Washout

As birthdays go, that is. I spent most of the morning asleep, albeit after not sleeping very well last night, but even after I woke up at lunchtime, I didn't have any get up and go at all, and simply stayed indoors. I would have preferred to have gone out, seen the world, looked out for some cuties, maybe had the odd drink or three, but there didn't seem to be doing any of those things, just for the sake of it, when I was still feeling so much below par. I did have a bit of human contact, albeit of the telephonic variety - I had calls from my daughter and my brother, and, slightly more surprisingly, even a text from my ex, wishing me a happy birthday, so it wasn't all bad, and I'm sure I'll catch up on the socialising front at some point. At the moment, though, I'm in the throes of my longest alcohol-free period since 1986 (when I actually gave up drinking, albeit only for six weeks) - I'm just coming to the end of my 17th consecutive 'dry' day. Maybe this spell of ill-health has a silver lining, after all.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Is somebody trying to tell me something?

I found an....unusual e-mail in my 'spam' folder this morning. An advert for a four bedroom apartment - in Ulaanbaatar! I can imagine that one or two people might not want to see me around, but sending me off to Mongolia seems a bit extreme!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Domicile, sweet domicile (v2.0)

Given that I got up this morning feeling as though I had a bit of life about me, I decided to bite the bullet and make my move between rooms. I didn't know whether I'd have the time or energy to get it all done before I had to leave for work, and, in the event, I barely had either, but I did manage it, just about, and I'm now posting live and direct from the room at the end of the corridor. I've still got a minimal amount of tidying up to do in the other room, but that should literally take just minutes, and will be dealt with in the morning, unless something totally unforeseen happens. I wouldn't have gone for the 'brinksmanship' option ordinarily - the plan was to have had all this done last weekend - but my health, or lack of it, has militated otherwise. All that remains now, though, is to settle in, and I'm not anticipating any problems on that front.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Looking for the bright spots

I finally made it back to work yesterday, and, once I was there, it didn't go too badly, although the journey, or, more specifically, the walking to and from the respective stations part of it, was pretty hard work. The pill was sweetened more than a little outside 'worktown' station, though, by the sight of a very cute boy, around 13, slightly Mediterranean looking, olive skin tone, tousled black hair, dark eyes. Of course, after having been sequestered indoors for nearly a week, seeing almost any boy at all would have counted as a bright spot, but to see such a cutie certainly lifted my spirits a bit. Perhaps more encouraging, though, was that I did actually end the day feeling rather better than I have for several days, and it seems that the improvement has survived the night. I've had a few false dawns over the past few weeks in this context, so I'm not making any assumptions, but I am, at least, hopeful.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The middle of the night, revisited

I had an early night. I was feeling pretty tired - I actually fell asleep in the middle of one of my mindless games, which, predictably enough, rapidly reached the 'game over' stage. And I slept fairly well - for all of about three hours. Now here I am again, coming up to 3:00 in the morning, completely unable to get back to sleep. Given that I'm supposedly going back to work for a late shift later on, this isn't an ideal state of affairs. My whole metabolism seems to be completely screwed up at the moment. To say I'm fed up with it is a considerable understatement.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Indecision

