Salt & vinegar?

The archbigot, one of my regular work colleagues I've mentioned a number of times before, was on particularly egregious form yesterday afternoon. He contrived to use the word 'faggot' four times in about thirty seconds in telling a thoroughly unfunny story which revolved around someone not having salt and vinegar on their fish and chips. If anyone can explain the connection between sexual orientation and the seasoning of takeaway food to me, I'd be interested to hear it. Ironically, a couple of hours later, another of my colleagues volunteered to go out on his break to pick up an order of - fish and chips. I decided to indulge, and asked for haddock and chips - with no salt and vinegar. While standing about three feet from the archbigot. I was sorely tempted to ask him if he considered me a 'faggot' as a result of my order preference, but, of course, nothing was said. If I fail this medical on Tuesday, and pull the plug on my career, I think a few trenchant words about mindless prejudice and bigotry might be my parting shot.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Hoops

Let's jump through some more. When I got into work yesterday afternoon, I was ambushed by my new boss - there was another game of management musical chairs a few weeks back - who told me I was going for a medical today. I flatly refused, using the (valid) excuse that my rostered shift can't be changed with less than 48 hours notice, but the main reason was that I knew with certainty that I'd fail, because there's no way I'd reach the required eyesight standard as things stand. I've been procrastinating about getting glasses for some time, and knew I'd need to before my next work medical, but there was no immediate sense of urgency, because I knew that I wasn't due a medical until next year. Except that some desk jockey in my company's HR department had entered the wrong date into my records, which showed my medical certification had expired in June this year, and my new boss, being the utterly spineless twat that he is, caved into their version, despite my producing my current medical certificate with its expiry date of August 9 2015 there in black and white - HR said that 'must' be a mistake, and he swallowed it whole. The upshot was that I was faced with a complete Catch-22 - if I took the medical, and inevitably failed, I wouldn't be able to work, and if I refused to take the medical, my competency certificate would be withdrawn, and I wouldn't be able to work (the past two months were catered for by way of a 'risk assessment', the fact that I hadn't killed anyone or dropped dead on duty myself since June presumably being good enough evidence of my fitness to work), so, after some rather acrimonious to-ing and fro-ing, most of the acrimony on my part, I have to admit, I'm going for a medical at 10:00 on Tuesday morning. And, after an emergency visit to my local branch of Vision Express this morning, I might even have some glasses by then, although possibly not the right type - I've ordered two pairs, but the one that would definitely allow me to pass the eyesight test won't be ready in time. No fault of the staff at the opticians, though - they were really helpful, fitting me in for an eye test immediately, and doing everything they could to make sure I've got at least the first pair of glasses by Monday lunchtime. It all came at a price, of course - in this case, well over £500, although that was partly my fault, because I wanted rimless glasses, but if I get through next Tuesday, it's an outlay that will pay for itself fairly quickly, because I'll earn almost that much for the overtime shift I'm working on Thursday, and the shifts I'll be working over the following weekend. That said, if it wasn't for the money I need to help K get where she wants to be in terms of her education, I'd have probably told my boss to stick his job where the sun don't shine there and then. Early retirement, even on straitened means, would suit me fine, if it was just me, but it isn't, of course, and I need to look after my girl. Hence, the hoop jumping. I love every minute of it. Or not, as the case may be.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Lightweights!

K has two of her closest friends from her old school staying at the flat tonight, but, contrary to the stereotype of teenage sleepovers being 'up all night' affairs, when I got in from work (via the pub, I have to admit!) a quarter of an hour or so ago, it seems that they're all asleep! No resilience, these youngsters!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Close your f#!%$¿g eyes, then!

I hate looking at, and especially hearing, Bryan Fischer. So I don't bother. I hope his god extends others the same courtesy.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Another washout on the cards

Well, it is a bank holiday in the UK, after all. I only got in from work about 45 minutes ago, staying on, as our night shift crew do on bank holiday mornings, for an extra half hour, but I was hoping, nonetheless, for a quick turn around before getting out to make the most of my first day off for what seems like about a month, but is actually nine days. In practice, though, I'm exhausted and full of cold - FML, I'm coughing for England, again - and it's bloody raining, not torrentially, but in that steady 'set in for the day' kind of way. So much for an eye candy cruise, although, to be fair, I'd be hard pushed to have seen anyone more delightful than the utter cutie on my train to 'worktown' last night, blond, blue eyes, lovely face, the whole works, albeit in much too little a package to do anything other than look and sigh. Xander junior, was my thought at the time, and I still reckon that's about right. Perfection incarnate.

