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