That's what I want

I'm supposed to be packing preparatory to the move. But I've found myself reading a story instead. I thought I'd read it before, but I hadn't. A story of one day in the life of a man, a much younger man than me, who meets and falls in love with a pubescent boy. And the boy falls in love with him. There is sex in the story, but the main point is the love. That, ultimately, is what I really, really want. Not the sex, but the love. The sex, the mechanistic, hormone-driven part of it, can easily be dealt with alone. Love takes (at least) two. And love can, even when desire has waned, or disappeared altogether, last a lifetime. That's what happened in the story. Sex stopped, love endured. Nothing could be better than that for me, that enduring love. A hopeless dream, of course. But still a dream that left me with tears in my eyes. Happy tears. Ironic that it should've been today, of all days, that I read the story, and mused about its implications. The second anniversary of that phone call.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Off target

I had this post pencilled in to mark my fourth 'blogaversary', but when I checked back last night, I found that particular milestone had already passed - I had it in mind that I'd begun my blog on February 26, but it was actually February 24! So - happy four years and two day non-anniversary to the blog, and, as ever, a big thank you to all of you who visit to read and comment.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Changes

Maybe my impending move has nudged me into musing about transience, but, for whatever reason, I found myself sitting on a train this afternoon thinking about DBJ. It's not something that happens all that often these days, given that it's 3½ years since I last saw him, but he was in my mind for a good while today. He'll be 16/17 now, and while I'm sure he'll have developed into a handsome young man, he won't be the beautiful boy who I fell in love with five years or so ago any longer. What does that mean for my feelings towards him? Was it just the superficial that caught me up? There's no way of being able to answer those questions, of course, because I never got to know him in any meaningful way - I was always outside looking in, as it were. What would happen if, by some quirk of chance, I saw him again now? I guess the distinct possibility of disillusionment means that it's much better that the chances of my seeing him again are so remote. In my mind, if nowhere else, he'll always be that surpassingly beautiful, graceful boy who ghosted through my life for the last time in August 2010, almost exactly four years after I first saw him. Being a boylover means having to live with the consequences of the evanescent. Because, whatever else, what boys do, inexorably, is turn into men.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The worst bit of good luck I've had for a while

I worked an extra early shift today, a pleasant little boost to my finances - Sunday shifts, even my regular ones, are classed, and paid, as overtime - after the recent flat-securing depredations, and stayed up in town for a few hours after I'd finished, meandering a little, before spending yet another substantial wedge of money, albeit in a way that will save me quite a lot in the long run - I went to the London Transport enquiry office at Victoria and bought an annual bus pass. A back of the envelope calculation suggests that it will save me around £500 over the course of the year, if you measure it against the 'pay as you go' Oystercard regime I've followed up to now, given that I'll be using the bus virtually every day once I move. That done, I made my way to Waterloo to get a train back to 'domicile-ville', but, noticing the time as I entered the station, I thought I'd have at least a twenty minute wait. I was pleased, then, to find that there was a train due within a couple of minutes - I'd thought the train concerned had been diverted because of engineering work, but that proved not to be the case - so I dashed to catch it. But it turned out to be a nightmare. Not because the train was delayed unduly, but because it turned out to be the most overcrowded train I've been on in many a long day. I struggled to even find standing room, exacerbated by the fact that people seem to think it's perfectly acceptable to have half a dozen pieces of luggage each, and to dump it anywhere, to the extent that I genuinely had major difficulties in finding a door clear enough to get off of the damn train when I got to my destination. And then one of the aforementioned 'multiple luggage' wallahs had the cheek to say 'mind the bag' that he'd blocked the bloody door with, as I almost fell over it onto the platform. On the whole, I think I'd have been happier to miss the train, and have had to wait for the next one!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Back in the moon

Another Saturday evening, and here I am again in my soon-to-be new local. No 'smiling boy', of course, but there is a passably cute, albeit much, much too young little guy about ten feet to my right as I type this. I've spent most of the day wandering around this quadrant of North West London, checking out how long it takes to get between various places of interest/need by public transport, learned a few useful things, seen a little eye candy - one 13/14-ish boy at Swiss Cottage was especially palpitation-inducing - and generally had a pleasant, chilled-out day. The downside is that because I'm still in 'domicile-ville', it's going to take me about two hours to get back from here. Not for much longer, though.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

