Vale, 2018

So, here I am, three hours, more or less, of 2018 remaining. It's probably fair to say that the year has been slightly better than 2017, albeit from a very low benchmark. I've retired, although my retirement hasn't been in the circumstances I would've chosen, but having my time back has been positive - I'm certainly not missing work! Much of the year, three quarters of it, at least, has been consumed with considerations of where and how I'm going to live, and things still haven't been finalised. Things are still happening, though - I had an e-mail from the solicitors immediately before Christmas (needless, they've been shut from the last ten days, not reopening before January 2, bleeding marvellous!), so, notwithstanding any last minute snags, I should be back on the property ladder very soon, which will be a major bonus. The idea of my own front door again, after six and a half years, is something I'm very much looking forward to.
All that remains to do is to wish all of you all the best for a happy and healthy 2019. Happy New Year!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

So here it is

Another Christmas. And, by my recent standards, a good one, given that K is with me this year - we've had a typically excessive dinner, a vegan one for K, a thoroughly carnivorous version for me, a few drinks (my girl is snoozing due to 'food coma' at the moment!), and, best of all, her delightful company. So in keeping with my feelings of good cheer, I hope everybody is having/has had a lovely day. Season's Greetings to all!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Bloody hell!

There's a new barman in 'domicile-ville' Wetherspoons, and I'm not kidding, he looks like he's about 15. He's not the cutest guy I've seen in my life, but, given that he's obviously legal, I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed! Not that would be a chance that he would be interested in me, of course, but I can dream!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Saints stuff

I've always fought shy about mentioning my near pathological love for St Kilda FC - after all, there aren't too many Saints 'tragics' in the UK, especially when I lived in Cornwall, it would've been a bit of a giveaway in terms of my 'real-life' identity - but given the fact very few people even read my blog (albeit that I'm grateful those who do!) it's tantamount to paranoia if I don't talk about the club at all. So the fact the 2018 AFL draft is happening tomorrow (the first round, at least) is a good time to discuss Sainters news as any. We've had a terrible season, by any standards, third-last in the ladder, and there have been threats of torches and pitchforks massing (figuratively, if not literally) at Moorabbin lately, particularly aimed the head coach. I can't pretend that I'm happy with everything in 'Saintsworld' at moment, but some of the 'punditry' has been close to hysterical, as far as I'm concerned. Looking at the bright side, though, it does mean that we're going to get a good pick in the draft - the somewhat arcane rules of the AFL mean that we're going to have pick 4 rather the nominal pick 3 we would have had originally - and the 'Class of 2018' is supposedly is going to be good. Three of the players are, by common consent, have been earmarked as 'the best of the best' and not available to us (although I'd be happy to be wrong about any of the three), so much of the speculation has been centred around 'number 4'. The 'smart money' says the Saints will nominate a guy called Max King, a tall forward who is, as far as I can see, a very good player, but my concern is that we need a elite midfielder more than a forward. For the little I know as a Brit from 10000-odd miles away, I'm going to pin my colours to a young man called Bailey Smith, who I think is the sort of player we need, in my opinion. My opinion is meaningless, of course, in the grand scheme of things, but I hope that I'll be right. I'll find out tomorrow morning (UK time), doubtlessly.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Bittersweet, not for the first time

I watched a film tonight, from one of my meagre collection of DVDs, the first time I've done that for, literally, years. It was a film I've seen several times - I couldn't say, exactly, how times, but it must be at least a dozen - but I hadn't watched it for at least five years. The film is quite elderly these days - it was released in 1984 - but I still find it compelling and relevant for me, with its elements of hypocrisy and society's expectations, the expectations that you transgress at your peril. It's a very beautiful film aesthetically, in my opinion, and there's an absolute cutie in the cast, too (Adrian Ross-Magenty, playing Wharton, albeit that the actor will be pushing 50 now in real life), but it's achingly sad for me, all the more because the world is just as unaccepting for people for in my situation, if not more so, that it was when it was produced. The film? Another Country.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Doleful anniversaries

It's not been a cheerful couple of days, if I'm being honest. After my 'waah!' moment on Saturday about Cammy, Sunday brought reflections about my cousin, the greatest love of my life, bar none, given that yesterday was his birthday, followed by today, the anniversary of meeting my ex for the first time (27 years ago, almost half my life, and for what?). I'll survive, doubtless, but it seems pretty pointless, sometimes.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

How are you?

