Bridges to another life, and other stories

A nice day yesterday, if somewhat bittersweet in parts, as I set foot in Cornwall for the first time since October last year. I met K in Plymouth as planned, and we went for lunch, then on to do a little shopping (stuff for me, to quash the 'girly shopping' stereotype).

The first picture (taken by K) from the new camera - anyone think my daughter knows me too well?!

There had been considerable indecision as to what we were going to do next, but we eventually made our collective mind up, hopped on a bus, and, fifteen minutes or so later, I was going over the Tamar road bridge for the first time in fourteen months (my two intervening visits had been by train), en route to the town I'd lived in for nine years until last June.

The eponymous bridges (from the bus)

And not only the town, but the pub that had been the nearest I had to a 'local' while I was living there. Apart from the obvious, alcoholic, reason for going there, another nuance came into play, one that K recognised immediately I mentioned it. One of the last days, or part of a day, of completely unalloyed happiness in my life was a summer afternoon, about three years ago, when K met me in the pub after school - her school bus stops more or less outside - and we spent two, maybe two and a half, hours, talking and playing games on her first 'smartphone', being as close, perhaps, as we'd ever been. A big part of that closeness is our being on the same wavelength so much of the time, and that came to the fore again yesterday, easily illustrated by one moment. We sat in the pub garden for a while, until the attentions of a wasp or three persuaded us back indoors. While we were out there, a couple of workmen who had been doing a job in the car park were packing up, and one of them knocked two shovels together, presumably to clean them. In response to the metallic 'ring', both of us, more or less in unison, said 'dinner time!', before bursting out laughing at our 'great minds think alike' moment. It made our parting, a little while later when I caught the bus back to Plymouth, all the more poignant, for me, anyway. K is still enthusiastic about the idea of moving to London for her A-Levels, though, so, by this time next year, the 'long goodbyes' may be a thing of the past. I certainly hope so.
Perhaps because I was already feeling emotional about having to leave K behind again - or was it because of the alcohol I'd consumed by that point, or both? - I managed to get myself thoroughly upset by something I saw from the bus that was both trivial and absolutely none of my business. On a bench close to the first principal bus stop on the 'English' side of the bridge, was a frankly beautiful boy of 12 or 13. Sitting on his lap, though, was a girl of much the same age, who to my, probably biased, eyes was a chavvy little tart. The idea of his having his heart broken by the likes of her brought tears to my eyes, a reaction it took me some time to realise was stupid and inappropriate. Apart from anything else, he certainly looked happy that she was there, which is, realistically, the only thing that matters, and, with his looks, if anyone is going to be a heartbreaker, it might very well be him. Either way, it's his life to lead, and his choice to make. It maybe also involves something I said to K yesterday, which earned me a huge, almost cartoonish, frown, namely that I'm in a rather misogynistic frame of mind at the moment - not in the sense that I think that women are inferior, or that they shouldn't be treated equally, but that my experience with them, K excepted, hasn't been a very happy one, for the most part. Another of my problems, and no-one else's.
Today, the last day of my 'holiday', such as it's been, has mostly been spent in a sunny London, although I'm back in 'domicile-ville' now. A couple of beers, a bit of grocery shopping, and then it will be back to base for an early-ish night preparatory to getting up at 'stupid o'clock' to go back to work in the morning. Don't you just love every minute?!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Going west

That could be the title of a blog post to describe my life in general, but, in this case, it's just a geographical reference - I'm off to see K in the morning. As things have panned out, unless anything changes in the next twelve hours or so, I won't quite make it Cornwall, because we've arranged to meet up in Plymouth. What will happen thereafter is anyone's guess, although I would imagine going out for lunch and, in my case, a certain amount of alcohol will be a part of the equation. Whatever the agenda for the day proves to be, I'm certainly looking forward to it, as always when the prospect of seeing my girl is in the offing.
It's going to be west tomorrow, but I went north today - North London, and just over the boundary into Hertfordshire, that is, to scope out a few things in connection with a new school/college that I saw advertised a few days ago, and which might very well be just the thing K is looking for in terms of her A-Level preferences, and her potential move to this part of the world in twelve months time. Its speciality is media arts and technology, which is just the area K wants to get involved in. If she eventually decides it is right for her, I'd need to move to somewhere that wouldn't make getting to work all that easy, but K's education is the priority, and the travelling would be doable, so it's a price I'm more than willing to pay. After looking at their website, K is enthusiastic, so we'll have to see what happens.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Boys of the day