There and back, and the bit in between

One of my periodic long day trips today, as I used my travel concessions to intercept K on her way back from Shropshire to Cornwall to hand over her new travel concession card that arrived with me the other day. It's always nice to see her, of course, but it wasn't, in the event, all that prepossessing as a social event, as K was tired and under the weather, and slept most of the way on the replacement bus service we were on, before deciding to head straight home when we eventually got to Plymouth, leaving me to get on another replacement bus and head back in the direction of 'domicile-ville'. It transpired, though, that amongst her other doings while she was with her boyfriend, she'd dyed her hair a really rather nice shade of honey-blonde (ironic, in a way, because her beau, a natural blond, has recently dyed his hair black!), which genuinely suited her. I have to say that I'm glad I'm not any sort of follower of fashion, though - it's all too much like hard work for my taste.
K wasn't the only example of pulchritude I came across today, though - there were quite a few cuties on the assorted trains and buses I was on. For once, though, my eye was mostly caught by the older end of my AoA spectrum - one, on the bus that K was sleeping on, was definitely legal, probably by a couple of years, while the guy sitting opposite me for three or four stations on my train back here must have been at least 15, maybe even older. Not, of course, that their being near or beyond the age of consent makes the slightest difference in terms of my getting close to them, but it might keep the self-appointed moral guardians at arm's length.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Signed and sealed

I went up to the estate agents this afternoon, my signed copy of the tenancy contract in hand, and, within a couple of minutes, the deal was done. As of next Saturday, the aforementioned calends of March, I'll be the new tenant of the North London flat, well within the catchment area of K's new school. The process, overall, hasn't been as fraught as I'd originally expected, given the financial mess that accompanied my divorce, which is something to be grateful for. It will certainly come at a hefty price of its own, though - I'd been thinking in terms of the monthly rent hitherto, which didn't seem too daunting, but, for no particular reason, I calculated the annual equivalent on my way into work this morning, coming up with a figure which, when I first worked in London in the eighties, would've been halfway to buying a not dissimilar place I remember looking at in an estate agents' window. As ever, hindsight proves itself to be that most useless of all commodities, but, had I known, I'd have been in that office, putting in an offer there and then!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

I'd rant, but it's pointless

The front page story in today's Daily Mail is a study in shameless exploitation of people's prejudices to slur a political opponent, a faux scandal involving a number of senior Labour politicians' alleged links (very tenuous links, if links at all, needless to say) to a much reviled advocacy group - which disbanded thirty years ago. That didn't stop the filthy right-wing rag presenting the story as though it was something that was happening right now, of course. But, given the subject matter, the sheeple will swallow it mindlessly - because the advocacy group concerned was the Paedophile Information Exchange. As soon as the 'P-word' is used, 99% of the population cease to think, and just react with the same old, tired kneejerks. Any attempt to introduce a perspective other than the politically correct 'absolute evil' meme is just a waste of time and effort, and, what's more, setting anyone who dares to voice such an alternative view up as a target for abuse, or worse. I've no appetite for wasting my time, and even less for being a target, so this is as much as I'm prepared to say. Except that I despise the Daily Mail, and all its works.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Things are falling into place

So my brother said, when he rang me at lunchtime for an update as to the moving process. Well, yes and no would be my answer. On a strictly practical level, he's right - I found an e-mail with a copy of the tenancy agreement in my inbox when I got back to base this evening (although I'm going to have to go and do what I put off last week, and buy a new printer tomorrow, so I can get hold of a paper version to sign), which more or less puts the seal on getting the flat, and, yesterday, I received a letter confirming that K can keep her travel concessions after all, which, needless to say, she was pleased about. If I'm being selfish, though - and I'm going to be - there are still huge holes in my life, mostly on an emotional level. I know what I really want isn't realistically available, as I've said on numerous occasions, but that knowledge doesn't make the situation any easier to bear. I want a boy in my life. I know the chances of achieving that are virtually nil. Parallel lines never meet.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

No excuse

If any religionist ever tries to claim moral authority, still less superiority, ask them how their imaginary 'god' could condone this. And if any Christians are tempted to say 'we would never do such a thing', I suggest they read the Old Testament. 'Barbarism' doesn't even begin to describe this sort of event.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Realistic expectations