This is a bit of an odd one. Not only have I had difficulty deciding what to do, if anything, about this particular issue, I've even been vacillating about whether to blog about it. It's been niggling at me nearly all day, though, and it's got to the stage where I need to get it out of my head, somehow, if I can, writing about it seeming as good a way as any, I guess.
There's a blog I've been following for some time. I read most of the entries, which are pretty regular, but I don't comment very often, perhaps only half a dozen times in total. When I first came across the blog, it seemed to be the product of someone who came across as fun, intelligent and interesting, the sort of person it might be pleasant to be able to meet and get to know in reality. Of late, though, maybe over the past twelve months, but at an accelerating pace more recently, his views seem to have taken a distinct lurch both to the political right - many of his posts seem to almost parrot the sort of thing that appears on a depressingly regular basis in papers like the Mail and the Express, immigrant this, layabout scrounger that, Muslim the other - and, also, seems to have taken on a distinct flavour of utter contempt towards the working class in general. It was this latter trend that has, twice in the past couple of days, has almost led me to making scathing comments on his blog - but I haven't gone through with them. I also, this morning, seriously considered 'unfollowing' the blog, but didn't do that either. I'm sure it would be a matter of complete indifference to the blog owner whether I continue to follow his blog, or not - he doesn't follow my blog, and I've no evidence whatever that he's even looked at it - and, of course, he's completely within his rights to say whatever he likes, within the bounds of the law, on the blog itself, just as I'm perfectly within my rights to read it or not read it, comment or not comment, as I see fit. What I can't quite understand in myself, though, is the sense of inertia, of not doing anything other than feel a degree of frustration and annoyance.
Even now, as I look back at what I've just written, there's a feeling of vagueness, ambivalence, about this issue, and this post. Now I've written it, I guess I'll publish it, but it just seems vapid, indecisive. I'm not used to feeling this way, and it's a slightly uncomfortable experience, for reasons that I can't quite grasp.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Forced moves

Well, I'm going back to work tomorrow, despite the fact that I'm only marginally better, if at all. I don't have a lot of choice, in all honesty, because if I didn't go back, I'd need a sick note from a doctor, and that would prove problematic, given that I'm rather in limbo - entirely due to my own inertia, I'll freely admit - as far as the NHS goes at the moment. I'm on leave next week, so I'll only have to stagger through two shifts before I get another week or so off. I did have some tentative plans for my time off, but, as things stand at the moment, I can't see my doing anything much more than I've been doing this week, trying to rest and recuperate at my accommodation. The only thing I absolutely have to do is to move to my new room, before the end of the month. Even though it's only, as I've said, at the end of the corridor, I'm still not exactly looking forward, in the prevailing circumstances, to the 'humping and dumping' - and I haven't even got any furniture to move. At least I can spread it out, over a day, or even longer, if need be, so I'll doubtless manage. All part of the joys of my single life, or something.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A (very old) new story

I spent a little while perusing the substantial collection of drafts in my Nephelokokkygia post list earlier, one I began getting on for three years ago, and which I've gone back to look at a few times since without making any further progress at all, catching both my eye and my seemingly still operational imagination. It may well end up being my next little project. I've worked on it for a couple of hours this afternoon, and it's probably already twice the length it was. If it comes to fruition, it will be something rather different from my usual fare - it's a sci-fi thing, not too serious overall, but perhaps with a few slightly philosophical overtones. As ever, no promises of quality, or even of completion, but I'll see where it takes me. Outside the atmosphere, probably, maybe even outside the galaxy!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Sick, yet again

Or still, really, because it's all part of the problem that I've been suffering from on and off for the past few weeks. In this instance, I initially rang in sick to work because I had a bad stomach upset, with its concomitantly inordinate amount of time spent in the toilet, but the main underlying issue is still the chest infection, or whatever it is, that I've been struggling with for what seems like ages. I had to take a shopping trip yesterday afternoon, illness notwithstanding, because I literally had nothing in at all, grocery wise, and a walk to the end of the road to the supermarket, and back, which would normally take around forty minutes, took an hour and a quarter, and after which it took me a good half hour to recover to anything like even semi-normality. I felt even worse at one point later in the evening, although, luckily, that was only a passing phase that lasted only a few minutes, and I do feel somewhat better this morning, but I'm still miles below par. I'm still registered with my old GP in Cornwall, unfortunately, so that isn't an immediate option, but I've had a look online this morning, and there seems to be an NHS drop-in place in 'domicile-ville', so I might well have a (very slow) walk up there later on to find out if anyone can see me. I'm utterly fed up of feeling lousy, being a thoroughly impatient patient at any time, and when it drags on like this episode has, it makes matters even worse.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Missing you already, Xander

