Good riddance

In the next few hours, UK time, 2012 will come to an end. Unless something completely unforeseen intervenes, I'll make it to the end of the year - which I'll be spending at work, appropriately enough, I suppose, given the amount of time I've spent there in the past 12 months - something which hasn't seemed to be guaranteed, or even probable, at various periods through its course. And, for all that I'm more than a little dubious about my prospects in 2013, as I said in my last post, I'll still be thoroughly glad to see the back of what has undoubtedly been the worst year of my life. I began 2012 in Cornwall, in a house which I owned, albeit precariously, in common with one other, with a family and its associated domestic life, possessions of one kind and another accumulated over the years, even a cat grudgingly acquiescing to my sharing her space. Now it's all gone, the house, virtually all of the possessions, life in Cornwall, my family, my marriage, even the poor bloody cat, leaving me in this single rented room in Surrey, with little but painful, regretful memories. And for what? I'm as far away as ever from the sort of connection I referred to in my post on this equivalent day of last year, or even of seeing how such a connection could ever come about in this current iteration of 'society'. Lose everything, gain nothing, yeah, good one, Sammy.
Whether or not 2013 is better, or even happens in any long-term way, for me, remains to be seen. I hope very much, though, that 2013 is a good year for everyone kind enough to visit here, and that things go to your individual and collective best advantage. Happy New Year to you all.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

I don't know if I want to do 2013

That says it all, really. It came out in conversation with my daughter about 24 hours ago, and while it wasn't necessarily something she wanted to hear, and certainly wasn't said with any deliberate intention of upsetting her, she understood what I meant. Now that she's headed back to Cornwall, the feeling has, if anything, intensified. The pointlessness of my 'new life' is something I just can't shake off, the sense of simply going through the motions. I wrote a while back about having to be able to justify yourself and your situation to yourself, to be able to function in any meaningful way, and that justification really isn't there, at least at the moment. The blankness of the view to the horizon, the oppressive all-pervasiveness of that most terrifying of words, 'never', is becoming very difficult to deal with.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Dissolution

Arriving back at base at 10:00 this evening, after a good trip to London with my daughter, interesting visits to the Science Museum and the Wellcome Collection interspersed with meanderings around the big city by bus, and punctuated with plenty of laughter, I was met by a letter. The final nail in the coffin, as it were, the notification that as of yesterday, my marriage was formally dissolved. Not that I wasn't expecting that last piece in the process which began on February 29, but it certainly took the lustre off of what had been a thoroughly enjoyable day to that point.
So, there it is. I'm officially on my own again, although, realistically, I was before that fateful phone call had even ended. And, needless to say, given that what I want is as close to unobtainable as makes no difference, that means I'm on my own permanently. I've seen what settling for second best means, and I've absolutely no interest in going there again.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Crimes against humanity?

So, a Roman Catholic archbishop thinks gay rights are crimes against humanity, seemingly. That anyone associated with that appalling organisation, with even a shred of conscience, could make any accusation of such crimes, given their own vile record, from the Albigensian Crusade - 'Kill them all, God will know his own' - via the Spanish Inquisition to the support of the Third Reich, amongst myriad others, is hypocrisy of breathtaking proportions. I would venture to suggest that the Catholic Church has directly caused, or indirectly facilitated, the deaths of more human beings than almost any other organisation in world history, and that's aside from the pernicious effects of its teachings in exacerbating ignorance and poverty to this day. The whole rotten edifice should be abolished and outlawed, as far as I'm concerned.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Christmas starts here

Christmas, that is, in any sense of doing the family type of stuff that most people seem to find one of the more significant parts of the festive season. My daughter arrived at 2:30 this afternoon, and, perhaps more than at any time in all of the upheavals of 2012, I was delighted to see her. My manager, at work this morning, asked if I'd had a good Christmas, and, in the interests of honesty, I had to say, no, not really, because I hadn't. Now my girl is here, though, things have begun to look up - we went for a late pub lunch, enlivened by our customary repartee, compared cyberspace notes, and generally had a nice time. Tomorrow will be a 'trip to the big city' day, with museums and possibly shopping on the agenda, although Saturday will only be a semi-together day, because my daughter is going to another of her YouTubers' gatherings, but anything is better than nothing, as far as I'm concerned. During our post-lunch chat, I got a bit emotional, telling my girl she was pretty much all that was left for me amongst the wreckage of my life, but, in all honesty, that's not too far from the truth, so visits like the current one are to be treasured. After all, who knows how many more times like this there might be?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

'Tis the season to be....