And not brothers, to break the recent run.
Number one, on the train going up to London this morning, standing room only, and he was standing not two feet from me. Not as facially good-looking as some, but everything else was in place - 14-ish. lovely shape, his voice, when he spoke to his sister (probably his sister, anyway, from the way they were interacting) just out of the 'boy' range and into the youth. He brushed up against my arm, getting his phone out of his pocket, and I could feel his body heat, just for a moment. Shudders ensued.
Number two, just a brief moment as the bus I was on passed down a North London street. 11-ish, maybe even a little younger. But when he looked up at the bus, his eyes! Dark and mysterious and beautiful, looking big enough to drown in. It was all I could do to avoid groaning out loud - if there's one feature, one element of someone's appearance, I've absolutely no resistance to, it's beautiful eyes, and his were the most beautiful I've seen in a long time.
I haven't been all that happy today, mostly, probably, for fairly trivial reasons, but even on down days, the cuties can raise my spirits a little, and that's been evident again.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Why is it so bloody complicated?!

So, I go and splash out (admittedly not too much) on a new camera, partly at the recommendation of the family photographer - I.e. my daughter - to find that the bloody thing doesn't have a USB port, so I've now got to go and buy an SD card so that I can get any pictures I might take out of the camera. The word 'aaaargh!' springs to mind!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

I wanna do cuddles

Regression....yes, very probably. I want a boy to cuddle, but what today will bring instead, with almost complete certainty, is more isolation and emptiness. My fault, both for wanting something unobtainable, and for burning what bridges to 'second-best' I had, but that knowledge of culpability doesn't make the absent positive any easier to bear.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

How do I love thee....

....let me count the ways.
Shakespeare's Sonnet 43, so Google tells me. And a question I've asked myself this evening, after an encounter, of sorts, on the train back to 'domicile-ville'. About boys, of course. In this case, because he was sitting behind me, I wasn't even sure it was a boy until we got into the station, and got off of the train at the same door. He was about 8, and although he wasn't that stunningly good-looking, he was obviously bright, listening to his conversation with his older brother (who wasn't at all difficult to look at himself). The real 'hook', though, was the most lovely, infectious laugh I've heard in ages. His mother kept trying to shush him - I felt like telling her to chill, because I could've listened to that laugh all day and all night. Not an ounce of sex in my attraction towards him, despite what some might assume - he was just a lovely, bright, cute little boy, who I would've loved to have hugged, and nothing more.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

'I was too sad to talk'

That was how my daughter explained not having answered her phone when I rang her last night, after I finally did get hold of her this morning. Out of the blue, from the way K described it, her boyfriend has dumped her. These things happen in 'young love', of course, but it's the first time it's happened to her, so she's naturally upset. Not that I said so in the circumstances, but, in my opinion, it's better that something like this should happen at a relatively early stage of a relationship, rather than after months or even years. All being well, her customary resilience will see her in good stead before too long, and on the lookout for someone with a bit more 'stickability'. She was going to a nice seasidey place, one we used to visit a lot when we first moved to Cornwall, with some friends today, so that, hopefully, will have cheered her up a bit.
Whether the emotional upheaval has had anything to do with it, I don't know, but the other outcome of this morning's conversation is that K has decided that Thursday is her preferred day for me to visit. Having no other specific plans for this week, that suits me as well as any other day. I'll be looking forward to it.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Carnival!