That question. The one that so many people ask, but the one they almost never want to hear, at least in terms of an honest answer. If I was to be asked, I might soften my response by using the old chestnut 'How long have you got?', but if I was to be completely frank, the answer at the moment would be 'I'm totally pissed off'. This is nothing to do with the new flat - I spoke to the solicitors on Thursday, and everything seems to be going to plan, albeit that I don't know exactly when I can expect the contracts to be exchanged, yet - but the knowledge that wherever I end up living, 'society' will still hate me, generically if not specifically. My feelings have been exacerbated by thinking about Cammy, my 'little friend' from my old local Wetherspoons (I might just well say where it was, I guess, now it doesn't exist anymore, and that fact that K and I don't live anywhere near the place now - it was The Man In The Moon in Stanmore, although we didn't live in Stanmore, it was far too expensive, but it was the nearest Wetherspoons to our former flat). 99%, or more, of people would doubtless assume that I would only have been interested in the boy by way of stuffing my penis in his mouth, or his anus, but as far as I'm concerned, that was never my intention - I wanted to be his friend, and for him to be my friend, too, and I'm convinced it could have happened, without the spectre of sexual abuse ever having been present. As I say, almost no-one would have believed me - even Cammy himself, once he was old enough to be poisoned by the world's hatred for boylovers - but I'm sticking to my assertion. It doesn't change anything, of course - I'm still desolate, not even remotely close to having the sort of relationship I would choose. How am I? Feeling like the pub, or its merchandise, more realistically, is my only friend. And I'll be there this afternoon, almost certainly.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Beyond awesome

24 hours ago, more or less exactly, I was lucky enough to be at Bournemouth Pavilion to experience what was arguably the best gig I've ever seen. King Crimson, right by the stage, and I got to share with it K, too. Starless! Red!! The whole set, really. If that proves my last ever live concert, and it might be, I'll be leaving on a massive high. Simply unbelievably stunning.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

52 weeks

It's the anniversary of my last day, the last five hours, in fact, of being able to speak and write normally - it's exactly 52 weeks since I had my stroke. Not much to celebrate about, realistically, but it has been a useful day - I'm in my prospective 'new hometown', visiting the estate agents and, more particularly, the solicitors. They're satisfied with the paperwork I've provided, so the next step should be progressing imminently - once I've paid a pile of cash, which they will have in their account by tomorrow, unless anything unforeseen happens. Death, taxes and lawyers, as I said last time!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Progressing, nervously

Things are happening as far as the flat goes - I've had a formal letter from the estate agents confirming the acceptance for my offer from the vendors, and I've now got a solicitor arranged (at a price, of course - there are no certainties beyond death, taxes and grasping lawyers, it seems!), so everything appears to be going smoothly so far. Because of my almost pathological pessimism, though, I'm expecting some disaster looming, almost by the hour, given the way my life has lurched from crisis to crisis (many self-inflicted, I'll admit) over so many years. I'm not prepared to breathe easily until the keys of the place are in my hands - and even then, I'll probably drop them down the nearest drain, or something equally deranged!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

A big deal

Unless something unforeseen happens, I've bought a flat today, a good place, too, in my opinion. I very much hope that I've made the right decision, because I expect I'll live there the rest of my life. Wish me luck!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Not vacillating

Within minutes of publishing my last post, I saw a guy, maybe ten years younger than me, wearing a t-shirt that said 'STILL HATE THATCHER'. That is one sentiment I will never question, ever.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Vacillation

I had a trip yesterday, 'up north', 200-odd miles from 'domicile-ville', to view a flat on the outskirts of a large town, somewhere I've never lived in, but within thirty miles of the place where I met my ex, and where K was born, so, overall, an area I'm familiar with. And the flat is stunning, given my property budget, easily the best place I've seen over the six months, give or take, since I've been house hunting. But I'm still hesitant, thinking of all the snags could arise, real or imagined, paralysed by doubt. I used to be reasonably decisive (albeit prone to terrible choices, at times), but now I'm seemingly incapable to cope with any substantive questions. It's not a pleasant feeling.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Despair