....bigoted and stupid, apparently. It's as predictable as anything could be that the Catholic Church, in the shape of the Archbishop of Westminster, should use his Christmas sermon for a spot of 'gay-bashing' - after all, his benighted organisation need plenty of good Catholic boys and girls to be born, so that they can grow up to give their hard-earned pay to subsidise his lifestyle and that of his cohorts - but when a High Court judge weighs in as well (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-20842884), it strikes me as more than a little worrying. I really think that the authorities should consider his suitability for the role, because, apart from the fact that he's using his unelected position to try and subvert the democratic process, I don't think that I, or any other LGBT person, appearing in his court, would be unjustified in doubting his credentials as an impartial arbiter of the law, given his apparent contempt for our equality.
Meanwhile, on the stupidity front, I heard a mealy-mouthed spokeswoman for the Countryside Alliance on the radio, opining about how disgraceful it was that hunting with hounds is still illegal - despite, that is, of the fact that around 80% of the population support the ban - and how the law should be repealed forthwith. Well, how about this for a suggestion, Mrs Countryside Alliance - if you think being pursued across country by a pack of half-starved dogs, to be torn limb from limb when you finally collapse in terrified exhaustion, is such fun, why don't you volunteer to take the fox's place? No, I thought not. Wilde, a century and more ago, had it right when he described foxhunting as 'the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable'.

Love & best wishes to all
 Sammy B

So....

....here I am, in 'domicile-ville', on my own on Christmas Day. Although I worked away over a couple of Christmases seven or eight years ago, when I was working in Berkshire, and was thus away from my family, this is the first time, in my whole life, that I haven't had a 'home' that I knew I could return to, if not on Christmas Day itself, then a day or two later. I could have gone to my brother's, of course, and I'm very grateful for his kind offer, but had I done so, I would've been in his home, not my own, in the sense of either parental or familial homes. How do I feel? Not as upset as I thought I would, really. I'm not quite sure why - maybe it's because I know my daughter will be here in less than 48 hours (weather permitting - it was horribly wet this morning, although less so now, and any continuation of that kind of weather might screw up her travel options on Thursday), maybe because, although I'm far from drunk, I have had enough alcohol to numb the sense of loss a little, maybe because I've got some nice food to look forward to, even if I'm only cooking myself, for myself. Maybe, even, I might be coming to terms with my new situation. Things will never be the same again, but different, even if worse, doesn't have to be the end of the world. Or, maybe, it's the calm before the storm, and it will all hit me like a tidal wave later. Who knows?
Notwithstanding my issues, I hope all of you out there are having/have had a lovely Christmas. Enjoy!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Compliments of the season

Nearly there now, at least for us Brits, so I'd like to wish all of my readers, and particularly my followers, a very merry Christmas. I hope you all have a great time!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Persecution, it's persecution!

I try not to be judgmental about people, I really do. I don't always succeed, because I freely admit that there is a quite a broad streak of the 'not suffering fools gladly' syndrome in my personality. There are times, though, when it's difficult to avoid. Having been on earlies today, I decided to begin the Christmas festivities, such as they are, in my 'London local'. I'd only been in the pub for about twenty minutes when a family group descended on the table next to mine, a couple in their early twenties with three young children, a girl of around seven, a three or four year old boy and a baby. Here comes the prejudicial bit, I guess. They were chavs. No doubt. Poor white trash, in US speak. The kids ran riot, the adults couldn't have cared less, it appeared. What really got under my skin, though, was hearing the father talking to a friend who'd appeared. About how he 'never bought a ticket on the train', but had been caught by ticket inspectors the past two days. And talking about it in in such a way as to clearly illustrate that, in consequence, he saw himself as a victim. 'Why should I pay?', that's obviously only for mugs. Yeah, the mugs subsidising parasites like you, you arsehole. The capitalist system is very far from being perfect, but, if everyone took his attitude, the whole economic basis of society would collapse, and tribal anarchy would doubtless ensue. If you want stuff, be it a train ride or a Ferrari, be prepared to work and pay for it. The whole system falls to bits otherwise.

