from the great anniversary of my death at the hands of the Diocese of Winchester

This morning, doing things backwards in a way, I walked over from the hotel to Southampton Airport, I know it is full of cameras and so the police can find me and batter me for the Diocese.

I walked into the airport, and maybe a few hours early, well a number of hours early, I went to meet my ghost off the Jersey plane that had just landed, that sounds like madness, the kind that the diocese would try to have me battered and locked up for, but in fact, it is a kind of therapy, a way of settling the horrors.

I walked to see if I was there, walking out of arrivals in deep shock, no bra and wearing my pyjama tracksuit and jumper, having been arrested in these clothes two weeks previous, I have been in prison for two weeks.

This is three years later, and in reality, things are not much better, I had no idea then that Jane Fisher intended to go on seriously harming me in Winchester in order to cover her and the Bishop's backs, I would have killed myself immediately if I had been aware that she was not satisfied with destroying me and intended to go on relentlessly and that I would be repeatedly beaten and locked up for standing up to her, basically once I was battered and locked up in Jersey that was the end of me, anyone would have commited suicide after that, but the horror that lay ahead at the hands of Fisher and Scott-Joynt was simply a continuation, even more terrible, of what I suffered in Jersey, a continuation which ripped my home town and my dearest old friends from me and left me shunned from any church by the slander by Fisher and Scott-Joynt which ommited my autism, the abuse and their mishandling of my complaint and only made me out to be mad and abusive.

It feels good to share that with you, I needed to.