15:15 edit :  Five and a half hours later, K's gone out to meet a friend, and it's still raining. So I've done what I think any sensible human being would do in the circumstances, and gone to the pub, where I have every intention of staying until I completely run out of energy. Which probably won't be long!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Thrash them into submission, revisited

If these people are allowed to open a school based upon their antediluvian worldview, the whole concept - or is it pretence? - of governmental oversight of education, and of child protection, in this country will have been consigned to the dustbin of history. 'To train up a child'. Vile, in the extreme.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Enrolled

K and I are just back from her new school, where she's now safely enrolled, despite a last minute panic (mostly from me, I have to admit!) about the validity of one piece of her paperwork. The school were happy with it, though, which is all, ultimately, that matters, so the next time my girl walks into the school, on September 4, it will be as an A-Level student. One nice thing, from K's perspective, is that because the school is virtually brand-new - it's only been open for a year - everyone in her year, Year 12, will be new to the school, there having been no Year 11 last year, although, doubtless, some of the students will know each other from their previous schools, so she won't be faced with being 'the new girl' amidst an established community. K is really looking forward to starting there, and that definitely makes all the upheaval and expense of the past few months more than worthwhile. A new chapter, without a doubt.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Results day

K's recently rung me, having gone into her old school at 9:00 this morning to pick up her GCSE results. She's achieved at least a C grade, the lowest mark considered as a 'pass', in all the subjects she took, albeit that one or two of the grades were a notch lower than were predicted for her, ending up with 3 A's, 3 B's and 6 C's. One of the A's was in English Literature, though, the only one of her GCSE subjects she's intending to take at A-Level, so that was good, and her Maths grade, which was part of her minimum requirement for her new school, was a B, so she's qualified for the new place more than twice over - they only wanted five passes, as long as Maths and English were amongst them. I'm pleased for her, and more than a little relieved, too - it would have been the ultimate frustration if, after jumping through all the hoops we have to give her the chance of going to the school she wanted for her A-Levels, she'd fallen short at the eleventh hour. I never seriously believed that she wouldn't make it, the only real concern being the fact that she's inherited her father's academic work ethic - or complete lack of it! So, it's off to enrolment day tomorrow with all the requisite pieces of paper!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A star of the future?

On my way to work last night, I had what might turn out to be an interesting encounter. Superficially, it was a typical 'ghost' moment, a cute boy, 13-ish, sitting diagonally opposite me on the train to 'worktown' with (presumably) his mother. They'd got on at the same station as me, and I was pleased, having seen him on the platform, that the boy sat where I could 'enjoy the view'. The other thing that was immediately obvious about him, though, apart from his cuteness, was that he was undoubtedly a tennis player - he was carrying a very large tennis bag, almost as big as I've seen professionals using on TV, and, as I could hear bits of the conversation between the boy and his mother, it became apparent that he plays to a pretty high standard, some of the talk being of seedings and the semi-finals and finals of tournaments, albeit no doubt junior stuff at his age. Andy Murray's successor? Who knows, but it would certainly be something if he turns up on the BBC's coverage of Wimbledon in a few years time.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Lies, damned lies, and....

....the Metro. The headline story in this morning's issue of London's main free daily paper screamed 'Paedophile 'child expert' at the Home Office'. Today's big breaking news, obviously? Well, not exactly. In fact, not at all. The story referred to a person who wrote reports on reform of childcare in the 1970s and 1980s, who has been dead for seven years, and whose only conviction, or, at least, the only one mentioned in the report, was a fine for possession of 'child pornography' - in itself a catchall phrase that seems to be able to include any picture of a child at all, including fully clothed pictures of related children, if it suits the authorities' purposes for use as 'circumstantial evidence' - in 1992. The story, if it deserves to be dignified by that word at all, is another 'historical sex abuse' allegation, against someone who is conveniently dead and can't defend themselves, dressed up as though the world's most despised underclass have infiltrated government circles right now. A nice, easy, free kick at the softest of soft targets once more, to distract attention from the failings and inadequacies of the paper's political bedfellows. Because the Metro is published by the same shower of reactionary, fascistic liars that publishes the Daily Mail. That says all you need to know, as far as I'm concerned.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A la recherche du temps perdu

Not Proust's most famous novel, but what, I've worked out, I've been doing in regard to my relationship with K. Trying to find a way of making up for all the time that's been lost while she's been growing up. But there is no way of doing that, by definition, really. Lost is lost, for always. We talked last night, but it didn't achieve anything, in reality, apart from upsetting us both, me because I felt guilty at my disappointment over things that are in no way K's fault, K because she felt guilty at disappointing me, even though, actually, she hasn't, as I tried to explain to her. As happens, has happened, so often in what might be described as my 'emotional life', I'm apparently looking for something that simply isn't available. So all that's left is the utilitarian, providing what K needs, materially, in the last phases of her education and road to full adulthood. Then, it will really all be over. And time to go.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

