Not waving

Not quite drowning, either, but nearer the latter than the former. I finished my 'out of circulation' week this morning with the last of my latest batch of night shifts, and I'm now into a couple of days off, but it's done little to raise my spirits. Not only are these my last days off before the end of the school holidays, with the obvious implications for daytime eye candy, they're also the last before K disappears to uni - she'll be gone by this time next week. And she's busy on both of them, as well as most of the rest of the week, although my being on lates from Wednesday renders that pretty much academic. Not, of course, that I would ever dream of trying to stand in her way, even if it was possible, but going back to the sort of isolation I experienced between the end of my marriage and K's arrival in London just over two years ago is hardly the most enticing of prospects.
If there is any sort of light on the horizon, though, it may be by way of Nephelokokkygia. I never make promises about my fiction writing, because there have been far too many false dawns, but I do have two ongoing projects there that have a chance, at least, of coming to fruition. The muse could desert me at any moment, though, so I'll say no more until I can say something substantive.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Ideal, in every respect but one

Back to work this afternoon, and the 'stay out of Zone 1 and pay half the fare' route to 'worktown' I now often use threw up one of those bittersweet moments I have no doubt any boylover would recognise. I spent 22 minutes, give or take, on the tube sitting opposite an achingly cute boy, 13-ish, a sort of a mashup of DBJ and (former) 'next door but one cutie', with a beautiful smile reminiscent of my niece at that age (no, I didn't harbour desires for her, but she did have a beautiful smile). And he gave the impression of having quite a bit more about him - the banter he was sharing with his two friends made it obvious that he was bright, and imaginative, and just fun. Ideal. Except, of course, that he could, would never be my friend, still less anything more. And, equally certainly, he'll be another 'ghost', never to be seen again. Once more, I feel like the pauper boy, nose pressed against the window of the toyshop whose delights he'll never be able to reach out and touch.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The end of summer

Well, probably not quite, but today is certainly the last day of my 'summer fortnight' off, and, with it, the good weather I've been lucky enough to enjoy during my break seems to have come to an end as well - it was damp and drizzly yesterday, but it's been more organisedly wet and windy today. K and I did have plans for a rather unusual and potentially interesting trip today, but it involved heading to a 'ghost village' on Salisbury Plain, not a particularly appetising place to visit if, as the weather forecast suggested, horizontal rain was going to be the order of the day. In the event, we did have a few hours of quality time, including lunch at a branch of her favourite burrito chain, so all was far from lost. So, back to work tomorrow it is, although I don't, at least, have to get up at 'stupid o'clock', being on a late shift, so it could be (marginally) worse. It wouldn't take much encouragement for me to carry on with the past two weeks' lazy lifestyle, though.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Uni, and a bucolic frolic

K got her A-level results this morning, and while they were a little short of her hopes and expectations, they were good enough for her to get her first choice university place. She's pleased, of course, and rightly so, and I'm just as pleased for her. Going where she's going has also resolved another loose end - given that she'll be in halls of residence for her first year, I will, subject to confirmation by the landlord, be keeping the flat on for another year, so that K has still got a home to come back to in the holidays and at the end of the academic year.
The rest of the day, K being off celebrating with her friends, has centred around a trip to the country. I met my brother and sister-in-law at a main station midway between London and their place, before driving out to a pub, pretty much in the middle of nowhere, which used to be a family favourite, but which none of us had visited for many years. As luck would have it, it was still as good as I remembered, and we had a long, relaxed lunch in the sunshine. All very pleasant indeed.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

How time flies

When you're not at work, even if the 'fun factor' is rather thin on the ground. Just three full days left of my first two week summer holiday for longer than I care to remember. Still, I have got things planned, at least provisionally, for each of those days, before the treadmill reasserts itself on Sunday afternoon. Some say that retirement is a recipe for boredom, but, if it wasn't for the need to finance the remainder of K's education, I know I could find more than enough ways to amuse myself without having to be a wage slave. I hope to prove myself correct in, give or take, three years time.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Big Brother could be watching

Apropos of nothing in particular, I had a decidedly paranoid moment on my travels this afternoon. I was waiting on a station platform when it occurred to me that, because I have a 'registered' Oystercard, the proverbial 'they' could have been tracking my every move around London. That, alongside the forest of CCTV cameras festooned seemingly everywhere, would make it rather difficult for me to travel 'discreetly', should I want or need to. I suppose that my awareness of the issue at least gives me the opportunity to take 'countermeasures' - I'm sure untold numbers travel around the capital day in, day out without the 'surveillance culture' ever crossing their minds - but, short of decamping to some far-flung hilltop or island, and eschewing any kind of electronic transaction, covering your tracks is nigh on impossible nowadays.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Don't smile like that