So, it's the Notting Hill Carnival this weekend, and I'm up in town. Do I go and soak up the atmosphere of the largest street festival in Europe? Well....no, actually. The 13 year old boy geek who lives in my head takes over, and I spend my day riding on the buses diverted because of the carnival, just to see which way they've been rerouted. Sad, but true!
Talking of boys, a pair of brothers have been the eye candy highlight for the second day running, on the platform at Clapham Junction a little while back - big bro, 12-ish, tallish and very cute, but eclipsed by little bro, 8/9 and already showing every sign of growing up to be even cuter. The stuff of dreams - what sort of dreams is probably best left to the reader's imagination!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Lots of nots

That pretty much sums up yesterday - things not happening, or not being as congenial as they might have been. Not a nice day, for a start - it rained for most of the day, rained hard in the middle of the day, but I still went out and about, because the alternative was another day on my own in my room. Not much in the way of eye candy, either, doubtless because of the weather, although there were one or two exceptions - when I got to 'domicile-ville' station on my way out yesterday morning, there were two almost impossibly cute brothers getting on a train (not the one I caught, sadly), but they were much more the exception than the rule. And the day ended with another 'not', 'cute barman' not working in my local Wetherspoons.
The biggest 'not', though, was the upshot of a phone call I fielded mid-morning, from my ex. It looks like I won't be going to Cornwall in the coming week, apart from the day trip K and I already had planned, because it seems that my ex has decided not to go to the Midlands after all. If she doesn't want to go, that's her business, of course, but it did seem as though she was trying to come up with 101 excuses for aborting the trip, rather than having any really valid reasons for doing so. There's nothing to stop me finding a hotel and going for a longer visit, I guess, but the inflated summer and, particularly, Bank Holiday prices for accommodation aren't exactly a major incentive for that plan, so it looks like I'll just have to swallow my disappointment once more, and make do with a day with my daughter - if she ever gets around to deciding which day suits her best. Not, on the whole, the best day of my life.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

If only it could come true

I had a very vivid dream overnight, my first of its kind for a long time. It revolved around me meeting and befriending a very good looking blond boy of 11 or 12 with an odd name - Shavik, or something like that, although I kept calling him 'Xander' by mistake (no mystery as to where that element of the dream originated!). The dream was set in my old home town, and I was so disappointed when I woke up in the middle of it, in the small hours - my first conscious thought was 'I've lost him forever'. Such a friendship, even if it was completely non-sexual, would be so much what I want. Living the lifestyle I do, though, I can't see any way it could ever happen, because I purposely avoid any interactions with boys. Maybe the 'dream domain' is the only place where such things are possible.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

City at night

For reasons that, I suspect, have little to do with anything other than irremediable insanity, I undertook an outing that I'd been contemplating for around two years, but had never got around to. I spent a whole night meandering around London on night buses. I finished work, for my week or so off, at 7:30 yesterday evening, and finally got back to my accommodation at 6:00 this morning. It was certainly an interesting experience - given that it was a weeknight, I was expecting it to be relatively quiet, but the number of people about even very late, even at 3:00 or 4:00, was a surprise. I don't know if it's something I'd want to do too often, but, equally, it's not something I'd say I'd never do again, although I think it would need to be at this sort of time of year - on a cold, damp winter night, I doubt it would've been much fun. There's another downside of the overnighter experience, too, as opposed to my normal daytime peregrinations - no eye candy! All the cuties are in bed, getting their beauty sleep. Ready for my next daytime trip, hopefully!
The rest of the day has been a bit of a write-off, really - I went to bed for a few hours, but still felt a bit on the weary side when I got up, so I've decided to make the first day of my holiday a chill-out day. I've heard no more yet from my ex, about when she wants to go to the Midlands, so I'm still 'on call', as it were, to go to Cornwall. Any time would suit me, in all honesty.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

More evidence of 'godly love'

I came across this story last night. No matter how long you've been involved with their cult, or how committed you've been, if you're not prepared to toe their narrow-minded, hateful line, not prepared to sacrifice your children to their imaginary friend, you're cast out. The sooner organised religion, of every stamp, drowns in its own cesspool of hatred, the better.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A temporary return - maybe