For a while now, I've tried to convince myself that I should be back to blogging regularly - my aphasia won't be 'cured', ever, but I can function, to a degree, and I could compose a post like this, albeit not very fluently, and more to the point, not quickly. Writing is, mostly, work now, as opposed to a pleasure. But I could force myself to doing it, sometimes, if it wasn't that the world, in its present iteration, was so relentlessly depressing. My own situation is my problem, but the wider world is simply appalling, as far as I can see. The forces of reaction, of selfishness and greed, of bigotry and hatred, are winning, everywhere. Much as I love K, there are days that I wish that she was never born. I'll be dead soon, realistically, but she'll have to live with the consequences of my mistakes, of the world's mistakes. What a legacy.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Summer holiday end

Today is the last hurrah of this year's school summer holidays (I believe - I'm not up to speed in that context, given that K finished school in June 2016!), and this year's model has been by far the poorest crop, in terms of eye candy, of my whole adult life. It's completely my fault - I simply haven't been anywhere, apart from a couple of day trips looking at property viewings, and two or three times when I met K for lunch. Basically, I've been a recluse, and almost a willing one, at that. This lunchtime, though, has been a little oasis, for all of fifteen minutes. I was at a bus stop in 'domicile-ville', close to my chemists after getting my regular batch of meds, when I had two 'boy moments', one after the other. The first was with a little guy, 8/9, who was walking his Grandma's dog (by appearances, the woman was 60-something) - he saw me and smiled, I reciprocated, then smiled more widely, twice more, before disappearing into a side street. I was feeling more like a part of humanity already, but 'moment two' was even better - a couple of minutes later, two 13/14 year old cuties arrived, the taller guy being very attractive, and right in my AoA. And not only that, but he spoke to me! He asked me a question, very politely, about the imminent bus, which, sadly, I wasn't able to answer, partly because I simply didn't know, and partly because of my frustratingly poor speech, but I did at least suggest that he could ask the bus driver, which he duly did. I couldn't resist asking if he resolved his problem, and he said he had, thanking me and giving me a very nice smile. Yeah, I know I'm bloody desperate, but any contact with boys, especially cute ones, is better than nothing.

Love & best wishes to all

Sammy B

Where's the local hermitage?

This hasn't happened to me for quite a while, but I'm in the presence of a heartbreaker. I'm directly opposite (in 'domicile-ville' Wetherspoons) an astonishingly boy, but worse, a boy who resembles, more than a little, the boy. DBJ. I know he's 21 now, more or less, but my mental photograph album is sacrosanct. However pathetic that makes me seem.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Perspective

I'm disappointed that England lost in the World Cup semi-final - I can remember, just, 1966, and all that - but, overall, I'm nowhere near being as gutted as I was when St. Kilda lost in the AFL Grand Finals - 1997, 2009 and 2010 - I've experienced. Maybe I'm not very patriotic at heart, but maybe it's because I'm just a St Kilda 'tragic'!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

What a cutie!!

Just seen a video on the St Kilda website, and I'm in love!

http://www.saints.com.au/video/2018-07-11/get-skoold-tim-membrey

I love Axel almost as much as I love the Saints - but the club just wins! Go Sainters, go Axel!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

I'm still breathing

Sort of, at least. I'm still in 'domicile-ville', albeit reluctantly, but I'm working on that situation. I had the chance to bid on a flat on Cornwall, but, realistically, it was too expensive for my modest bank account, the 'all in one basket' scenario would've been too risky, even if living in the town concerned would been ideal, in many ways. I also saw a place, literally, a stone's throw from the sea, but just too far-flung to commit to, although I was very tempted. Over the last two days, though, I have seen a flat (only on the internet as yet) that may be 'the one' - it's affordable, in an area I've always liked, green and peaceful, potentially an ideal retirement hideaway, especially for a hermit like me. Early days, but I'm hopeful.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Not that simple

Despite the fact that my bank account is full (by my standards) after my pension money was transferred on May 1, doing something sensible about it has been more difficult than I've expected. I've pored, by the hour, at estate agents' websites, almost obsessively, but haven't managed to find 'the one', the home I want to live in for what remains of my life. I'm hamstrung, realistically, by the fact that I haven't got quite enough money for the sort of place I really want, particularly in terms of going back to Cornwall, but even the places I could afford all seem to have snags of one sort or another. To make it worse still, I'm not convinced that a place of my own is worth the hassle anyway. A part of me would be happy with staying put, in boring 'domicile-ville', going to the pub and drinking myself to death. After all, I know that I'll never get the thing that I want most, so what's the point?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Cornwall? Maybe, just maybe!

