No fun, and close to tears

Little more than four hours after I published the previous post, on Saturday evening, one of the main reasons why my life is so difficult asserted itself. Right at the beginning of my shift at work that night, conversation turned to a 'fly on the wall' TV series, apparently focusing on some UK police force, a recent episode of which featured the activities of a vigilante-ish group who have entrapped a number of 'paedophiles' through online chatrooms. Needless to say, all present but me were resoundingly in favour of such an outcome (I wasn't, of course, remotely stupid enough to voice my views on the subject), but the fact that the two colleagues of the group I most regularly work with who are the closest I have to 'friends' at work were among the most fervent 'antis' was depressing almost to the point of tears. They not only don't understand - no-one who isn't 'on the inside' ever can - they don't want to understand, the kneejerk, unthinking received opinion is vastly simpler, and, of course, keeps them aligned with the overwhelming majority of 'society'.
And more frustration today, on a different but roughly parallel track, a goodly number of touristy and school trip cuties out and about in town, so close and yet so out of reach, as always. The most notable was in Oxford Street, an utterly beautiful boy of 12 or so who 'ghosted' in and out of my life in half a dozen heart-melting seconds. Would that, just once, I could connect with someone like him, if only for a few minutes of passing acquaintance. I'm not holding my breath, though.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B