The refugee and a boreal cutie

Well, another long day, just for a change! Up in the middle of the night, back up to London, early shift, few hours off, back in for night shift, typing this on my break, still nearly seven hours to go. Just remind me how much fun I'm having! This early and night shift on the same day business is pretty archaic, a throwback to pre-privatisation days in my industry, and only happens on Sundays - five Sundays in the 30 week roster, to be exact - and while it's something I've done often enough in the past, it's a good few years since my last experience of it. It does allow for more weekends off overall, so there is something to be said for it.
The afternoon hiatus between shifts found me in refugee mode. There wasn't much point in booking any accommodation, because I wouldn't have had value for money, so I spent what proved to be a few warm and sunny hours meandering around on various London buses, watching the world go by and vaguely looking in one or two more newsagents' windows for small ads in my continuing quest for a place to hang my hat, so to speak. Being me, I also spent a good deal of my energies looking out for passing cuties, with, for the most part, an abject lack of success. On the evidence of most of my trip, the metropolitan population of males between about 8 and 18 could have been numbered on the fingers of one hand - I don't know whether they've all been locked in their rooms to protect them from being leered at by me, but there just were almost no boys out and about. Until the last bus I caught, early this evening, bringing me back to the area I work in. I joined the bus at its origin, and at the same stop, a family, two parents, a young girl and two boys also got on. The older boy, 13/14-ish, was pleasant enough looking, but his brother, a year or two younger, was something else. They turned out to be Finnish, ironically given my daughter's recent trip to their homeland, and the Nordic stereotype was much in evidence with both boys, but particularly the younger - blond hair, blue eyes, delicious all over, basically. I must admit, as I sat two or three rows of seats back from him on the top deck of the bus, to having done something even I don't normally do, as I descended into quite vivid fantasies of what I would have liked to do with him, in the vanishingly unlikely event of his being amenable - pretty vile behaviour, really, but no-one's perfect. When they finally got off of the bus, three or four stops before me, I looked down at him on the pavement, for the last time, obviously, and thought 'Have a lovely life, sweetheart'. Better than being ogled by the likes of me, anyway.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B