House hunting

Only the online version, as yet, but I've spent a fair amount of time in recent days looking at what's on the market at the moment, with most of my attention focused on areas close to, or easily accessible from, 'worktown'. I know I've talked a lot about moving back to Cornwall (and one place I saw on a website this afternoon, in Looe, with views over the estuary and the sea had me wanting to jump on the next westbound train!), and if there was only me to consider, I'd probably already have done it, but there's my daughter, too. We had a longish chat on Sunday, and she's still keen on the idea of moving to the London area, for her further education, at least, so it wouldn't exactly be the brightest idea for me to head west more or less as she's looking to head east. There are also the financial implications of her university career, if that's what she chooses to do, and it certainly is what she wants to do at the moment, and there's no doubt at all that I can earn far more money by staying where I am, allowing me to be in a position to help her along the way until she graduates and can go on to being fully independent. She's coming up in a fortnight's time for a few days, and although I've got to work part of the time she'll be here, aside from the activities she's got planned for her visit, we should get a chance to discuss scenarios in more detail, which, in turn, will hopefully put me in a better position to make a decision about what's best for me to do in the medium term. As I've said before, I've been drifting more than a little over the past year or so, and the idea of having a definite 'plan', a specific direction to head in, is long overdue.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Invitation renewed

Almost a year ago, I added 'An invitation to a discussion' to the sidebar of this blog, hoping to initiate some dialogue around the subject that is one of the main raisons d'être for my being in Blogland at all. The page I posted has had almost 300 views in that time, but, unfortunately, no-one has yet taken up the invitation to discuss the issues involved. I'm well aware that it's a difficult and controversial area to talk about - after all, I live with it, every day of my life - so I'm quite prepared for a far greater likelihood of criticism than approbation, and I have no objection to anyone who so wishes to remain anonymous. All I would ask for is for any responses (by blog comment or e-mail) to be couched civilly, because I'm looking to generate light, not heat, to try to explain, from my perspective, what it's like to live as a boylover in today's society, and to hear the opinions of others. I ended the original post with 'I hope to hear from you soon', and that sentiment still applies.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The sun rose today....

....and meanwhile, in related news, the words 'paedophile' and 'rapist' appeared in exact juxtaposition on a rationalist website. Again. In a post about the lack of logic in some people's approach to commenting on points of opinion. I'd discuss the irony, if it wasn't for the fact I know it's a complete and utter waste of my time and energy. Everyone 'knows', of course, that anyone attracted to a person of 15 years 364 days or younger can only be prevented from raping the object of their desire by being thrown into an oubliette without hope of release, because they are 'obviously' devoid of the smallest hint of self-control or morality. Further thought processes not required.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Slipping away

Today has been a bit of a write-off, really, being one of my double shift Sundays, earlies this morning, to be followed by the night shift I'm in the throes of preparing for now. Then it will be nights all week, which basically means putting my life on hold until next Sunday morning. Work is a necessary evil, to a point, to provide the wherewithal to live, but having not done too much of either working or living for the past couple of months, for reasons well-documented here, weeks like the one I'm just embarking on can't help but make me think that my ever-decreasing stock of future days is being frittered away, my time wasted. OK, I could, in theory, live for another fifty years, but I doubt that my health and lifestyle is likely to facilitate that, and, in any case, the prospect of old age and senescence isn't an alluring one. After all I've lost in the past year and a half, one of the few remaining substantive assets I've got left is my occupational pension, why bother adding a few more percentage points of value to it if I'm too old - or too dead - to enjoy the proceeds? Call me selfish, but the attraction of a year or three of self-indulgence, of 'me time', is strong.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A good way to start the day

I've just found, through the comments on a blog I've followed for a while, what looks like a fun website. Not unique, I'm sure, but what I've read so far certainly appeals to my sense of humour (yes, I do have one, albeit that it sometimes get lost under piles of angst and obsessive navel-gazing!). I wouldn't be surprised if it becomes a regular stopping off point on my cyberspace meanderings.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

OK, so why bother?