Love & best wishes to all
 Sammy B

A cultural mixed metaphor, probably

Having finished today's (admittedly very straightforward) shift at work an hour or so ago, I'm awarding myself a couple of beers before braving the madness of the supermarket to complete my Christmas grocery shopping. The shop, and thus the pub I'm in, are situated in what is seen as an upmarket South West London suburb, five miles or so from where I work, but on the way back to 'base', very much 'middle class and upwards' territory. And, inspired by a post I've recently been perusing on a new blog from an old friend, I've been listening to some music on YouTube that's about as far from the tastes of the 'blue rinse set' prevalent around here as could be imagined, namely Extreme Noise Terror. When, a few months back, I induced one of my work colleagues to listen to one of their tracks, his immediate reaction was 'that's just a fucking noise'. Yeah, but a what an exciting noise!

Love & best wishes
 Sammy B

There's no point

I was going to write a post about another session of throwaway bigotry by some of my work colleagues this afternoon, a deluge of opprobrium that, not for the first time, I felt I ought to be countering, fighting my corner, giving my side of the argument. But, realistically, what would it change? If they knew about the 'real' me, all I would face would be unadulterated hatred, for no gain. In their eyes, I would just be a 'paedo', the lowest of the low. No matter that I've lived my life for so long in such a way as to avoid causing harm, I would simply be condemned, as per the demise of my marriage, for what I am, rather than anything I've done. So I sit in silence, tears of frustration close behind my eyes, listening to the vilification, day in, day out. Sartre was right, hell is other people - some of them, at least.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

End of the world news - December 22 update

Well, to the surprise, I would guess, of very few, we in GMT-land have got through the day of supposed Armageddon without any undue alarms, and the world seems to be continuing unabated. Just to prove that nothing much has changed, pretty much the last thing that happened to me on December 21 was having my pint stolen while I was in the toilet. Yes, the world is still full of arseholes. Business as usual.

Love & best wishes to all
 Sammy B

Falling apart in public

Well, nearly, anyway. I've found myself, as it were, in my 'London local' this evening after finishing on a long break at work. They have the BBC News channel playing on the various televisions around the bar, albeit with the sound turned down, and one of the main stories has been 'Sandy Hook one week on'. Anyone who has read my blog in recent days will know that I've been quite emotional, from time to time, about what happened, as much in anger as in distress, given some of the attitudes and opinions expressed by religionists and gun lobbyists in the aftermath. It happened, though, this evening, that I was talking to my daughter while a montage of photos of some of the young victims, and the perpetrator, was shown as part of the report. Whether it was because my parental instincts were piqued, I don't know, but I found myself, abruptly and unexpectedly, on the verge of a tearful meltdown. With a little help from my girl, I just about kept it together, but it was a close-run thing. Sometimes, things happen that really get under the skin. Last Friday's horror in Connecticut is undoubtedly one of those things.

Love & best wishes to all
 Sammy B

Me, thirty years ago

I'm in Wetherspoons in 'domicile-ville', and I've just seen someone who reminds me so much of my younger self. He was around 20, tall, but substantially overweight. Not otherwise bad looking, though, in conventional terms. He was with a group of friends, chatting to one and then another, drinking his pint pretty quickly while doing so. He smiled, appeared to be enjoying the company, but always seemed to be on the periphery of things. With them, but not of them. How many nights, in my late teens and early twenties, did I find myself in that kind of situation? Being on the edge of things, not feeling included, drinking more than was good for me? More, far more, than I care to remember. Maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see, projecting my issues onto an innocent bystander. I hope so, for his sake - I wouldn't wish my insecurities, past and present, on my worst enemy. Be happier than me, young man. I really mean that.