After the weeks of work on Alexandrine, a little over five weeks, I've just calculated, I'm back at a loose end again, writing wise, after publishing the story yesterday. Back to playing mindless games on the laptop, for the moment, at least. There is one other draft I was making some progress with before Xander and David took over my life, so maybe that will be the next port of call. Probably not today, though. I think I might be suffering from a bit of literary post-natal depression!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The middle of the night

I'm sitting here, at 4:00 in the morning, utterly unable to sleep. Every time I lie down, I start coughing. The whole process of trying to rest seems to be an exercise in futility. Hopefully, at some point, I'll give out in sheer exhaustion, although I seem to have gone past the tired stage, anyway, my body, what little that's left of it that's working properly, at least, maybe thinks that it's now time to get up.
Speaking of futility, one of the byways of cyberspace I've passed down in the last couple of hours referred to the nomenclature that boylovers use to describe themselves, the attempt to find a word or phrase without negative connotations. Pointless, completely pointless. Whatever we call ourselves, the world just sees us as 'paedos', our only acknowledgable goal being self-gratification. A world with no shades of grey whatsoever, you're either 'normal', and on the side of the angels, or you're a predator, a rapist, evil incarnate. The haters have won, as far as I can see. All that remains is for the likes of me to be rounded up and sent to the gas chambers. And the 'normals' will cheer. Until it's their turn to be rounded up for some other infraction of 'normality'. There are times when I have doubts about whether I want to live in a world like this one. Now is most assuredly one of those times.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Presenting....Alexandrine

After all the talk, and a lot of work, my new story is up at Nephelokokkygia. For anyone who has read any of my other stories, and might have found some of the subject matter distasteful, I'd like to say that there's nothing explicit in this story. Is it the best thing I've written? I don't really know myself, yet - it's definitely the longest, by a big margin - but I'm certainly not ashamed of it. I hope at least one or two people might enjoy it.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

It's finished!

My story, that is, all 62000 and change words of it. I've still got to proofread it, and maybe tinker with a few last things, but Xander and David's story is, to all intents and purposes, complete. It should be published, if not tomorrow, then certainly by Sunday. It's been a labour of love, in more ways than one. I hope at least a few people might like it.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

WTF?

I've seen many prejudiced, bigoted, self-serving, illogical and downright stupid arguments against marriage equality over the years, but I don't believe I've ever seen one as imbecilic as this. Mind you, given who said it, I probably shouldn't be surprised.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Moving home

But the shortest move of my life - all of about 15 yards! There was a tap on my door late this afternoon - after I'd got up, luckily, given that I'm still on nights! - and I was handed a letter by one of the admin staff of the place where my accommodation is. It seems that there's going to be some substantial work going on in the building, and my current room is one of those affected, so I'm being shipped out to the end of the corridor. The new room, which I had a look at an hour or so ago, is slightly bigger than my current one, but otherwise similarly equipped, although the downside is that due to it being at the end of the building, it will probably be slightly noisier. I'm sure I'll get used to it, and, of course, there is still the possibility that I won't be here for that much longer, anyway, if the new job comes together - I'm still waiting for news on that front, although, knowing of old the glacial pace of my employer's HR organisation, I'd have been amazed to have heard anything by now.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The equal society

In the wake of the Budget a few weeks back, I saw figures which suggested that millionaires would receive a tax cut of around £42000 a year. Today, the same government, Cameron's 'cabinet of millionaires' who handed such largesse to people who predominantly support them, announced rises in the national minimum wage. For young people aged 18-20, this amounted to a rise of five pence an hour - don't spend it all at once, guys - to the princely sum of £5.03 an hour. By my quick calculation, it would take a young person on the minimum wage 8350 hours a year to earn £42000, which equates to their working 22 hours and 53 minutes a day. Every day of the year. That degree of inequality is so egregious, it's not even wrong. The economics of the trough.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A sham