What's the point of self-control, of 'morality'? I've been thinking about that question for the few minutes since I published the previous post. If 'they', society and its commentators, hate me, even beyond the grave, whether I restrain myself or not, why shouldn't I just go out and inveigle my way into some boy's acquaintance, why not even resort to coercion, physical or emotional, to get what I want? There was a cute little guy standing next to me on a busy tube train earlier on, slightly separated from his mother and siblings by the rush hour throng, who I might well have been able to abstract from the train almost without anyone noticing immediately, had I been of that turn of mind. So why not do it? Several reasons, some selfish, some more altruistic. There's the obvious fear of consequences - having a brother who used to be a senior prison officer, I've had the 'inside track' on how appalling, dehumanising, prison is for anyone, without the extra layers of opprobrium a sex offender has to face. There's the question of living with myself - my self-image is already poor enough, before adding in any more self-hatred, any more failure, along with the allied issue of needing to employ such expedients because there's no-one who would choose to be with me. Then there are the aspects mediated by 'morals' - the damage, physical and psychological, to an innocent party that could be inflicted by a non-consensual contact, the knowledge that such damage could affect someone for their whole life, could even affect future generations if it led to the victim having a dysfunctional relationship with their own children, ripple after ripple in the pond of the future. And, most of all, because I never, never want to hurt anyone else in any way I can conceivably avoid. Some, many, might find that last statement implausible, coming from a boylover, but, as far as I'm concerned, it's the truth. And the underpinning philosophy of the way I try to live my life, even in the face of all that hatred.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

There's no escape except death....

....and even then;

Even when dead, a paedophile's grave should be spat on

I've just read that delightful sentiment on a supposedly sceptical, rationalist blog. No qualification about how the 'paedophile' might have lived their life, no cognisance of self-control, just hatred for evermore. And still they call it a choice.

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B 

Chillin' - sort of

Well, here we are again, live and direct from 'worktown' Wetherspoons, as I ease my way into what passes for my weekend - I finished work at lunchtime today, and I'm not performing again until Sunday morning. I've spent the afternoon doing a bit of meandering, on a largely vain hunt for eye candy, and I'm now, yet again, sticking two fingers up at the rat poison clinic by having more than the one beer I'm supposed to restrict myself to. For all my disinterest in their strictures, though, my latest blood test results have me exactly on their target blood clotting quotient, so I can't be doing that much wrong.
Speaking of disinterest, having expressed how underwhelmed I was by all the royal baby blah earlier in the week, I was mildly intrigued by the 'name game'. For reasons that had little to do with anything except hope, I had a feeling that the parents might have nodded towards the 21st century by choosing a non-traditional name, and Alexander was the name closest to the forefront of my mind. In the event, they went for the safe, stodgy option, but the little guy did get my choice as a middle name. Prince Xander would have had a nice ring to it, in my opinion - but then I would say that, wouldn't I?! And yes, I am in the middle of reading my story (yet) again!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Time to move?

The work that's been ongoing at my accommodation over the past few weeks appears to be almost finished - the temporary blocking door across the main corridor was removed yesterday, so, predictably enough, I've been to have a look at what's been done. My old room's door was left open last night, so I stuck my nose around the corner to see the new version. It's sprouted a large, impressive looking en-suite shower room and toilet, but the actual floor space of the room, the 'living area', so to speak, is exactly the same as it was before. I don't know what the management's plans are, whether my 'new' room is going to be involved in another phase of work, but if I'm offered my old room back, I suspect, given the added facilities, it will come at a substantially higher price. If that's the case, and leaving aside the possibility of my getting a job nearer home, the difference in the cost of living here as opposed to somewhere much nearer my current workplace will be reduced, possibly to almost nothing. Given my near two hour round trip commute each working day, allied to the fact that I've got no attachment whatsoever to 'domicile-ville', any equalisation of price will make living in London, especially the parts of South West London reasonably close to where I work, much more attractive. Or, alternatively, I could just throw the whole thing in, take early retirement, and move back to Cornwall irrespective of whether I get a job with my current employer or not. One way or another, I get the feeling that my time in this accommodation might be heading towards its end.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Not everyone

I saw a few minutes of the BBC news when I was on my break at work this morning, amongst which was a headline graphic quoting David Cameron as saying that 'everyone's excited' about the impending arrival of the royal baby. Sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I'm not excited at all - in fact, I'm pathologically disinterested. I've got absolutely nothing against the royal family - in fact, I think the monarchy is a good idea, if only because of the tourist revenue it generates - and I certainly wish the Duchess of Cambridge and her offspring no harm, but for Cameron, it's just a welcome distraction from the mess he and his cohorts are making of running the country. Politicians - hate them or loathe them, you can't possibly like them! (With apologies to Douglas Adams for shamelessly stealing a HHGttG line!)