Love & best wishes to all
 Sammy B

End of the world news

If, as many seem to believe, the world is going to end tomorrow, how is it going to be arranged? If the world is destroyed as soon as any part of the world reaches December 21 (in around four hours time, by my reckoning), I will have been cheated of half of the penultimate day, and those to the left of me on the map cheated of even more. If the destruction happens at the other end of the December 21 spectrum, when the last place in the world leaves that day, it will already be December 22 everywhere else, so that, it seems to me, would have invalidated the prophecy, because December 22 wasn't supposed to have happened. My daughter said last night that she'd read somewhere it was supposed to be happening at 8:21 GMT. I'll await that moment with bated breath. Or not, as the case may be.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Yet another reason to ban it out of hand

Organised religion, that is. We want you to be as stupid as us, and if you won't submit to our stupidity, we'll kill you. And enforce a 'policy' that will inevitably kill or cripple many others into the bargain. Vile and unforgivable.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

It's getting late....

....and I should be heading back to 'domicile-ville'. But for what? It's all getting a bit pointless, again, really.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The 'P'-word

I know I've said it before, somewhere in the history of this blog, but I feel the need to say it again. I hate the word, that pseudo-Greek abomination coined by a 19th century Austrian psychologist, hate everything about it, the way it's become an empty cypher, a generic insult, stripped of any worthwhile shade of meaning, and used by people, 99% of whom have no idea of its correct definition. But, most of all, I hate the way it's used to stifle discussion, even to suppress rational thought, to the point that anyone who so much as questions the received kneejerk reactions is vilified as, at the very least, a fellow-traveller of the predatory, if not culpable themselves.
Paedophile. The sooner it is consigned to the dustbin of history, the better.

Love & best wishes to all
 Sammy B

Moronic

'The only way to stop a madman with a gun is with another gun. The only solution is to arm the teachers.'
A soundbite I've heard on the radio news within the past hour, from the author of this book, referring, needless to say, to the Sandy Hook massacre. My immediate reaction was almost apoplectic anger, I actually said, out loud, 'STFU, you stupid, stupid man!' The only solution? To a country already awash with guns, is to inject even more guns? The only fucking solution? Well how about two immediate - or, at least, immediate once I'd calmed down a bit - flaws in his 'solution'. If I'm a gunman, bursting into a classroom, knowing the teacher is likely to be armed, what do I do? Shoot the teacher first, obviously. I doubt that the teacher would have a cocked and loaded firearm constantly in hand while endeavouring to impart knowledge to their charges. And what about the reaction to the first, and I would say inevitable, incident where a pupil got hold of a teacher's gun and turned it on classmates or the teacher themselves?
Some would doubtless say that I'm an effete, bleeding-heart European liberal who doesn't understand American culture. Mea culpa - I don't understand how an author, who doubtless considers himself part of the 'mainstream' can spout such utter, arrant imbecility. And given the other great American obsession, religion, how about this take on a well-known biblical quotation, attributed to Gandhi:

"An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind."

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B

In his own image

'God created man in his own image', it says in Genesis. Some of the reaction to the Sandy Hook massacre has made me think the quotation should be reversed. When the spokesmen of the religious right claim that God allowed a classroom of children to be killed because of the lack of prayer in schools, it seems to me that man has made God in his image - at least, the image of a certain kind of man, the type who might very well own an assault rifle, puerile, immaturely vindictive, seeing themselves as entitled to respect just because of who they are, rather than what they do. Words can barely express my contempt for these people.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Metropolitan Saturday

Most of today so far has been spent in the big city, revolving around my daughter's doings. She arrived at 'domicile-ville' last night, with no great plans to do anything much beyond some supper and an early (by her standards!) night, because the focus of her visit was what was planned for today. She was due to be meeting some of her internet friends at midday, so, knowing that this morning would be pretty much all the time I was going to be with her this time around, we'd decided to treat ourselves to a nice breakfast. And nice it was, my online research having come across an establishment combining an upmarket butchers' shop with a restaurant where they showcase their merchandise, and where we had their version of 'the full English'. It wasn't cheap, but, as ever, you get what you pay for, and, in this instance, everything was very good quality, even down to the bread they used for the toast. Having thus fortified the inner man - and young lady! - we headed up to 'town'. We were running a bit early, so we took a side trip to a place I'd rediscovered recently, and which I suspected, correctly as it proved, that she'd enjoy - Denmark Street, once London's answer to 'Tin Pan Alley', and still full of music, particularly musical instrument, shops. We spent twenty minutes or so window shopping, my girl drooling over the various guitars and similar on display. We teetered on the brink of buying her a second-hand mandolin, an instrument she'd love to own, but it was eventually put on hold, because it would've been a bit cumbersome, given the rest of her plans for the day, and, indeed, the weekend as a whole.
From there, it was off to Hyde Park for my daughter to attend her 'gathering'. I dropped her off just before 12:00, as she got together with the photographer friend that she'd spent time with in Camden at half term. She met up with some old, and made some new friends in the three hours at her disposal, before I returned to meet her and get her across to Euston in time to catch her train to 'Weekend part 2', a visit to the North Midlands to see a gig with another friend, who she's staying with tonight before heading back to Cornwall tomorrow.
Once we'd gone our separate ways, I'm afraid I've rather reverted to type - I've been in what has become my 'London local', the Wetherspoons nearest but one to where I work, for a while now, and I probably won't be going back to base just yet. I'm back to work tomorrow afternoon, though, so it will be virtue perforce from then until Christmas!

