The boy on the bus isn't

Isn't a boy anymore. I thought I'd seen him a few weeks back, but I wasn't sure if it actually was him or not. Today's encounter left no doubt, though. And there was equally little doubt that in the eighteen months or so since I last saw him, puberty has got hold of him, big style. He's got a moustache, albeit one of the insubstantial type youths of his age and a little older often sport. Another reminder, if any were needed, of the most fundamental issue boylovers face - transience. If DBJ walked through the door of this pub right now, the dissonance between my memories of him and the grown-up reality would probably reduce me to a pile of lachrymose mush, but any such reaction would, of course, change nothing. Boys grow up, inexorably. Luckily, their little brothers do, too!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B