Who sent you?

A question I asked, silently, a long time ago, and, by UK standards, a long way from here, when I first saw the utterly beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who was my number one until DBJ finally eclipsed him, a quarter of a century later. The same question came to mind ninety minutes ago, in my local, in the face of another delightful boy, one I hadn't seen before, having a meal with his family. He wasn't quite on a par with his predecessors, but it was only a matter of a few percentage points. Of course, nobody sends them, it's all a matter of chance - after all, I saw one of my work colleagues at lunchtime, in an area of London where neither of us would've expected to have seen the other - but that doesn't make the pangs of unrequitable longing any easier to bear.

2100 edit: But then something awesome happens. Cameron was here, and, of his own volition, said goodbye to me. The first time he's directly spoken to me. Maybe he is going to be my boy, after all.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B