I have, as documented here, often been reduced to almost inarticulate frustration and annoyance by some of the attitudes and opinions of certain of my work colleagues, but I think something that was said this morning has surpassed all that has gone before on that front, leaving me almost in tears, tears pretty much equally engendered by the need to suppress the urge to choke the living shit out of the person who said it, and by the knowledge that I would be tarred with exactly the same brush if the reasons behind my divorce came to light. There have been aspersions cast in the direction of one of the staff at my workplace, who I very rarely work with myself, because of the way the roster is constructed, to the effect that, in spite of the fact that he's married, for a second time, and has children and grandchildren from his first marriage, that he's actually gay. Having a marriage and children is, of course, no guarantee that a person isn't gay, as I know from direct personal experience, but when someone casually, and pretty brutally, on more or less zero direct evidence, says that the man's marriage is 'a sham', I'm afraid I find that completely unforgivable. I have no idea whatsoever whether my colleague is gay or not, and, in terms of the frustration I felt, it doesn't actually matter. For someone who barely knows the man, beyond a working relationship, to arrogate to himself the 'right' to such an opinion is just disgraceful. The second half of my upset at what was said came about because of the expectation that the same person would judge my marriage 'a sham' as well, something which I would absolutely deny. I loved my ex, genuinely, and did what I did, as I've said before, for genuine reasons. I decided that I wanted to spend my life with her, and honestly thought that, when all was taken into account, that I was doing the right thing at the time. I can admit now, with the benefit of that most useless commodity, hindsight, that I made the wrong decision, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't committed to the marriage, or that it was undertaken for any reason other than love. For someone to imply, albeit through a comment not aimed at me, that my marriage was a sham, simply because I'm gay, is something that I find deeply upsetting and offensive. When some so-called 'normal' marriages can be measured in hours rather than years, the fact that I loved and cared for, and was faithful to, one person for twenty years gives the lie to that implication, as far as I'm concerned. This isn't the most fluent post I've ever written, I know, so maybe some of the inarticulacy I felt this morning is still there. It is from the heart, though.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

However you dress it up....

....it's an attempt at political censorship of the broadcast media, in my opinion. I'm referring to the pressure that is being applied to the BBC to not play Ding, Dong, The Witch is Dead on the radio in the wake of Thatcher's demise, despite there being speculation that it might make number one in the charts this weekend. Needless to say, the most obvious frothing at the mouth has come from the 'raving right' tabloids like the Express and the Mail, who worshipped the very ground that vile woman walked on during her time in power, and who have led the rush to the hagiographic bandwagon since her death, but they seem to have conveniently forgotten that her reputation as a 'conviction politician', notorious for dogmatically following her version of the truth without compromise, works both ways, that people have equally strong negative opinions about her works and her legacy, and are both prepared, and entitled, in my view, to express those views. The instant surge in popularity of the song is evidence of how many people virulently disliked Thatcher, and the forces of reaction don't like having that brought to light, it seems. And that's before we get into the vast expense to the taxpayer of the forthcoming 'state funeral in all but name' that will take place next week. The only saving grace on that front is that I'll be on nights, and, hopefully, able to sleep through the whole benighted affair. I hope they've got the stake ready, just to make sure she doesn't rise from the grave.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A visit, and the end of a visit