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Free

What does it mean to be free? Different things to different people, I guess. Some basic freedoms are essential to everyone, if they're to have anything resembling a life worth living, freedom from hunger and thirst, freedom from ill health, freedom from the fear of sudden death, whether by way of natural or man-made disasters. Then there are 'political' freedoms, as it were, freedom of thought, freedom of speech, of conscience, of religion, or the lack of a religion, not vital to staying alive, but all contributory to enhancing the quality of life. But where does an individual stand, even if those basic and political freedoms are in place, if they're still not free to be themselves? If what you are and what you want are so completely anathematised by society, so that you have to spend your whole life hiding, pretending, denying, fearful that an unguarded word or a stray glance will betray you, what kind of freedom is that? 'Man is born free, but is everywhere in chains', Rousseau wrote, but what happens if the innate means that you are already in inescapable chains? Only being free to be what society will allow is no freedom at all. But there's no hope of reprieve, of parole. This captivity, of being who you are, is forever. Free to conform, or to die. Thanks a lot.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Madrugada

There are certain concepts, and even objects, which the English language, for all its richness, doesn't have a word for. One I think I've probably mentioned somewhere before, is the type of pull-down seat you sometimes find on trains or buses. There isn't a specific English word for such a seat, as far as I know, but there is one in French - strapontin - a word I find myself using occasionally, usually to the complete mystification of anyone I happen to be with. Another 'missing' word in English is one to specify the small, dark hours of the morning, which the Spanish call madrugada. The lack of an equivalent word came to my mind earlier this morning, when I was awake for an hour or so either side of 3:00, during which time I wrote the little thing that has appeared in Nephelokokkygia - it wasn't edited at all, and doesn't quite scan, but it's as near to poetry as I could manage at that time of day. It was inspired, if that's the right word, by the way my relationship with my daughter seems to be going at the moment - I'm finding it pretty hard to get in touch with her, as absorbed as she is with her romantic attachment, and, when we do speak, I'm definitely feeling a sense of distancing, of her moving away from the closeness we've had for most of her life. That's a natural, and good, thing, the child breaking away from the parent and establishing their own independent place in the world, but, given my lack of any other focus in my life, it's more difficult for me to come to terms with than might otherwise be the case. It seems to be a reprise of the process whereby my ex drifted away from me as soon as she found out she was pregnant - I'd been close to the centre of her life before that, for those first few years of our relationship, as she'd been utterly at the centre of mine, but once our daughter had been conceived, never mind born, the focus changed to 'her baby'. Ironically, in a way, it was the beginning of the end of our marriage - maybe many would see my need to be loved as much as I loved another as selfish, but I found it very hard to accept. Now it's happening again - my daughter became the centre of my universe as my relationship with my ex deteriorated, but I'm most assuredly not the centre of hers, and nor should I be, of course. Again, maybe it's pure selfishness, but I can't help feeling I'm going to be left with nothing, or, more to the point, no-one at all. It's a function of the bad decisions I've made in my life, I suppose, so there's only me to blame, but that doesn't necessarily make the experience any easier to cope with.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The good, the bad....

....and the anything but ugly! And a fairly unusual specimen of the genre, too, from my perspective, because he was almost certainly of legal age, probably with a fair margin to spare. I mention it just so that one or two people who might have an inclination to throw that horrible 'p-word' at me realise that I'm not utterly, irremediably evil.
The good and the bad came earlier on at the hospital - when you walk into the consultant's office, and the first thing he says is 'You're looking well', that has to be a positive, but, on the debit side, he didn't discharge me, as I'd hoped, instead saying he wanted to see me again in three months time, and I also failed in my bid to get off of the rat poison. I could unilaterally stop taking it, but it would go against his advice, shall we say, so it looks like I'll be swallowing Warfarin until at least Christmas. I can hardly restrain my ecstasy.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Fingers crossed

I'll be leaving for work shortly, to set about the first shift actually doing what I'm paid for since May 8. I'm hoping for a reasonably gentle reintroduction, but the hot weather and some of the equipment and infrastructure don't mix too well, so I may be hoping in vain. Oh well - let's see how it goes!