After saying yesterday that I'd 'officially' moved to Surrey, a phone call I received this afternoon might see me returning to Cornwall, albeit only for a few days. My ex rang to say that her dad, who's in his eighties, isn't at all well - he's apparently been in hospital for some weeks after a series of falls. For obvious reasons, she wants to go and visit him, so, given that I start a week's holiday after tomorrow's shift, I've said I'll go down and look after our daughter - not, at her age, that she needs a great deal of looking after, just someone around in case anything unforeseen arises - so that my ex can go to the Midlands for a day or two. Nothing has been confirmed just yet, but it's more likely than not that I'll be setting foot in the county that I still consider to be 'home' for the first time in almost a year. I have set one condition though - if I do go, I'm having nothing to do with looking after the dog. That will be my daughter's responsibility, I'm afraid!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Now there's a poignant moment

Around 14 months since my 'Farewell to Cornwall' post, I've finally conceded that the location info on my Blogger profile - (In temporary exile from) Cornwall - doesn't reflect reality. There's no prospect, in the next few years at least, it seems, that I'll be heading back there, especially in the light of my discussions with K over the weekend. So I am, now, 'officially' located in Surrey. It still isn't home, though.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Nearly every time

I thought I'd written about it before, but I can't find where. That song, the one they've just played on Planet Rock. The one that makes me cry, nearly every time I hear it. Especially these lines:

You're safe from pain in the dream domain/Your soul set free to fly

And yes, it has made me cry. Again. (The song is Silent Lucidity by Queensryche, by the way.)

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B

Normal service resumes

Whatever 'normal' is supposed to mean. I've been off the air for a couple of days because my daughter has been staying with me so that she could go to the 'Summer in the City' gathering, but I've been working late shifts, so I've been going out earlier and getting back later than I ordinarily would to allow me to travel up and down to London with my girl, thereby maximising the amount of time I could spend with her, which in turn has reduced the time available for competing pursuits, including blogging. It was worth it, though, because I have renewed hope after our discussions over the past few days that she might still come up this way to do her A-Levels, something I thought might have been kicked into touch by her love life. Her fresh interest in moving to live with me isn't entirely driven by an insatiable desire for my company, though - it seems that her boyfriend is aiming to go to uni in London next year. I can cope, though, with being a 'means to an end' if the outcome is having something resembling a proper home again, and one with K in it, to boot.
K has gone back to Cornwall now, though, so I'm left to my own devices once more, which, allied with an unexpected slightly early finish at work, has found me in 'domicile-ville' Wetherspoons again. And 'cute barman' - whose name, I discovered from the display on the till when he served me a little while back, is Ben - is here again, too. I haven't the slightest expectation of anything happening, but he is, at least, nicer to look at than anyone else in here at the moment. Any small pleasure gratefully accepted!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Born, not made?

The lovely boy I saw in the West London pub yesterday afternoon looked familiar, although I knew I'd never seen him before, and, eventually, I worked out why, the explanation throwing an interesting sidelight on the 'born this way' issue. He bore more than a passing resemblance to the boy who was my best friend at primary school when I was 9 or 10, a boy who left the school when his family moved away. To say that I was upset when he left was an understatement - I was absolutely devastated, and missed him horribly for months, if not years. I was almost a complete innocent, in a sexual sense, at that age, and certainly had not the slightest idea about the implications of same-sex attraction, but, with hindsight, I don't think there's much doubt that I was 'in love' with my friend, in so far as a child of the age that I was then can be in love. Evidence, maybe, albeit anecdotal evidence, that I was gay even before I knew what being gay meant, rather than my having 'chosen' my orientation at a later date.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Not our fault