Love & best wishes to all
 Sammy B

How many more?

How many more innocents will have to die before someone in the body politic in the US has the balls to say 'this must never happen again', and enacts some legislation to help to achieve that end? There is no reason at all, in my opinion, for any private citizen in a 21st century, first world democracy to own a firearm that can dispense 100 rounds in a short space of time, as was reported in the Sandy Hook incident today. Even that tired, old justification of 'protecting kith, kin and property' doesn't remotely hold water - who do these people claim is going to burgle their house, the fucking Chinese army? The constitutional right to bear arms is a total anachronism. Anyone who purports to need a weapon, especially a powerful, automatic type, should have to prove it, beyond doubt, before they're allowed to own it, and then only be allowed to do so under the most carefully controlled of conditions. Any gun lobbyist who disagrees should be made to justify their reasons to the parents and siblings of any of the children killed today, and explain to the siblings, in particular, why their brother or sister won't be coming home anymore.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

"I'm a bit distracted at the moment"

A moment of admission in a way, the first time I've actually overtly confessed to being attracted to a specific boy in real time to anyone other than my daughter. My brother had a meeting in London today, so we arranged that I should meet up with him afterwards and head down to his place, where I'm staying overnight. The journey began routinely enough, but at one of the principal stations en route a goodly number of schoolboys joined the train. One of their number, given that the train was pretty busy, ended up standing in the doorway of the carriage, at which point my conversation faltered. Noticeably. My brother didn't actually say anything, but he was aware of the hiatus. Hence my uttering the words in the title of this post. "By the door?" he asked. What could I say? Apart from to tell the truth, of course. He was blond and very good looking, 14 or so, just my thing. My brother took it in his stride, to be fair, for which I'm very grateful, because many would, I suspect, have found it pretty embarrassing, at least, or totally unconscionable, at worst. The boy got off of the train a couple of stops later, and the moment passed, but that didn't change what had happened, and what it had meant. Not quite outing myself, given that he already knew, but confirmation, if any were needed, of who, and what I am.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Shorn

After weeks, if not months of prevarication, I finally did it at lunchtime today. I actually walked into a barber's shop and had my hair cut. Needless to say, it was all pretty painless, over and done in a few minutes, and left me feeling decidedly tidier. Why it took so long for me to bite the bullet and do it, though, is an interesting psychological conundrum - I do have a longstanding dislike, going back to when I was seven or eight years old, of having my hair cut, but it also has something to do with my difficulty in relating to people in situations outside of my 'comfort zone', and of my almost pathological fear of making a fool of myself, or, at least, what I perceive to be a fool of myself. I suppose it all comes down to self-esteem and self-image, and my dealings with those issues have always been rather fraught. Having been the butt of jokes/abuse about my appearance, about being fat, for as long as I can remember, any self-confidence I've ever possessed has always been inextricably linked to my intelligence, and anything that undermines that one 'good point' about me has always been extremely difficult for me to cope with. This will all sound rather deranged to some people, I would imagine, but it's all part of what makes me, me, for good or ill. You readers out there can take me or leave me as you wish, but I can't escape from the shackles of my psyche. Would that I could.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Stay away, stay away! And the passing of an icon