2145 edit: It didn't go too badly, really - the kit largely held together, despite it supposedly being the hottest day of the year so far, and I seemed not to have forgotten everything about the job over the past couple of months. I'm not quite fully back into the routine yet, though - I'm off tomorrow for my follow-up outpatient appointment and chest X-ray with the thoracic consultant and/or his team. More hospital - don't you just love it!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Hook

I'm sorry to stare, but I can't help it. I couldn't explain it to you, because I can't even properly explain it to myself. You look like him, that's all I can say, or, rather, you look like my memory of him, how he looked three or four years ago, when he was your age. Not really like him, maybe a 60% resemblance, but when you looked up, looked straight at me, that's when it hit me. Like being stabbed in the brain, while having those hooks in my heart pulled tight. Why, after all this time, does he still have this hold on me? It's not as if we were even acquaintances, still less anything more, he was just someone who passed by my workplace window. The only time he even said 'hello', on a hot summer day like today, when that window was open, I was too tongue-tied to reply coherently. He'll be 16 now, it's three years, almost exactly, since I last saw him - I can't imagine him as anything other than brain-freezingly gorgeous, as he was for the whole four years that I 'knew' him, but who knows how he's emerged from the puberty he was just entering when I moved on? Not just a boy, but the boy. DBJ.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Adventures

Not that I'm in the throes of one, or expecting to be any time soon, but an adventure, some fun, might be just what I need - going somewhere I haven't been before, doing something I haven't done, meeting someone new who might be on a similar wavelength. I was thoroughly cheesed off with my lot this morning, getting ready to go to the hospital yet again, but I'm feeling a lot more positive now, just at the thought of spreading my wings a bit. The elephant in the room, of course, is my abject lack of people skills, and my pathological fear of looking foolish. Unless I'm prepared to be at least a little venturesome, though, I'm never going to get anywhere. Life isn't going to come and knock on my door, I have to try and go out and engage with it. Can I do it? I really don't know.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Better, but worse

I went back to sleep after writing this morning's post, and woke up again a couple of hours later feeling much calmer emotionally, but not very well physically - not ill exactly, but under the weather, and feeling queasy, finding it difficult, seemingly, to fully wake up. I did improve slowly as the day progressed, so I'm hopeful that it's nothing much - I've had more than enough health problems recently, and I've got ambition at all for anything else to go wrong.
As a result of my less than sparkling condition, I didn't end up by doing anything very energetic during the day - my brother and I watched the denouement of the cricket, England narrowly managing to avoid snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, before we went to meet up with my sister-in-law and niece who had gone earlier in the afternoon to the Battle of Britain Memorial Day event not far from where they live. There was a flying display by a Spitfire and a Hurricane, so it was certainly worth going, even if we didn't stay too long, because I didn't want to get back to 'domicile-ville' too late - apart from not being at my best, I've got to get up fairly early in the morning for yet another trip to the hospital, the first of two this week. I made it back to base before 7:30, so the plan worked out fairly well, all in all. I'm hoping to wake up tomorrow morning full of the joys of spring. Time will tell, needless to say.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Gooseberry

It was a congenial evening, really, out for a meal with my brother and his family, he was with my sister-in-law, obviously, while my niece and nephew were there too, with their respective boyfriend/girlfriend, both long term relationships. And then there was me. Alone amongst the bevy of couples. It wasn't something that really struck me until I woke up this morning, but now it has hit home with full force - I'm excluded from that world, probably forever. I've had fantasies of how it could be different, but that is all they are - vain, stupid, unrealistic fantasies. What I want, I can never have, anything I could realistically have, I don't want. An insoluble conundrum, as I've said before.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Protest, plans and paranoia