To say I've been messed about today is an understatement. All I've been trying to do is to get hold of my next batch of medications, but it's turned out to be more difficult than finding the Golden Fleece. I ordered my repeat prescription in 'domicile-ville' Boots (a ubiquitous pharmacy chain over here, for the benefit of my non-UK readers) over a week ago. I tried to pick it up on Monday, but was told it hadn't arrived yet. I went back this morning, to be told that they still didn't have it. After ringing my GP's surgery, they claimed that I'd collected it from there. When I told them I hadn't been near the place, they claimed someone else had collected it on my behalf. When I told them there was no-one in the area who even knows me, they claimed that I'd filled the form in incorrectly, even though one of their staff had checked it. The immediate upshot was that I traipsed up to my doctor's, where their record book, which I saw, clearly showed that my prescription had been one of a batch signed for by Boots' driver. In other words, Boots had lost my meds. The surgery issued me a new prescription, which I took into a different Boots branch an hour or so ago, where they promptly refused to have anything to do with it, because it ran to three pages, of which only two had been signed by the doctor. So I'm now going to have to go back to the doctor's again in the morning to satisfy the fucking jobsworths. The only consolation is that I'm now sitting in a nice pub in West London drinking some nice beer - Staropramen to be exact - and, until a few minutes ago, there was a gorgeous boy sitting about fifteen feet away. He's gone now, as has any prospect of my ever setting foot in any branch of Boots again, except in the case of dire emergency.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Calmer, but mired in indecision

The title says it all, really - I'm much more chilled than I was earlier, perhaps helped by a moderate dose of alcohol, but I'm back into the quo vadis mode I've spent much of the recent past inhabiting. Even a year and a half after the fracture that ended my old life, I still don't know what I want to do, or even where I want to do it. A little exchange with my boss at work this morning illuminates my present situation - he asked me how I was, and I made an ironic comment about being delighted to be at work. In equally lighthearted vein, he asked me what else I would be doing if I wasn't there, to which I gave the telling reply - 'I'm still trying to work that out'. One day, I feel like I should stay where I am, maybe to give my daughter the chance to come up to London, as she's indicated she'd like to do, for her further education, the next I feel desperate to go back to Cornwall, while the next I feel like running away to much further-flung, sunnier climes, which, in my case, would probably mean Gran Canaria. Wherever I go, though, the elephant in the room will be around relationships - knowing that what I really want is almost certainly unobtainable, can I bring myself to try for another 'second-best', given how disastrously the last one ended? Another unanswerable question, or so it seems.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

On the edge

I am, usually, irrespective of what people might think about my attitudes and predilections, a placid person, at least superficially. If I ever get angry with anyone, it's almost always myself. Over the past couple of days, though, I've been a rather angry bunny, thoroughly frustrated with the world and all its works. I've managed, just about, to avoid it all boiling over so far, although I did get as far as being extremely sarcastic to a couple of our technical staff when they came out with particularly inane comments in connection with a piece of the kit that had developed a fault this morning. My concern is, though, that if someone, be it at work or while I'm out and about, rubs me up the wrong way, I might completely lose my temper with them. And if I completely lose it, as I'm well aware from one or two past experiences, I can become extremely unpleasant to know. I just hope I can keep it all under control.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Confirmation

The day with my daughter on Thursday is now officially cancelled, to my complete lack of surprise. She's not coming up until Friday evening, just to avail herself of the free accommodation option to facilitate her going to her 'gathering' over the weekend while I work three late shifts. I've still got my week off at the end of the month, so there may be a chance that I'll be able to spend some time with her, but I'm not holding my breath in expectation. Just what I need in my present downbeat state. Not that it's K's fault, of course - she's got her own life, and her own agenda, quite rightly. It does, once more, though, raise the question of what I do, where, and for what reason. What my agenda should be.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

L'infer

'L'infer, c'est les autres', Sartre wrote. Hell is other people. But, although Sartre's intellect far outweighs mine, I disagree. Hell isn't external, it's internal, what's inside your head, the amalgam of vain hopes, unfulfilled ambitions, fears, loss, regret, and the leaden, inescapable knowledge of all the mistakes you've made in your life. 'No Exit'. The name of the play the quotation comes from, as I discovered today. How apposite.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Another fantasy

On the face of it, more accessible than most I indulge in, but, in reality, a complete non-starter. The cute barman in 'domicile-ville' Wetherspoons. I rarely see him, because he only seems to work evening shifts at weekends, times when I'm almost never in the place. I'm here tonight, though, having escaped from work an hour earlier than expected, and so is he. My 'gaydar' is virtually non-existent, but he does come across as a 'definite maybe'. He's probably just into his twenties, good-looking in a boyish way (obviously, if he's caught my attention), and, even if he is gay, way out of my league. I've indulged in a few 'what-ifs' in the last half hour or so, but I can't envisage any any realistic circumstances under which he'd want anything to do with me. Here's what you could have won, if you'd had the courage to be yourself about thirty years ago. Now? Forget it.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

You can dream....