I see a pattern emerging

I went into work this morning, to do an overtime shift - money for old rope, if I'm being honest, even if it did mean getting up at 4:20. Rather to my surprise, K rang me just before 8:00, to say that she was off to the seaside, Brighton, to be exact, so I asked her to let me know when she was on her way back, to see if we could meet up somewhere, to eat, or whatever. In the event, she texted me after she'd got back to the flat, to say she was going to order herself a pizza. When I suggested we have a meal together, the disinterest was palpable, even through the medium of SMS. Even when we're both at home together, it seems to be a major effort for her to deign to give me five minutes of 'facetime'. Yeah, fine, she's a teenager, blah, blah, blah. But I spent years, probably most of the second half of my marriage, with her mother making it clear that I was only as good as the contents of my pay packet, and now the same thing seems to be happening again. After looking forward for so many months, and so fervently, to spending some time with my daughter, it looks like my long career of disappointment is going to get longer still. The wages of my cowardice, of being scared to be myself for all those years, turning around to bite me yet again.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Another reason to visit my local

As if I need one! A new member of staff. And not only is he legal, like Daniel, but he's obviously over 18, because he's just served me at the bar, even if he looks at least two years younger. And he is cute! Not, of course, that I'm deluded enough to imagine I've got any hope of getting close to him, but it's doubled the eye candy quotient, if nothing else!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Omen-ous

I did something last night that I almost never do - sat up very late watching TV. And, to make it even more atypical, not just TV, but back to back films. The title of the post has doubtless given away the impetus for my unusual behaviour - Film 4 were showing The Omen (the original, not the pointless frame for frame remake), and, the real incentive for pushing my lack of sleep beyond all reasonable bounds, followed it with my favourite film of all time, Damien - Omen II. I know I've posted about the film somewhere before in the blog, and used the next line, too, but the main reason I like the film so much can be summed up in three words - Jonathan Scott-Taylor, playing the teenage Damien. Not only does he act the rest of the cast off the screen, but he was amazingly cute doing it. The irony is, he's only two years younger than me, but the magic of celluloid keeps him forever on the cusp of puberty, and very close to the top of my all-time list of irresistible cuties. The shallowest of reasons for making it my favourite film, of course, but I can't be profound all the time!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Temptation

Today's front pages, at least of the tabloid persuasion, were pretty much exclusively focused on 'historic sexual abuse' allegations made against Cliff Richard, and the associated police investigation. I have, of course, not the slightest idea whether there's any truth in the allegations or not - given the singer's public persona, I'd be surprised if they were true, but I couldn't help thinking wryly that boys are so insanely, mind-manglingly desirable that maybe even someone so (superficially?) saintly couldn't resist their allure. Time will tell, I guess.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Awash

'Worktown' was swarmed with cuties when I escaped from my wage slavery at lunchtime today, heading into two and a half days off - I'm not back into work until Sunday morning. One in particular was quite simply beautiful, blond, dimples when he smiled his gorgeous smile (not in my direction, of course), a complete delight. But then, as I walked across the road from the supermarket where I'd seen the supercutie to the bus stop, it started to rain. And then it rained. And rained. And hailed, and thundered and lightninged. Then rained some more. The sort of weather that is as unconducive to boy watching as can be imagined. So, me being me, I've decamped to my local, to get wet on the inside, instead of the outside. It has stopped raining now, but I'm too settled to do anything else. I just hope Tlaloc is more on my side tomorrow!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Travelling again

K, that is. She's off to Scotland again tomorrow, but, today, she's gone in completely the opposite direction, on a day trip to the West Country, and it's a trip with an interesting 'back story'. She's going to pick up a bass guitar and amp she's bought from one of her friends from her old school, because she's been 'head hunted' to join a band - K's ex-boyfriend's band. They sacked their bass player recently, and the 'main man' of the band decided K would be an ideal replacement - she's never actually played bass, but she's a more than competent lead/acoustic guitarist, writes her own music, and she can really sing. She played me some of the band's recent stuff the other night, and it's pretty impressive - K describes it as 'pop punk', but I would call it the heavier end of indie rock. Whether anything substantive will come of it remains to be seen, but K's certainly enthusiastic, and, as long as it doesn't interfere with her education, I don't see why she shouldn't give it a go. Maybe the idea of my girl up on stage in front of a cast of thousands is a long shot, but, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
In K's absence, I've headed for another far-flung leafy suburb, and my first new (to me) Wetherspoons for quite some time. And very pleasant it is, too, both the suburb and the pub. On the way, I fell, more than somewhat, in lust with a cute boy on the train from 'worktown' - he was right in the middle of my AoA, around 13, good looking, if not stunning - and, by all appearances, he wasn't a little boy, either! Not, of course, that any of it made any difference, because I'll never see him again, in any realistic scenario, and even if I did, there's no chance he'd want anything to do with me, but I can daydream. It isn't illegal - yet.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

More Christian love and compassion

Or, as the rest of us might call it, hateful bigotry.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

How many times?

