Nostalgia and sadness

Both of those things, and together, too, in more than one case today. It started with watching an old 'short' on TV, a film originally designed, I suspect, as a cinema filler before the 'main feature'. The film was about 1950s Cornwall, hence my interest, and it showed my last domicile before I left the area, but more pertinently, a shot of a village pretty close to where we first moved to the duchy, and a village I really liked - apart from the fact that I would've never been able to afford a house there. That led to me googling, stupidly, the village we did live in at the time, with the predictable result that I ended up feeling pretty miserable, given the fiasco that subsequently befell me (albeit self-inflicted, for the most part). As if that wasn't bad enough, the lunchtime news announced that Terry Jones had died. Monty Python was a big huge thing in my life, especially when I was a teenager, so losing another 'hero' is a thoroughly sad day. To ice a very dark cake, Sky News (when I was in the pub, I wouldn't piss on the Murdoch cabal and their operation if they were on fire normally) had a 'talking head' discussing Jones' life, a comedian and writer who happens to be the resident 'celeb' at a Wetherspoons I used pretty regularly, especially when my 'real local' closed down in 2016. And that led me into further in greyness, about Stanmore in general, but in particularly about Cammy, who I lost as a pal because of the pub's demise. As I've said before, life is shit, except when it's really shit.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Funny how memory works

I was browsing a website I read regularly a while ago, and the post I saw, rather tangentially in terms of their usual fare, mentioned fossil hunting. Given that I was (and still am, being honest) a bit of a nerd, I joined the school Natural History Club when I was 13-ish, being a member for a couple of years. It was mostly conducted during lunchtime break (which was beneficial sometimes, especially in the winter, when you could stay indoors rather being chucked out in the cold!), but there were a couple of Saturday 'field trips', too, cheap enough for my parents to afford the cost. One of them was to a place well known for finding fossils, so I was very keen to go. It was Springtime, and it was a nice day, weather-wise, too, but it had been pretty wet earlier in the week, so the hillside we were investigating rapidly became a carbon copy of The Somme - I've never been so muddy in my life, as far as I can remember. But that wasn't the most memorable element of the day, though, hence the post title. I ended up working with a guy, who I knew by sight, but soon became friendly with that day. And he was utterly gorgeous! I was barely 14 then (he was two years younger) and was starting to realise (hazily) that I might’ve been, by the vernacular of the times, 'a poof', so, needless to say, I didn't do or say anything to out myself - I'd have been lynched, probably - but I spent the afternoon doe-eyed, to say the least. Nothing substantial happened later, either, in terms of our 'relationship', but we stayed 'mates', loosely, until I left the school when I finished my A-Levels in 1978. And that was it, I've never thought about him again (although I recall, very vaguely, one of my long-term friends from school mentioning him some time in the 80's), until today. He'll be 57/58 now, I've no idea what he's doing now or where he lives, but I hope he's had a good life. Better than mine, certainly. But the vagaries of memory can still recall the beautiful boy I remember, all those years ago.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Catalunya

I've had a e-mail from K this morning, complete with a couple of photos, telling me that she's settling in well enough as regards her Catalan adventure - she's staying in a rural area, 25 miles or so from Tarragona, away from the tourist hotspots, which is good from her perspective, so that she can't be tempted to spend too much of her money, she says! I'm pleased she seems to be happy so far, and, of course, I'm relieved that she's safe and sound - I know she's an adult and a sensible one, too, but I can't help worrying a little bit occasionally. K is the only person, really, that cares if I live or die (including myself, sometimes), so anything bad happening to her would be close to unbearable.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

New year, same aches

Some things never change, despite the calendrical niceties. I like my flat, generally, but I know I could have been living, certainly in terms of the 'location, location, location' mantra, somewhere else better for the same price, apart from cowardice. And I've still absolutely no chance of having a boy in my life, even as a friend, never mind anything more. And my girl is jetting to new pastures tomorrow, with her boyfriend, for months - her choice, of course, and I'd never dream of interfering, even if I could. But 2020 sucks, already.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

Insanity personified

I knew that Trump was mad, bad and dangerous to know, but I didn't expect him to risk World War III to appease his fascist supporters, nothing like a war to win elections, after all, just ask Thatcher in 1983. And you know Johnson will be on the sycophantic bandwagon, nothing more certain. The world is going to hell in a handcart, and that's the optimistic assessment.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B

2020 vision

Yeah, I know it's as clichéd as hell, but I couldn't resist. Especially as I haven't got a worthwhile clue, never mind a vision, for a better 2020, either for myself or the world in general. As ever, the only thing I really want is as inaccessible as ever, so I suspect the year to come will be a case of solitary decline, if not worse, particularly in terms of my health. Still, self-pity won't fix anything, so I'll keep on keeping on, and see what happens. Notwithstanding my woes, though, I hope you all have a happy, prosperous and, above all, healthy New Year.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B