up.

Anyway. The doctor said I was OK to go home. I hadn't told the hospital I was homeless, they had my old address as a result of the police beating the previous week, so I let them use that, so I went out into the night with a raging headache and sore eyes, but just sore now, not agonizing. I felt relieved and shaken. And now I had to go and find somewhere to sleep. I slept under the clear starry sky, wondering if I would wake up blind, but I didn't, and my eyes recovered. It was a narrow escape as that toxic sap has a particular warning that it can cause blindness.

I missed something out, about the eye drops turning my eyes and around them orange and yellow.
The local festival had an orange and yellow theme, and when I left the hospital and went to the late night coffee bar, everyone thought I had come from the festival!
Apart from one man who worked there, who could see how swollen my eyes were, he was very sympathetic, and the man who was in the next casualty cubicle from me the time the police beat me up, he is always in the coffee bar and always says hi when he sees me, he must have heard every word about the police beating me up.