I'm in 'stereotypical suburb' Wetherspoons, and an exchange I've just heard between 'a lady of a certain age' and one of the staff prompted this post. Wetherspoons' 'Sunday Club' offers a roast and a drink (the lady in question had a glass of wine) for six quid and small change, but she was quibbling about the quality of the meal. Where does she think she is, Maxim's of Paris? If you want gourmet food, go to a Michelin starred restaurant and pay through the nose. Don't come to a pub and then complain that you haven't had 'silver service'.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Sweet sixteen, but no 3/3

Around about this time, sixteen years ago today, I was collapsing into bed after an unbelievably long day, which had begun with a phone call from a maternity unit at 2:30 in the morning, and ended with my becoming a father. My little girl is all grown up, 16 today. How time flies, and all that.
My run of luck in my (hopefully) soon-to-be new local came to an end this afternoon - it was my first visit there without seeing a cute boy. Not that I seriously expected anything else, but I did harbour a little hope that 'smiling boy' might have put in another appearance. Never mind, I still like the place, and I'm sure I'll find myself in there from time to time once the move is finalised.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The calends of March

Much less portentous than Caesar's 'ides', but significant, nonetheless. After a visit to the estate agents at lunchtime, it looks like all is on course for taking on the flat from March 1. And, after a phone call to my brother this evening, given that I'll need his help on the transportation front, it looks likely that I'll actually be able to move in that weekend, all being well. It all seems more real now, the prospect of dropping the word 'domicile' from my vocabulary, and being able to say 'home' instead. It's certainly a change of nomenclature that I'm looking forward to.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Good news day

I had an e-mail from the estate agents this afternoon - with a substantial bill attached - the upshot of which, now that I've paid out almost £3000 via my online banking service (although, to be fair, more than half of that is the deposit, which I should get back eventually), is that the flat is ours, subject to signing the tenancy contract. I texted K a while back, and she's rather excited, shall we say!
Earlier in the day, she'd texted me with some excellent news of her own - she decided to pay to have the English GCSE she took before Christmas remarked, and the result came back today - she was awarded 6 extra marks, which has taken her grade from a B to an A. She could have retaken the exam in the summer to try for a better grade, but she won't need to do that now, which will leave her more time to prepare for her other subjects. It's a nice change for me, and probably for you, my long suffering readers, to see a positive post here. I'm making no predictions about any sort of 'turn of the tide', though, that would be tempting fate far too sorely!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Interesting

Little - well nothing, frankly - as I know about American Football, I'll be interested to see what happens to this player. After Thomas Hitzlsperger, albeit at the end of his career, and Tom Daley, for someone to put his chances on the line at the start of his career is a very brave move. And one that deserves to be rewarded.
And, while I'm on a sporting tack, congratulations to Jenny Jones for winning GB's first ever Winter Olympic medal in an 'on snow' event. Snowboarding isn't a discipline I follow, but I'm still pleased for her, and for the country. And congratulations to Ole Einar Bjoerndalen for cementing his already legendary status as, arguably, the greatest ever biathlete by equalling the record for the most ever Winter Olympic medals.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Another boy in the moon, but eclipsed

As predicted, I washed up in the nearest Wetherspoons to the potential new abode this afternoon, and, equally predictably, 'smiling boy' was conspicuous by his absence. The place was fairly busy, Sunday lunch in the pub seemingly being popular in that area, but I managed to find a table near the bar. It was a four seat table, though, the smallest they've got, and it wasn't long before I was asked if I minded sharing. It wouldn't have been a problem in any case, but the fact that my 'table mates' were a couple and their cute son caused me no pain at all. The boy was about 9/10, nice to look at, although not quite as attractive as his counterpart of three weeks ago, but pleasantly chatty, sitting next to me and talking about the iPad game he was playing. Just for once, I thought, my luck might have changed, that I was going to have some parentally sanctioned quality time with a cutie, but, needless to say, it didn't work out that way. Less than 10 minutes later, another table became vacant, and they moved. I could still see the boy for a while, but then a bit of a 'musical chairs' session left him tucked into a corner and out of my eyeline. If you expect nothing, you can't be disappointed, but to have a fleeting moment of connection, and to then have it taken away almost immediately is pretty dispiriting.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Dreams that will never come true