I've undertaken a nine-hour round trip today, despite still being a long way from my best, to spend an hour at the location of the job I've applied for. One of the reasons I was given for having been passed over for the job the last time it was advertised (although the real reason was something completely different, as I found out subsequently) was that I didn't make such a visit, so I was determined to dot the i's and cross the t's this time around. I knew the two guys who were on duty, and we basically just chatted for an hour, because there was no sign of any of the local management, even though they knew I was planning to be there today. I did hear a list of the other known applicants, and, as I expected, none of them has anywhere near the experience I do, but, then again, neither did the person who got the job last time. As I said as I was leaving, all I can do is to give it my best shot, and they'll either give me the job, or give it to someone else.
The outbound journey marked the end of a visit, too, as my daughter travelled with me on her way back home. Even though we didn't do anything that much out of the ordinary, especially over the past couple of days, the long weekend together was still thoroughly enjoyable, for, I hope, both of us. If I don't get this job back at 'home', there is still the possibility of my daughter coming this way to do her A-Levels and higher education, so, one way or the other, we could end up living under the same roof again at some point. That would certainly be something that I would both enjoy, and that would give me a sense of direction in what is still a rather rudderless lifestyle. Time, as ever, will tell.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Not going out

That has summed up the past two days of my daughter's visit - we've had a couple of very lazy days, hardly leaving my accommodation, and not leaving 'domicile-ville' at all. Not, I have to say, an entirely bad thing, because part of what I wanted to achieve this weekend was to recharge a little, and being able to do it in, for me, the most congenial of company, has helped considerably. I've added another pretty substantial chunk to my ever burgeoning story, too - I thought I might have reached an impasse this morning, but soon found a way to progress. Oddly enough, when we did finally drag ourselves into the outside world today, in mid-afternoon, to indulge in a late lunch/early tea in the local Wetherspoons, I saw a little blond cutie who was quite close to my mental picture of Xander, or, at least, how he might have looked at 9 or 10. Yet another example of the story taking over my life, it seems!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Tragic? Not in my book

I first heard on the 1:00 news this afternoon of the death of Margaret Thatcher. There quickly followed a stream of tributes, from both former allies and adversaries, 'a towering political figure', 'a great Briton', 'the greatest peacetime prime minister' amongst the hyperbole, and how her demise is a huge loss, a tragedy for the nation. Well, not as far as I'm concerned. There is no public figure, none at all, in my lifetime that I have loathed more than Thatcher, the vile petit bourgeois snob who detested the working class people from whom I came, effectively gave away billions and billions of pounds worth of national assets, most ultimately paid for by the taxes of those very working people she so despised, to her political friends and allies, destroyed whole industries, decimated communities, trashed the lives of families and individuals with her dogma. And who, on a personal level, I'm totally convinced, was completely culpable in the early death, at 59, of my father, an honest, hard-working man who had the misfortune to work in an industry, coal mining, which became the front line of Thatcher's class war, and who died, ultimately, from a heart attack brought on by stress engendered as a result of the 1984/1985 UK miners' strike. I'm not, by nature, a vindictive person, but I wouldn't shed a single tear if I'd heard that Thatcher died in the same kind of pain and suffering that my father did. My only regret, as far as that woman is concerned, is that she didn't die 35 years earlier, before getting her filthy hands on the levers of power, and causing more damage to this country than anyone else in the twentieth century, and beyond, as her legacy is still part of much modern day Conservativism, as with the current spate of more or less overt destruction of the welfare system and the NHS. 'We shall not see her like again'. Let's fucking hope not.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

How much?!

My daughter asked me last night how many words I'd written in my latest story up to now. I told her I hadn't a clue, although, as I've said before, I already knew it was my longest to date, and still well short of being finished. So I copied and pasted the text to my word processing program, to use the 'word count' tool there. To say that I was gobsmacked is a bit of an understatement - the figure that was thrown back at me was 43189! As I posted recently, I was aware that Xander and David were taking over my life, but the extent to which that is the case is well illustrated by that word count. There's a big difference between quantity and quality, I'm well aware of that, but it certainly seems that my little love story isn't so little anymore!
My daughter went off to an impromptu YouTuber 'gathering' in London for much of yesterday - she didn't find out about it until she saw a reference to it on Twitter at 10:00 yesterday morning, so her being up here with me was serendipitous, because it gave her the chance to catch up with some people she already knew, and to meet one or two more she'd only previously been in touch with online, so she was happy with her day. I just meandered, helped by the fact that I was feeling somewhat better than I had on Friday. That, in turn, had more than a little to do with the weather finally seeming to become a little milder, something which is forecast to continue over the weekend and into the beginning of next week - losing the cold air which has plagued us for weeks might finally allow my chest to recover to something closer to normal. I certainly hope so - I'm thoroughly fed up with feeling lousy all the time.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Hamstrung