....but there's no escape from reality. I imagine scenarios sometimes, where circumstances might just flow together in such a way as to give me what I want, even if only fleetingly. But then, as I did a few minutes ago, you get out of the shower, look in the mirror, and get hit by the realisation that there is no chance, ever, ever. Just your demons, whispering 'Never' into your ear, until you draw your final breath. Hopeless, hopeless, now and always.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The fork in the road

It was a Sunday afternoon, on a bus, in Northenden in Greater Manchester. In 1988, I think - ironic that the year is uncertain, but the location is absolutely branded on my memory, almost to the yard. I wouldn't have the slightest difficulty in going straight to the spot, even now. Where the greatest love of my life made it unequivocally clear that we would never be together. I don't blame you, darling boy, not for a second, and nor do I love you one iota less because of what happened. It wouldn't have been right for you, it wasn't who you were, and are. The problem is, though, that pretty much every decision I've made in my emotional life since has been wrong, and made for the wrong reasons. I took the wrong path at that fork in the road, ultimately leading to where I am now. And ruining three lives in the process. The word 'disaster' doesn't even come close.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

More evidence....

....for my belief that people who want to be parents should have to pass an exam to show they've got some aptitude for the role before they're allowed to breed. I was on a bus earlier, a couple of rows of seats behind a mother and three daughters. Apropos of nothing, as far as I could see from six feet or so away, the woman turned on one of the girls, saying in a voice loud enough that most of the bus must have heard, 'What are you fucking doing, you're mangy scum'. The child was about six years old, maybe seven at the most. What chance has that girl got, growing up in that kind of environment? Every chance, as far as I can see, of becoming a dreadful parent in her turn, rearing children who will be dreadful parents in theirs. I profoundly hope I'm wrong, and that something happens to break the cycle, but I'm not optimistic.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Downswung

A disclaimer - this post isn't going to be a happy place. Mind you, if I'd written it last night, as I'd originally intended, it probably would've been even more downbeat, so maybe I'm past the lowest point of this particular dip.
I've been struggling a little for the past few days, once more wondering what the point is of doing what I do, the 'keeping on keeping on' thing, but the catalyst for my being quite so low was a phone call I made during my break at work yesterday evening. I was supposed to be spending next Thursday with my daughter, a whole 24 hours - when her visit was first mooted, a few weeks back, I commented, lightheartedly at the time, that such a prospect was too good to be true, and it now seems that my words were prophetic, because it almost certainly isn't going to happen now. She told me last night that her plans have changed, partly because the YouTuber gathering she wants to go to is on Saturday and Sunday rather than Friday and Saturday, as she'd originally thought, but also because next Thursday is the day her boyfriend's exam results are published, and it seems that she'd rather be by his side on that day. It doubtless makes me sound childishly selfish and needy that I was so disappointed by her shifted priorities, but that day next week was the only opportunity, in all probability, of my spending 'quality time' with her during the whole six week school holiday, between her schedule, and my work. I'll still see her, more or less in passing, at the weekend, because she'll be staying with me, but I'll be working both days, and she'll be at her gathering, so there will be precious little time together.
So, what am I doing any of it for? I've been looking into the options around moving up to London, but what for? I'll be just as alone and isolated there as I am here, 25 miles out into Surrey, and, on the evidence of what I've seen in terms of rental costs, alone at double the price. And still, of course, swallowing all these pills to keep me alive long enough to swallow the next lot of pills. It's pretty much the epitome of pointlessness. What's in it for me? More of the same nothingness, as far as the eye can see. When you've lost more or less everything, what more is there to lose? The little you have left, seemingly.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Self-censorship, and intensity