I've spent hours poring over estate agents' listings (mostly online) since my pension money has been confirmed and transferred into my bank account. I've looked at literally hundreds of properties, both for sale and rent, all over the UK. But when it comes to down it, what I want to do is to get back to 'home', i.e. South East Cornwall, the area I moved to with my family in 2000, the area I hoped to live for the rest of my life. My options are few, really, because I'm not rich at all, by 2018 standards, but I have got enough money to seriously think about a particular flat in the town close to where we used to live. Given my intractable pessimism, I can think of dozens of pitfalls, but, oh, if only....

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

What I want, really want

I've been to the seaside today, looking at a flat I could afford, given that my pension money is now in my bank account. It wasn't the 'the one', sadly, but it was fairly close, in many ways. After reflection, though, what I really want, ultimately, is wasting my cash on a cute boy (legal, if necessary) and then die, but with a smile on my lips. Not going to happen, of course, but I can dream.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Cumpleaños y jubilación

 A big day for me, and no mistake. It's my birthday (58, how bloody old?!), but, even more significantly, I'm retiring today. It's 39 years, 3 months and 22 days since I first started with my company. For my sins, or whatever. I'm not going to miss it - I used to be keen, mad keen, but that was a long time ago, it's just a job now, and has been for decades. It's paid fairly well, I have to admit, and it's been a lot better than digging ditches, but I won't be tearful, at all. I'm not working per se today, just handing my keys and the like to my manager and saying goodbye to any of colleagues who happen to be there. None of my regular 'gang' will be there, although I've seen all of them, apart from the 'archbigot', who retired himself earlier this month, since my illness, so there will be no regrets in that sense. So, after lunchtime, it's the start of my next adventure, such as it is, and I'm going to see K for a meal this evening. I'm always happy to see her, of course, but today will be particularly sweet. My girl, the centre of my universe. I love her so much.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Back (to my spiritual) home

A big day - my beloved Saints are back home, Moorabbin Oval (or RSEA Safety Park, if you prefer, but I can't believe any Sainter will call the place by that name!). OK, I've never been to Moorabbin - in fact, I've never been to the Southern Hemisphere at all, and don't expect to - but, as far as I'm concerned, it's my team's home ground, and always will be. For someone who's been a St Kilda fan for more than 30 years, I'm really quite emotional today. Go Sainters!.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Hawking

In these times, of 'celebrities' and 'reality shows', Andy Warhol's mantra about '15 minutes fame' is all too depressingly familiar. There are a few people, though, for who it is virtually impossible to overestimate. Stephen Hawking has been one of those people. Not only was he pre-eminent in his field, but also battled against almost insurmountable odds in terms of his horrific illness. One of the most remarkable men in my lifetime, as far as I'm concerned.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Sammy

A friend, someone who became one of the very, very few people knew about the link between my 'blog life' and my 'real life', once asked how my pseudonym came to be. Given that the name 'Sammy B' predated my blog, I guess it's a fair question. The answer, in a nutshell, is fiction, both in terms of reading and writing. I've long wanted to write, at least in phases, since I was in my teens, but I never really did anything about it, apart from a series of notebooks and, later, diaries - my 'Dear Diary' phase lasted for almost a decade, pretty much every day, from the late eighties into the nineties - but, eventually, they were all destroyed, for various reasons, albeit that, with hindsight, I regret their loss now. By the late 'noughties', however, I found the writing bug once more, and with it, a new genre of reading as far as I was concerned - online erotic fiction, with, of course, boys 'starring' predominantly. But starring far more in love stories than purely sexual ones (although I won't deny that many have turned me on, too!). And of all those stories, my favourite is The Geppetto Project (I'm sure anyone who wants to find the story will be able to readily enough), in particular the relationship between two of the main characters, a man and a boy. And, surprise, surprise, the boy's name is Sammy. When I decided I wanted try to write stories of my own, and decided to venture into 'blogland', too, I thought about whether and if I should construct a nom de plume, and the name immediately stuck out, partly because I was so fond of the character, and partly because I've never known personally anyone by that name. The letter 'B' came about was going to be a fictional surname, but the name was to be an unusual one, referring to a Cornish placename, and I decided that it was too close to the place I was living at the time for security reasons, albeit I was being a bit paranoid, really. So 'Sammy B' became it was, and still is. Why mention my nomenclature now? Because I'm in the process of re-reading The Geppetto Project for the first time for something four years - and I still love it. And Sammy.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Gone, all gone

