Around 6:00 this morning, getting towards the end of my shift, I was struggling to stop myself giggling out loud. There I was, sitting less than 10 feet from the person who I bit back at the other week about physical punishment of children, his advocacy of which tells much about his attitudes in general, reading chapters 20 & 21 of The Moralist. Again without wishing to give too much away about the book, in case anyone is inclined to read it for themselves, there were passages in which, to turn the old adage inside out, a few words painted a thousand pictures in my mind, pictures of delirious, gooey fantasy. Lovely boys in my head, in the midst of the kneejerk bigots. Whatever else the hatred of the world can take away, it can't take the contents of those couple of pounds of grey stuff between your ears. I was left feeling almost ridiculously optimistic - I know it's fiction, but it made me feel that a man of my age and a boy could find a way to come together in the real world, it's just a matter of being in the right place at the right time with the right person. It's just a change of perspective, of emphasis - the glass half empty desperation of 'surely there must be someone for me' transformed to the glass half full 'there is someone for me, I just haven't found him - yet'.
Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B
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