My early shift tomorrow will be my last of the week, needing as I do to use up my handful of remaining annual leave days. I had been waiting for some feedback from my cousin and best friend in Manchester regarding a plan to visit him this week, but, sadly, pressure of work prior to an almost two week Christmas and New Year shutdown at his workplace means that he won't be able to get a day off to carouse with me - hopefully we'll be able to sort something out for a get together next month. While I was on the phone with him, though, there was a rather unexpected 'encounter', lasting a couple of minutes, which has reinforced an earlier feeling on my part, originally engendered by a comment of his which was, probably, meant lightheartedly. His youngest son is now seven, although I haven't seen the boy since he was four. My cousin, on the earlier occasion, when I was supposed to be staying overnight with his family, a visit which fell through due to work commitments on both our parts, said something along the lines of 'You'd better not touch J'. OK, maybe I deserve such reprimands, given my proclivities, but a seven-year old? I don't think even I'm that benighted - or, at least, I didn't, until tonight. Because I spoke to the boy, just for a few minutes, and he reminded me so much of his father, at that age, and a little older, his voice, with the same accent, his confidence in speaking to an adult he barely knows, his wider than average vocabulary suggesting a substantial degree of intelligence, the memory of how pretty he was the last time I saw him, and the promise of how he might well look in the not too distant future, given that he takes after his father in that department too, all combining to suggest to me that I really wouldn't want to get too close to such a potentially perfect little guy. Yeah, of course, I know it's all about self-control and doing the right thing, but not putting myself in the way of temptation seems to me to be a pretty good policy in the circumstances.
The words 'legend' and 'icon' are bandied about pretty loosely these days, but sometimes there is rather more justification for such appellations. Patrick Moore has been a part of the landscape of British life for as long as I can remember, in fact, for longer than I've been alive. I can't imagine how many people, young and old, he encouraged to take an interest in astronomy, and science in general, but it must run into the tens or hundreds of thousands. Having read his autobiography a few years ago, I have to say that some of his political views were pretty unpalatable, from my point of view - he was mixed up in recent years with UKIP, a party of fascists, racists and xenophobes, as far as I'm concerned - but none of that, for me, detracts from his positive contributions to science and the broadcasting of science. A true original, and one that will be sadly missed.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Girls, boys, trains, heartache

Sixteen hours and five minutes it took in the end. My day trip to Plymouth to my daughter's Christmas concert. The actual travelling took over ten hours, the return journey in particular being decidedly tortuous, although that was my fault, up to a point - had I left a quarter of an hour earlier, I'd have been back well over an hour sooner, but I decided to stay with my daughter until the last possible moment. In fact, I was seriously considering staying overnight in Plymouth at one point - I'd found a hotel room online - but the knowledge that I would have had to get up ridiculously early to allow enough time to avoid running the risk of being late for work today eventually put paid to that scheme.
The concert itself was much as expected, lots of seasonally themed music and a few Christmas carols, all performed reasonably competently, including my daughter's little contribution, accompanying a Hawaiian-style song on her ukulele. There were aspects of the event I was uncomfortable with, though - the afternoon performance I attended, while open to parents and family, was more for the school itself, so I was one of only a smattering of adults, surrounded by umpteen 11-18 year old girls. Some would find that kind of thing enjoyable, no doubt, but it wasn't my thing, at all - I felt decidedly out of place. I found myself distinctly annoyed, too, about the overt attempts by the minister of the church where the concert was held to proselytise a captive audience of, largely, children, in his introductory speech - the school has a fair number of pupils from a non-Christian background, apart from anything else, as well as, presumably, more than one atheist parent, so for the 'message' to be pushed quite so shamelessly at what was supposed to be a secular event was something I found distasteful. One or two of the songs got under my skin on a more personal level, too - one in particular, sung as a solo by one of my daughter's friends, on the theme of love, home and family, left me aching inside, and fighting back tears. Amongst other things, it's left me doubtful about whether to take up my brother's invitation to spend Christmas with his family - I can envisage myself having another meltdown on the scale of the one I had when I was down at their place just before my birthday. The contrast between what they have, and what I've lost, might be too much to cope with, and I don't want to spoil their Christmas by moping around like a wet weekend. I'll probably have a chat with my brother over the next few days.
Apart from the obvious pleasure of seeing and spending time with my daughter, there were some other bright spots, mostly involving cute boys. Getting off of the same train as me when I arrived at lunchtime were a group of four boys, ranging in age from 15/16 down to 11/12. The youngest boy, in particular, was an absolute cutie, but I'd have quite happily taken all four of them on, simultaneously if necessary! That seemed to set the tone - apart from my time at the church, with its deluge of girls, my meanderings around the city centre offered plenty of very palatable eye candy, and even on the very last train of the day, at almost midnight, I shared a carriage for ten minutes or so with an older teen, maybe 18 or 19, a guitar case strapped to his back, who was more than a little eye-catching. Not, of course, that he'd have been remotely interested in an old fart like me, even in the unlikely event of his being gay, but still pleasant to observe.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