On my way into work at lunchtime, I called into one of 'worktown's' supermarkets for some supplies. By the shop door, a volunteer was collecting for a children's charity, one of those 'make a dream come true' kind of organisations. As I passed her, coming out of the store was an utterly dreamy cutie, straight out of a chocolate box picture, easily the cutest boy I've seen all week. The irony wasn't lost on me, the promise of a dream come true, and the reality of how my life is actually lived. Tomorrow, unless apocalyptic weather intervenes, I'll be heading for what I'm hoping will be confirmed as 'new home-ville' in the next couple of days, and, in all probability, I'll find myself in the local Wetherspoons at some point. Although I know that the chances of my seeing 'smiling boy' again are somewhere between infinitesimal and zero, I'll be looking out. And I'll end up disappointed. Another hopeless dream. Who'd be a boylover? No-one in their right mind, not by choice, anyway.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

I knew there was a reason

Why I largely avoid going out on weekend evenings, that is - it's busy, noisy and awash with morons. I can see a business opportunity here - open a chain of pubs aimed at the misanthropic, with individual booths where we can be antisocial in peace!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Honesty

I've been sitting here staring at my keyboard for 15, maybe 20 minutes, with a post in mind. But I can't write it, even though it would be an expression of my honest opinion, because I can't face the prospect of any more opprobrium heading my way. Maybe it wouldn't, but I'm just not in a place where I want to take the chance. I suppose another element is that the story I was going to comment on has opened up some scars in my own psyche, things that have happened in my past, in some cases almost as far back as the events in the case I heard about yesterday. Who we are now is the product of our total life experience, obviously, and we have to live with the consequences of all those experiences, good, and, more to the point, bad. The price of total honesty, in my case, would simply be too high. I haven't got much left, but to lose what little is still there would be too much, far too much to bear. So I'll carry on hiding, as I have for so many years. It isn't much of a life. But at least it is a life.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Bonny, Scotland

Another positive step yesterday, as the Scottish Parliament voted overwhelmingly in favour of marriage equality. Needless to say, the howls of outrage from the religious right followed immediately. 'We're persecuted, because we can't persecute you' would be my paraphrase of the reaction. Well, that's a bit of hard luck you're having. Live your lives, believe what you want to believe, that's fine by me. But if you think you and your imaginary god(s) can dictate how I live my life, then I cordially invite you to fuck off.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Another washout on the cards

It's my day off tomorrow, after six straight late shifts, and I was intending to head for town. That plan seems to be in considerable jeopardy, though, because not only is there a 48 hour Tube strike ongoing, but the forecast is for another day of heavy rain and gale force winds. It's already rather wet and windy, so it looks like the meteorological crowd have got it right - funny how that only seems to work when they forecast bad weather! I'll wait and see what the morning brings, but the prospect of London in the pouring rain and with travel disruption doesn't appeal greatly. Domicile, sweet domicile might be the order of the day.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The boy in the moon

I can't get him out of my head. The boy I saw in the North London Wetherspoons just over a fortnight ago. I can barely even remember what he looked like, but I can't forget his smiles, those rare and precious moments of connection in the emotional wasteland that constitutes my so-called life. I have not the slightest expectation that I'll ever see him again, or that, even if I did, there would be any chance of a repetition of the tenuous bond between us, and, even in the vanishingly unlikely case that I could find a way of getting to know him better, he's too young anyway. Too young to even be a friend, in this paranoiac society we live in. If there was even a chink of light in the blackness of my situation, it might be easier to cope with. But there's none, and no prospect of any in any foreseeable future. Why do I bother to even try to carry on? I've no idea.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Too much weather

Bloody marvellous! It's been dry and bright all morning, and now, 15 minutes before I'm due to leave for work, it's started bloody raining! Again! Still, at least I haven't fallen for the inanity that passed for yesterday's front page story in The Sun. They're seemingly trying to persuade their credulous readership to pray to some obscure 'patron saint of weather' (St. Medard?? Who he?) to stop it raining. How much more stupid and pathetic can that tabloid rag get?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B