Given the things I've written about in this blog, the admissions I've made about myself and my predilections, it might be thought that there wouldn't be much I'd fight shy of saying. That isn't always the case, though. I had a post framed in my mind yesterday, prompted by a brief encounter with a group of boys on a bus - and no, it wasn't centred around group sex, or anything at all salacious, but about attitudes to life, about aspirations - but I couldn't bring myself to post it. What wasn't initially clear to me, and still isn't entirely explicable, is why. Among other things, I've often said that, considering myself an outsider, as I do, I'm not too concerned about what others think of me, but maybe that's less true than I might like to admit. Humans are, by nature, social animals, and acceptance, being a part of the 'in-group', is an important issue to most people, and I guess I'm no different in that respect. I do have a number of people, my daughter, my brother and sister-in-law, my cousin, some of my cyberspace friends, who know the 'real' me and still consider that I deserve my membership of the human race, but, for the most part, I have to hide behind my mask to get through the day. Maybe there's a feeling that I don't want to antagonise the mysterious 'they' any more than I have already that's staying my hand, even if it conflicts with my aspiration to 'tell it as it is', from my perspective.
After a week of nights that was draining from a physical standpoint, but not, in reality, all that busy, today's late shift was much more intense, the infrastructure not really doing us many favours. I coped with it pretty well, but I felt the pressure rather. Nothing a couple of cold beers can't wash away, though. Cheers!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A bit deranged....

....even by my standards! My day, that is. I worked my last night shift of the week overnight, but it was my turn to finish on a long break, meaning, given the way we arrange such things, that I was free from 4:30. The first train back to 'domicile-ville' on a Sunday morning, however, isn't until 7:25. When this situation has arisen before, I've managed to swap my 'early day', taking my 'perk' on a day when an earlier train was available, but I couldn't do that this time because of others' swapping of shifts. So I decided to do something pathologically nerdy instead, taking advantage of London's stellar bus service - you can get pretty much anywhere, 24/7 - to go off on an early morning meander. Seeing the suburban streets so quiet, and to see the sun coming up while the vast majority of the populace were still in bed was an interesting experience - if you're easily interested, some might say! I carried on meandering until lunchtime, albeit somewhat hamstrung by the fact that half of London seemed to be closed to traffic to facilitate today's RideLondon cycling event, but I've subsequently subsided into 'worktown' Wetherspoons to suppress the bothersome blood that has crept into my alcohol stream over the past, abstinent, week. How long I'll manage to stay awake, though, remains to be seen!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Balancing act

Work/life and financial balancing, that is. After my recent illness, I've returned to work intending to work little, if any overtime, but my latest payslip, which arrived today, has prompted a rethink. It seems that if I want to live anywhere half-decent in the area where I work, which is an aspiration if I choose to stay in my present job, and be able to continue to pay my ex the amount I've agreed, and have enough money left over to be able to pay bills and live anything other than a completely frugal lifestyle, I'm going to have to commit to one overtime shift a week as a minimum. My Sunday shifts are paid as overtime, so two weeks a month, on average, are catered for, but I'm still going to have to work two or three of my nominal days off a month to make what I want to do practicable. The overtime is certainly available - there are several vacancies, another person having moved to a new job a couple of weeks ago, and three more of my colleagues on the move soon - but the prospect of going back to spending more time at work isn't at all appealing. Not for the first time, it seems that what would be desirable, and what's feasible, don't exactly marry up. The joys of being a wage slave!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Characters incarnate

Well, kind of, anyway. I've been reading Alexandrine again over the past few days - come on, it's only about six times since I finished it in April, what do you mean I'm obsessed! - and, in the course of my mid-evening journeys to work this week, I've seen two boys who came very close to my mental pictures of Xander and Robert as they would have been in the early part of the story, at 11/12. I saw 'Robert' on Monday evening as I was changing trains, a pretty, elfin, shy-looking little guy with high cheekbones, the only dissonance being that the real boy's hair was much lighter in colour, almost fair, than the dark hair of my imagination. Then last night, 'Xander', in a supermarket just outside 'worktown' station. I must have passed him half a dozen times, completely without artifice on my part (and, doubtless, his) during my progress around the shop. He was 11 or 12, blond, and utterly, breathtakingly, heartbreakingly stunning. Another 'ghost', of course, flitting through and out of my life in mere minutes. More's the pity.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B