And I could continue the alliteration to ridiculous lengths, by adding pubescent pulchritude and a painful patella, but that would be excessive!
It seems to be my week for encountering the antis - after my annoyance at the bumper sticker I saw last Sunday, I came across another irritant, at much closer quarters, opposite the Houses of Parliament this afternoon. A man, maybe 60-something, was holding up a placard with the logo 'Marriage = Man + Woman'. As I walked past, I was tempted to engage him in discussion, to ask why he thought I shouldn't have the same rights as him (not that I've got the slightest expectation that marriage equality will ever impinge directly on my life), but a moment's reflection made me realise that if one old man with a rather pathetic two foot square placard was the best the 'opposition' could come up with, the battle is pretty much won! Yeah, I know it's not as simple as that in reality, but it was still a comforting thought.
This has been mooted for almost a week, but wasn't confirmed until this morning - I'm going down to my brother's place tomorrow, and staying through to Sunday. I'll hopefully be taking my brother and sister-in-law, and possibly my niece and nephew, depending on any other plans they might have, out for a meal, to at least make a gesture towards some recompense for all they did for me while I was ill. We may be able to meet up with some other friends tomorrow evening, too, if all goes well, so It should be a good trip - and will probably end up with my sticking two fingers up to the rat poison clinic, and not being as moderate in my alcohol consumption as they recommend!
I had a rather silly moment or two of paranoia while I was up in town, as I got the idea in my head that I'd upset someone I didn't want to upset, but, once more, any consideration tempered with the merest hint of common sense would suggest that the person concerned wouldn't even know what I was talking about if the subject was raised directly. I try to be rational about things, as far as I can, but I do let my emotions run away with - or from - reality sometimes.
The couple of subsidiary 'p' phrases came close together, both in terms of time and place - thanks to an unaccountable piece of bus driving, where the driver unexpectedly decided to lurch forward by all of about three feet, despite being in a seemingly non-moving traffic queue, as I was preparing to get off, I smacked my knee against a handrail, leading to the sort of lump normally associated with a bump on the head on my kneecap, while, shortly afterwards a handful of bus stops away on my next connection, three cuties, obviously friends and schoolmates joined the bus. I would quite happily have given any or all of them a hug - or whatever! - given a quarter of a chance, but, needless the say, even a quarter of a chance is way out of reach. C'est la guerre.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Fit, and maybe a little inspiration

After all my trepidation - and maybe a sneaking hope of failure - about what might happen at my medical today, I've been passed fit to return to my normal job without any restrictions. I was a bit more pleased than I thought I would have been, maybe because no-one wants to be thought of as an invalid, I guess, but also because, at least on paper, I've still got a chance of being able to move back 'home'. I'll be chasing our human resources people in the morning to see where my application/interview stands at the moment. If I don't get the job, sobeit, but I'd at least like to know where I'm up to.
After bemoaning my recent lack of literary gumption, I had an idea, on my way up to London on the train this morning, for a new story, in an utterly different genre from anything I've ever done before. Whether it will come to fruition remains to be seen, but it's nice to get the feeling that the muse isn't completely defunct.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Unmedicated

Partly by accident, partly by design, I've had my first pharmaceutical free day for months today. I had to rush to get out on time this morning, and forgot to take my heart meds, while I was advised by the anticoagulant clinic not to take my rat poison this evening, because they seem to have overestimated my dose, so that my blood is too runny at the moment. I'll be back onto all the pills tomorrow, though, so it's only a temporary respite.
All of this medication is my major concern as I approach my (outsourced) company medical on Thursday. I've got no doubt that I'm fit to do my 'real' job, as opposed to the bits and pieces I've been involved with since last Monday, but the company is so risk averse that I'm far from confident that their criteria will include me as I am now, particularly in terms of the potential effects of my medication. I've got rather mixed feelings about the outcome - part of me wants to be seen as 'fit for purpose' once more, but there's also a streak of almost hoping to be failed, to give me the chance to go back home and do other things. Whatever the decision, I've got a long weekend, off from Friday till Tuesday, to come, so I'll have plenty of time to think about the implications.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Drought

It's getting to the stage where I'm a little concerned. It's not life-threatening, or anything, but it's almost three months now since I finished Alexandrine, and I still seem to be completely devoid of any sort of motivation to write anything new, in terms of fiction, or even any ideas as to what I should write about. The muse, never my closest ally, seems to have abandoned me completely. Maybe it's only a hiccup, after all the heart and soul I poured into Xander and David's story - I hope so, anyway.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Hatred

The day our followers lose their ability to hate will be the day they lose their power and their ability to achieve anything worthwhile at all.

I came across that 'mission statement', for want of a better phrase, in a rather convoluted way yesterday. It appears on the website of an entity I hadn't heard of before, the British People's Party, who describe themselves on their home page as 'proud members of the World Union of National Socialists', another entity I hadn't heard of. Both organisations richly deserve their obscurity, as far as I'm concerned, because they're neo-Nazis, and, in the case of the British version, 'proud' of it. Nothing I could say can condemn them more than their own words, in my opinion - a political manifesto based on hate immediately tells me that I would disagree with them on absolutely everything. Which leads me to how I found their website in the first place. I was up in London again yesterday, and while sitting on a bus at some traffic lights, I saw a sticker on a motorbike with the legend 'Hang paedophile scum'. I was so angry that had the bus been at a stop rather than at lights, I might well have gone and shaken the motorcyclist warmly by the throat - I know how much those attracted to anyone below the arbitrary 'age of consent' are hated, but it's not often that it's expressed so overtly. A little internet research later in the day led me to the website of the so-called 'political party' I've mentioned, as they seem to have published the stickers, and certainly espouse the hatred concerned. Never mind what I do, just hang me for what I think, what I am (albeit I consider myself a hebephile, but I'm sure the fascists wouldn't draw a distinction). Vile, almost beyond words.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The fantasy machine