It's so predictable

And bloody tedious. A dusting of snow, hardly enough to even cover the ground, most of which has now melted, and the rail network descends into chaos. Looks like I'm going to have to set out for work at least half an hour earlier than normal to stand any chance of arriving on time, and tomorrow's trip to see my daughter and her concert might be in jeopardy, too. It's as though we've never had any winter conditions, in the whole history of the country, the way we seem to be completely incapable of dealing with something which, after all, happens virtually every year, and several times many years. No wonder the industry is a national joke, if a rather sick joke. 'The wrong kind of snow'. That's any bloody kind, apparently.
And while we're on the subject of predictability, of an equally tedious kind, the religious right's reaction to the Scouts considering the introduction of a secular oath falls squarely into that category. Let's cling to our unearned privilege, fuelled by worthless mythology, at all costs.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Christmas come early for Cameron & Co

I bet the bunch of fat cat nest-featherers masquerading as our government can hardly believe their luck. A royal baby on the way, to fill the newspapers and act as the opium of the masses for the next seven months or thereabouts, followed by no doubt daily updates on the infant's progress, first tooth, first step, first words, and so ad nauseum. In the meantime the Tories can get on with the serious business of enriching themselves and their vile asset-stripping paymasters at everyone else's expense while most of the rest of the country is distracted, awaiting every update from the Palace with bated breath. Cynical, moi?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Living my life the best I can

I finished work on a long break this evening, and I've taken the opportunity of my early escape to indulge myself with a visit to the pub in 'domicile-ville'. I've just overheard a conversation, between a group of slightly inebriated customers, that has left me more than a little reflective. One of the group was being criticised by one of the others, seemingly about something he'd posted on Facebook. His reply was to say 'I don't need your advice, I'm living my life the best I can'. All well and good, if you remain within the boundaries that society is prepared to tolerate. Once you take the smallest of steps outside those boundaries, though, you're immediately persona non grata, regardless of how good a person you are intrinsically. I guess that I'll appear to merely be feeling sorry for myself again, but I do find it frustrating, to say the least, that I'm likely to be judged by what people assume I will be like, given my attractions, rather than by the way that I actually live my life. Living the best I can isn't good enough for some.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Role model?

One of my work colleagues approached me this evening, not long before the end of the shift. I've been aware for a few weeks that he's going through the breakdown of his own marriage, and he knows - it's fairly common knowledge at work, although no-one, of course, knows the reason why - I've been in the same position in recent months. What threw me, though, was the nature of his request - he wants, seemingly, for me to advise him on how to deal with some aspects of his situation. Me, of all people, the man whose emotional life has been one long car crash since I was 12 or 13 years old, and who, in all honesty, has never got much beyond that age in terms of emotional maturity. It's on a par with asking Vlad the Impaler for advice on the humane treatment of prisoners of war. And it's not even as if I'm particularly good friends with him - we get along adequately, but I don't see him as anything other than a colleague, and I had no expectation of his attitude towards me being any different. I did make a comment about me not being any sort of a role model, but it didn't seem to deter him. I'm going to be working with him for most of the week, it seems, and it's not a prospect I'm particularly looking forward to, now. I suppose I'll just have to make it up as I go along, and hope I don't say anything that does more harm than good - and that I don't contrive to out myself.
There is a little unexpected light on the horizon, though - it looks like I'll be able to get down to Plymouth to see my daughter play her ukulele as part of her school's Christmas concert on Thursday afternoon, She originally told me it was on Tuesday, but she turned out to be mistaken - luckily, because Thursday is my only day off this week. I should be able to spend a couple of hours with her after the event, as well, so it's a definite win-win.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B