There's been something that I'd forgotten over the last couple of days. The fact that it's now more than two years since my old local closed, February 28 2016, to be exact. And that also means that it's more than two years since I last saw Cammy. I doubt that he would remember me now, but I've never forgotten him. He could been my boy (and no, I don't mean that I wanted him sexually, he was far too young, and still would be), but that will never be. Thanks a bloody lot, Wetherspoons.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Karma?

Of all the things my health could have been tortured with, this bloody aphasia has the worst. Writing has been my solace so many ways, but now I can barely manage to express myself logically. I'm sure the haters will love it - boylovers deserve everything they get, after all.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Eight, and news

It's my blogaversary - my first post was on 24 February 2010. So many changes, but one invariant - no boy in my life, and no realistic chance of that happening, either. Ever.
One thing is definitely going to change soon, though - I'm retiring. There's no prospect of my going back to my regular job - safety-critical, and all that - and my company has evidently no idea what to do with me instead, so, after looking into the financial permutations, I'm going to save them the problem. I was planning to retire early once K finished at uni in Summer 2019 anyway, and I've got enough money - just - to ensure my girl can finish her education, which is my obvious priority. I'm not going to be living in the lap of luxury, but I'm not going to be destitute, either, and I will, at least, be able to say that my time will be my own. After almost forty years, that's not the worst outcome I could imagine.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Daydream factory

My niece is going be to married in a couple of months time, and I was talking about some of the arrangements with my brother yesterday evening. I mentioned that I've booked a hotel for K and I for the relevant weekend, and my brother said that some of my sister-in-law's family have booked at the same place. Cue the daydream/fantasy machine. My sister-in-law's niece, who I've known for thirty-odd years, albeit not that well, will probably attend the wedding, and given her age, she's got a family of her own. And the woman's youngest son is gorgeous. The last time I saw the boy, at my nephew's engagement party about three or four years ago, was 9/10, so he'll be 13-ish now. There's no guarantee that he'll be at the event, never mind that he would be interested about me - in any sense - but, oh, if he did....

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Masochists' corner

Well, it's that time of the year. The time when all of us St Kilda 'tragics' ponder might befall in the new AFL season. From my perspective, 10000 and change miles away from the UK to my beloved team, the signs don't seem promising. As far as I can see, the pundits, and even many true believer red, black and white fans, consider us no-hopers. Not quite wooden spoon contenders, but not far from that point. But I'm not nearly so pessimistic as that. I don't, for a second, think that we're Premiership material, but I think that we could get as far as the finals. It's true that we haven't got any 'stars' (yet - I'm looking at you, Josh Battle, right from 2016 Draft day, and yes, that was a prediction!), but we have, potentially, a good team - and it's a team sport, ultimately. As long we don't get too many injuries, and especially that we're consistent, a problem over the past couple of years, why shouldn't we be good enough?

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

New Year, new ghost

Plus ça change. I've just seen an unbelievably beautiful boy at 'worktown' station, blond, tallish, 14-ish. But, needless to say, he was gone within minutes. 2018 will, I guess, be as crappy as 2017.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

There is some good news, for once

Trump has scrapped his planned UK visit next month. Good fucking riddance!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

One of my sporting heroes

Over the weekend, I saw a little news article about the ski jumping Four Hills Tournament is just ended for 2018. One of the competitors won all four jumps this year, for only the second time, but I was reminded about someone who nearly did the same feat. Toni Nieminen. In 1992, he won three for the Four Hills, two Olympic gold medals, as well recording the official first 200 metre jump. And, at the time, he was unbelievably cute! My hero, even if I sound like a fangirl!

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B