…..the post in which I explain how I am becoming paranoid (oh, yes, and some other things)…..

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No. of times out and about today – 1
No. of stares noticed – 1
No. of long/strange stares – 1

So, I’m now ‘on’ several sites.  I’ve actually only paid money for 2 of them so the others have very limited access – i.e. I can look and people can look at me but it’s a little like being in a soundproof glass box, it doesn’t matter if I were to scream, no one could hear me.

On some of them, I have my picture.  There is a very good reason for this.  I don’t look my age and, unfortunately, my age is against me in that, most people seem to be looking for someone who is a couple/five/ten years younger than me – so I need them to ‘see’ that I don’t look my age.

Also, and I can assure you this may seem very shallow but it isn’t, people pick people on looks.  It’s a good job we all like different sorts of people but absolutely, one of our major deciding factors in who we will consider, is their look.

So, I am looking for someone like me, more or less.  Not too fat, not too much muscle, not too camp.

Now, on the one site which is, mainly, for people looking for other than sex (well, I think that’s true) and one of the ones I have actually paid for, I’ve made an observation which I will share.

The Spanish, in spite of they’re being a Catholic country, have the most profiles that include pictures.  I reckon about 90% have pictures.  The French would be next at, probably, about 70-80%.  The British next with about 50-60% and, finally, the Italians.  The Italians boast about 30% of profiles with pictures.  My profile has a picture, of course.

Some of my friends have a theory about why this is – according to them it is because so many of them are married men who haven’t quite come to terms with being gay.  Admittedly, many here, in Italy, say they are bi rather than gay, which is, to me, a little disconcerting.

I have now added to my profile that I won’t contact people who don’t have photos.

But there has been a side effect of this.  I have become paranoid.

t seems (although I do realise it is probably all in my head) that men have been staring at me much more than before.  And I mean to say really staring.

So, the other night, at a restaurant, a guy coming out from the toilets, smiled (maybe at me) or (it being all in my head) at someone at the table he was sitting at (which was behind me).  He looked familiar, sort of.  Me, being me, just couldn’t smile back, which I must improve upon.

Then, this morning, at the supermarket, this guy couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off me.  Not that he was looking at me in a particularly pleasant way but he did make a point, at one stage, of looking over the top of his sunglasses to get a better look at me.  There have been many more occasions than just these two but I can’t remember the details.

Now, for those of you not in Italy, this would be almost a certainty – especially if you live in the UK.  However, here, as I have blogged before, staring is a thing that Italians do.  They will not look away, as they would in the UK, in embarrassment, the moment you look at them but will hold the stare and will even be quite open about looking you up and down, checking what you’re wearing, etc.

However, it seems, to me, that this is happening on a daily basis now.  And, as I can’t see pictures on most profiles, I have no idea whether that’s because a) they’ve seen me on one of the sites, b) because I look strange and foreign, c) because they just fancy me or d) because they’re just Italian.

In any event, I now keep thinking it must be a or b (and I mention b because now that V isn’t here to tell me I look OK I don’t know that I do – perhaps I am dressed strangely or have my flies open or my hair looks weird or I am odd in some other way).  Either way, it is starting to get to me and make me feel nervous and less sure of myself (sometimes) and this is not good.

Yesterday, I went to Mantova for the Festivaletteratura (Book/Writers Festival).  The basic story goes like this:

  1. Every year for the past 6 years or so, V & I have been guests of the Festival – free accommodation; free entry to events; mostly free food, etc.
  2. This year V & I said we would go.
  3. Unfortunately, they could not provide free accommodation.
  4. Because I would have had to put the dogs in kennels (which is expensive) and pay for a hotel room and because V has just moved house, we said we wouldn’t go but would come for the day on Friday.
  5. M asked if we could do last minute and I said ‘yes’ (V confirmed with me later that this was true for him too).
  6. Wednesday/Thursday I get email from M to say they have room for Friday and Saturday night.
  7. V said he couldn’t come (no surprise really – he seems to be totally unreliable now and I’m still waiting for the sofa swap!)
  8. I couldn’t find anyone to look after the dogs.
  9. I go yesterday for the day only.

Although, I really did have a nice day.  Got back about midnight.