The first day, or half day, of my daughter's visit, was a bit of a mixed bag. I met her as arranged at lunchtime yesterday, and we went off for something to eat in Camden, which is an area of London that appeals to her slightly 'bohemian' side. We then went on to do a bit of meandering - she's almost as fond of watching the world go by from the top deck of buses as I am - but, as the afternoon progressed, I began feeling pretty rotten again, culminating in the walk back from 'domicile-ville' station being a thoroughly tortuous affair, taking more than twice as long as it normally would. Apart from feeling lousy, it made me feel guilty as well - a lively 15 year old shouldn't be saddled with a run-down old ruin of a father, at the end of the day. She's still asleep at the moment, but we'll probably have another go at venturing into the big city later - I just hope I'm not such a millstone as I was yesterday.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Break time

Having finished my week of late shifts just under two hours ago, I'm now embarking on a six day long weekend, and a very welcome one it will be, as well. The aftermath of my recent chest infection - I still seem to be coughing half my life away, although things are slowly improving - has left me feeling thoroughly washed out, and in need of recharging my batteries, which hopefully will come about in the next few days. The best aspect of the break, though, is that my daughter will be spending it with me - I'm meeting her at Paddington at lunchtime tomorrow. This next six days will be the longest time we will have been together for almost a year, since the last full week off I spent in our former home in the middle of April last year. To say I'm looking forward to it is a considerable understatement.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Sometimes I feel like screaming

Or crying. Not that I'm particularly having a week of 'song title post titles', but this one seemed appropriate. There are times when some of my work colleagues reduce me to almost inarticulate frustration. Yesterday evening was a case in point. There was discussion of, and hilarity over, some porn video someone had found online, which 'featured', if that's the right word, a woman having her head pushed into a toilet which was then flushed, during sex. These are the same people who, day after day, trot out 'gay' this and 'faggot' that, 'paedo' this, and 'kiddie-fiddler' that, and who would almost undoubtedly want to take me out into the car park and lynch me if my attractions came to light. Yet thoroughly vile, disrespectful treatment of women, even if it was in a 'staged' scenario, is, seemingly, not only acceptable, but humorous. Hypocrisy doesn't even begin to cover these sort of attitudes.
It wasn't all bad news, though - I had an e-mail from my friend, who was best man at my wedding, about meeting up in the near future, following on from my finally getting around to contacting him a few weeks back. He was working overseas at the time, but he's back in the UK now, and lives relatively nearby - a direct train journey from here, at least - so I'm hoping we can get together and catch up sometime soon.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Just what I needed

Or not, as the case may be. Two hours, and a little more, with a cute boy a handful of paces away from me. He's the son of one of my work colleagues, and came in to wait for his dad to finish his shift and travel home with him, after a day trip the boy had been on. It's not the first time I've seen him, either - he visited in similar circumstances just under a year ago, while my blog was in abeyance. He's 13, looks a little younger, is all boy, full of fun, and, while not stunningly good-looking - he's got a very unflattering short haircut that doesn't suit him at all at the moment, in contrast to the much more becoming boyish mop he sported last year - he's more than attractive enough to hold my attention almost to the point of being obvious. It's bad enough having to bite my tongue on a more or less daily basis in the face of the kneejerk garbage that some of my colleagues spout, without having a living, breathing landmine in the building, just so I can out myself inanely. To say I had mixed feelings when he left was an understatement - I could have looked at him all night, but not having him to look at perhaps saved me from myself. The 'joys' of being a boylover. Or something.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B