I seem to be embarrassingly prone to this - something, in the context I'm thinking of, totally insignificant happens, and my mind starts roiling with all kinds of fantasies. Not sexual fantasies, but fantasies of how my life could be different, of how I could make a connection with someone else. A moment's sensible reflection, though, illustrates how utterly unrealistic it all is - I'm 53, not 18, and I wasn't attractive even when I was 18. Most of the time, I can cope with my own company, now that I've had a year or so to get used to it again, but it seems that the mere idea of being in a 'relationship' is so seductive that it totally overwhelms any vestige of common sense, of what's possible. A day or two, and I'll get over it, if precedent counts for anything, and settle back into my solitary routine, and my acceptance of it. At the moment, though, the fantasy machine is still winning.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Trying to drum up some enthusiasm

It's a beautiful, blue sky morning here in Surrey, and forecast to be warm and sunny all day, if not all weekend, I'm not back to work until Monday, but I'm still finding it difficult to find the motivation to get ready to go out and do something. My first week back at work has been far from taxing - I'd almost go so far as to say my wages for this week qualify as 'legalised theft'! - I've had a pretty good night's sleep, I'm probably into the 80%+ range in terms of my overall health, and I've got the memory of all those weeks, both in and out of hospital, over the past couple of months when I was effectively under 'house arrest', but the impetus to get out there and take advantage of the summer is still elusive. I should probably thrash myself into getting showered and out of the building as soon as I can, to enjoy myself, like it or not, before I come up with any more excuses for inaction. After all, this being the UK, one nice weekend could be all the summer we get!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Well, that's a relief

I've just seen a picture of my daughter's boyfriend on her Tumblr, and I'm pleased to say that I don't find him in the least attractive (not that I really expected to, he's too old for me!), and probably wouldn't have even if I'd known him when he was younger. That was always one of my nightmare scenarios, falling for one of her boyfriends, but now that she's older, it's less likely by the day. Sad, no doubt, that it should ever have been even a potential issue, but that's one of the joys of being a boylover, I'm afraid.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Choked up

As is my wont, I switched the computer on when I woke this morning, to see what had been going on in Blogland overnight. And I found this post. To say it left me feeling emotional is a considerable understatement, for many reasons. I haven't followed the blog concerned publicly, because I wasn't sure how much attention the blog owner would have wanted (not that my sleepy corner of cyberspace would generate that much traffic!), but it is a blog full of amazing music, including a few - far too few - original works by the very talented young man concerned. Anyone who's read this blog for any length of time will know that I've always had a massive soft spot for that young man, ever since he first came to cyberspace as a 13 year old, and I hope very much that the new path he's embarking on from today will allow him to find the happiness and fulfillment he so richly deserves. Be happy, David, always.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Back to work....without any work

My return to work, after seven and a half weeks, was more than a bit pointless, in all honesty. Because I'd been off long enough for it to be deemed that I need an occupational health assessment before I can actually go back to doing what I'm paid for, and the appointment for that hadn't come through, I was, after my 'return to work' interview with my new boss, the first time I'd met him in person, completely surplus to requirements. I couldn't even take one of the positions over for a few minutes to allow someone an extra break, or an early finish, and, as a result, ended up sitting around doing nothing for five hours until it was decided that my being there any longer didn't have any value, and I was allowed to escape. Shortly before I left, the aforementioned appointment was confirmed - on Thursday week, meaning that my 'redundancy' is going to carry on for at least a week and a half. I have been slotted in to do things for the next couple of days, an assessment tomorrow, and a briefing day, here in 'domicile-ville', on Wednesday, but, beyond that, there are going to be several more days like today, seemingly. It's all a matter of the company following their policies, but it's frustrating that now I am finally fit enough to attend, I'm not allowed to do my job until I'm poked and prodded by yet another doctor.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B