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
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
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