The view from the pub

At least, it was going to be the view from the pub, but there was a human/technology interface issue. This would, had things gone to plan, have been my first post from my phone, but it refused to give me a 'virtual keyboard' to type the body of the text, after teasing me with a chance to key in the title. So I'm back at the accommodation now, performing on the trusty laptop.
I was in the pub, the same Wetherspoons place I found myself in on Monday, after having meandered around London for a while after I finished work at lunchtime today. And the view from the pub wasn't, in all honesty, all that encouraging. There was a sizable dose of 'why bother?' about my mindset three hours or so ago, after another more or less eye candy free afternoon, underlining the implausibility of my most cherished ambition. The futility of it all was most emphasised by the contrast between the only real cutie I did see today, and a couple of the patrons of the hostelry. I saw two young women, although one in particular was the apotheosis, twenty-ish, who had several males of a similar age buzzing around them as per the proverbial honeypot, towards whom my attitude was one of complete disinterest (academic, I realise, because neither of them would have had the remotest interest in a relic like me). The boy, though, was just on a completely different plane. He was 11/12, the youngest of a group of four, two boys and two girls, the others being around 13 or 14. He cavorted about, bouncing and skipping at the front of the group, doubtless trying to impress the 'ladies'. He was just so lovely, to my eyes, so desirable, leagues ahead of the girls that the 'real' men were chasing in the pub, but all he wanted was to be like the 'bees', attracted by the meretricious sweetness. Which, I suppose, is as it should be, for him, to fulfil his biological function, to propagate the species. What a waste, though.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B