Unless you mean it. I was in my regular Wetherspoons last night, and Daniel was working. There wasn't much interaction at first, because the place was busy, but as the evening drew on and things quietened down, he became decidedly friendly. And smiley. Even as I left, although he was in the middle of serving someone, he raised his hand in my direction, smiling once more, saying 'see you later'. Does it mean anything? I can't bring myself to believe that it might - I can't envisage a more than passably attractive young man of 19, or thereabouts, ever having any interest in a fat bloke nearly three times his age, and one with a pathological fear of looking stupid, at that. But the glimmer of hope born of those smiles simply won't go away.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Well, of course he wasn't

Since my old local closed, I've been torn about visiting the Wetherspoons in K's (now-former) 'school town'. Why? Because I had it in my mind that, given where I think they might live, it could've been an alternative venue for Cammy and his family to have their 'meals out'. But, with all the uncertainties, I didn't want to go there hoping to see 'my little friend', only to be disappointed. Until this evening, when I did, indeed, go there. And, needless to say, the boy was conspicuous by his absence. Equally predictably, I was thoroughly down in the mouth about that absence. Gut instincts are rarely wrong.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

The diminishing store of quality time

Out and about in town with K today, wandering along the South Bank, having something to eat at Borough Market, before bussing circuitously back towards home. Plenty of good conversation, as ever. But, despite the enjoyable nature of our time together, the knowledge in the background that it's all going to come to an end in a matter of weeks, when my girl heads off to uni. The past two years or so have spoiled me, quite honestly, having K around on a regular basis, even if we have been like the proverbial 'ships in the night' at times, and I can't deny that going back to a predominantly solitary lifestyle will be a wrench. It has to be done, though - there's no way I'd want to hold her back, even if I could. That doesn't mean I have to like it, though.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A minority of one

Another session of 'paedo-bating' at work this morning, a slightly different cast of colleagues today, but the 'vigilante' videos once more the centre of attention. Unlike my anger, at their bigotry and stupidity, and frustration, at not being able to kick back without bringing what little remains of the edifice of my life crashing down, of yesterday, my predominant emotions this time were loneliness and fear. I was, for long minutes, the same terrified boy I'd been at 13, sitting on my own at school literally trembling at the potential consequences of my peers discovering the 'real me'. I'm sure there would be many who would say I deserve every bit of unhappiness I get, given my desires, but, for the umpteenth time, I didn't choose to be this way, I'd have had to be insane to make such a choice. If I could wish it away, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Not, of course, that anyone other than another boylover could possibly understand my situation, or even care. In the specious court of public opinion, we've long since been summarily tried and condemned.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Seething

There are times when I loathe the place I work, or perhaps better, some of the people I have to work with, almost more than I can express in words. And this lunchtime was most assuredly one of those times. Someone had found on YouTube a series of videos made by some vigilante-ish group, who spoof 'paedos' into meeting up with what they believe to be underage girls, then turn up to confront them, or worse. Needless to say, the mindless bigots were gloatingly lapping it all up. I, on the other hand, was teetering on the brink of a complete meltdown, hardly more than a heartbeat away from smacking someone, almost anyone, in the mouth. Luckily for my career prospects, my relief arrived and I was able to escape with my mask still intact, even if my blood pressure took rather longer to recover. The only saving grace, apart from not outing myself, is that I've only got to get through one more shift, tomorrow morning, in the bloody place before embarking on two weeks leave. The temptation to walk out of there in 20 hours or so and never go back is more than a little attractive.

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B

Knives in my head

Memories that burn. Last night, getting in late after coming back from work via my regular Wetherspoons, K and I ended up talking until 3:00 in the morning. And DBJ came up in the conversation. In three weeks time, give or take, it'll be ten years since I first set eyes on, to me at least, the most beautiful boy in the world, and, a couple of weeks later, six years since I saw him last. I know, of course, that he'll be all grown up now, 19, possibly almost 20, given the school year he was in, but his 12/13 year old perfection is seared indelibly into my brain.
And now this afternoon, in another Wetherspoons, my favoured but less-frequented relatively nearby haunt, more of those knives, someone at the bar talking about Cornwall (and mispronouncing its Cornish name, leaving me muttering darkly and gritting my teeth), quickly followed by someone else mentioning the closure of my old local, which, apart from the reminder of the loss of the pub, bad enough in itself, threw Cammy into my head once more. I'm sure dwelling on the past isn't a good idea, but when the present and future are so benighted, it's a difficult temptation to avoid.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B