How many more times am I going to do it? Write a 'controversial' post, and chicken out because of what the mythical 'they' might think of it? Who am I trying to impress, for fucks sake? Hardly anyone even reads the fucking blog, still less responds to it. What's the point of any of it, if I can't say what I want to say? Guilt, shame, plain straightforward cowardice? Any or all of the foregoing? What a pathetic twat I am, really.

Even after death....

....some people's bigoted hatred can't be quenched. Just when you think organised religion can't get any more disgusting, they turn around and prove you wrong. I'm glad God doesn't exist, because if it did, it would be necessary to hate it, for allowing this kind of behaviour in its name.

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B

In another universe....

....you could have smiled at me and said hello, and made the day of one hopeless, ridiculous old man. But, in this ball of crap that's all there is, you looked right through me, I doubt if I even registered in your conscious mind at all, or if I did, it would only have been as a 'stranger', and thus, of course, 'danger'. There's no reason at all why you should have done, or wanted to do, anything differently, I'm not blaming you in the slightest, but sometimes it's the small things that are the most soul-destroying. I've said it before, but the repetition makes it no less true, that I have no idea why I bother carrying on with this pathetic charade masquerading as my life.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Here, gone, here, gone

My daughter's week, as she continues in her apparent determination to reach six figure travelling mileage this summer. I sort of had the pleasure of her company yesterday - she got up early to shower, and I thought she'd gone out, but she'd actually gone back to bed, and finally resurfaced, more than a little reluctantly, towards midday. I'd had an e-mail from her last week in which she lightheartedly complained of meat deprivation - the friends she was staying with, and, indeed, the friend she went with, were vegetarian - so I took her out for a carnivore-friendly lunch, but by the time she'd assuaged her withdrawal symptoms a bit, her jetlag had caught up with her, and what had been intended as an 'outing and abouting' day was curtailed by her wanting to go home and crash out again. Then, this morning, she did get up and head out for a day trip to the West Country to catch up with some of her friends down there, and, unless anything unforeseen happens, she'll be off to Scotland on Thursday to meet up with some more YouTuber pals, probably staying for the weekend. So, the almost week and a half I booked off to spend some time with K will be gone, with my having had one meal with her, and whatever time she can find in her busy schedule tomorrow. The joys of being the parent of a teenager!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

When bigots are also morons....

....this kind of thing happens. I'd like to believe that the story is some kind of spoof, but it looks like it falls into the 'truth is stranger than fiction' category. Not only stranger, but much more depressing.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The wanderer returns. And some novelty

K got back from her trip this morning, arriving back at the flat at around 10:15, some three hours after her plane landed at Heathrow, which seemed like it was longer than it should've been, although she didn't mention having had any specific problems. In fact, she didn't say much at all, because she was pretty exhausted, and, apart from going back into town this afternoon to see her friend off en route back to Cornwall, has more or less written today off to sleep off the jetlag. While I'd always rather have the pleasure of her company than not, it would've been pointless to have tried to do anything with her constantly on the verge of falling asleep - hopefully she'll be more compos mentis tomorrow.
In the circumstances, I've taken myself out for another meander, and therein lies the novelty. Because of today's rather scant selection of eye candy, the two most attractive were someone who was 99% certainly legal, maybe 16 or 17, and....a girl! She was very boyish looking, but irrefutably female, and very cute! It's not completely unprecedented for a girl to catch my eye, but it is rare. Not that I'd do anything non-consensual to a girl, any more than I would a boy, but I can't deny that she was very nice to look at.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The clue's in the title!

As I was at the bar (in my local) a few minutes ago, I overheard an oldish, maybe sixty-something guy trying to order some food. He asked for a Sunday roast, and on being told it was only available on a Sunday, he said, seemingly incredulously,  'Only on a Sunday?'. After returning to his table to confer with his (presumably) wife, they upped and walked out. Never underestimate the stupidity of the general public, that's what I say!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

More child abuse....

....thwarted. Any parent who withholds provenly effective medical treatment from their child, for whatever reason, should be regarded in the same light as one guilty of active physical abuse. As an adult, you can believe whatever you like, and if that's deleterious to you, sobeit. But to inflict your beliefs on a person who not only can't choose for themselves, but who relies on you to protect them, is completely unforgivable.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B