Saw FfI and Friend with Shop in Isola (FwSiI) the other night for a pizza.  It was lovely, except FwSiI is not doing really great right now (problems with marriage, shop not doing so well in these crisis days).  So she was a bit down and now thinking of packing everything in and moving back to London (which would be a great shame as I, for one, would miss her).

Picked Rufus up from his vacation a few nights ago.  Need to cut his fringe as he’s now bumping into things left, right and centre (that was when we went for meal and cute guy smiled at me (maybe)).  However, as Dino and Rufus had been apart for more than a week, after a couple of hours back home I was ready to send Rufus back or kill them both.  Obviously we had to go through the bit where they had to re-establish who was top dog.  Much bothering by Dino and much growling by Rufus.  Much ignoring of me when I shouted at them.  However, all is now back to normal, even if Rufus is not so good right now.

Agreed with S the computer set-up that I need and his suggestion for my new mobile phone (cell).  Need to go and sort that and was going to do it this afternoon but now I have to Skype someone at 4 so it may be Monday now, damn!

That’s all really.

What I will do though, going back to my new paranoia, is document how many times I get stared at by strange men.  Of course, I’ll tell you when/if one of those turns out to be the real deal…..

Fetishes and sex.

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My plan was that I was going to document my testing of the online dating thing. This was all well and good but that was based on the fact that I wasn’t looking for ‘just sex’.

However, last night, after several emails and a phone call, ‘just sex’ might be on the cards – this, rather cute, guy has a particular fetish which, although I am aware of it, I have never seen ‘in action’ so to speak. It was irresistible and so, unless he just prefers thinking about it in his head (which may be possible and I am also aware that does happen – a promise of something that ends up being just a tease), we are due to meet tonight.

I don’t understand it nor would it turn me on in any way – but if it turns him on then, this, I just have to see for myself.

Now, this, I really can’t blog about here and so, I’m thinking of starting another blog just for this purpose. What d’yall think? >Answers on a postcard (or in the comments section).

I promise that, when it involves lurve I shall post here as that’s about romance and learning about one another in many ways.

Apparently, it’s not like in the films at all……

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A ‘great’ post here although not one for the squeamish.

However, I highly recommend it as it is very informative and, I suspect, accurate.  It is also a little amusing in places, for instance, this bit:

…..after any on-screen death, the deceased is looking as clean and sanitised as a made-up corpse in a funeral home. They do not poo in their pants of fill their mouths with Kraft-Cheesey-Pasta-Esque strings of phlegm.

They definitely don’t leave one eye steadfastly stuck open no matter how many times you demurely pass your hands over their face, leaving you with the dilemma of “I wish I could close that lid, it looks bad, but the only way to do it is to poke this dead man in the eye…I’m pretty certain I’m not supposed to do that.”

Meat Markets

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Meat_Markets

I was never really a fan of gay bars, discos or clubs.  When I was younger I was (now that I look back) quite a ‘pretty’ boy.  Unfortunately, I never fully appreciated the significance of this, struggling as I was to a) fully come to terms with who I was and b) being fairly crap at meeting people and forming some sort of lasting relationship (I have been very, very fortunate in my life, I do know this).

The problem with the ‘gay scene’ is that it is, more or less, like a meat market.  The young(er) guys waltz around showing off their wares’ whilst the older guys stand to the side and eye them up.  Then, if they are really attracted, they may make a move – but, let’s be honest, it’s nearly always purely for the sex; the good looking guys, generally, airheads (as it is in the straight world, I guess) and the more intelligent guys looking, well, more geeky and, certainly less attractive.

Since I had a little intelligence, I always thought of myself as one of the geeky ones.

I know, I know, this is all generalisation.  Not everyone is like that.  But it did ‘put me off’ the scene quite a lot and, apart from a few years at the start with M and then at the end of M and I, I didn’t really do the scene.

And, now that I am exactly one of the older guys, I certainly do not want to be doing it again.

And so, given that there must be other guys my age who think the same (although that may not be true, of course), I thought I might try the on line stuff.

So far, I’ve signed up to two sites.  I have a small problem here.  I don’t actually have any ‘gay’ friends (here, anyway) and, therefore, don’t know the etiquette involved.

On one of the sites, there are opportunities to ‘wink’ at one another.  Now, for me, this means that you think the other guy is attractive (in a variety of senses since my photo hasn’t been ‘approved’ yet so no one can ‘see’ me – only what I like, am like, etc.).

But does this, on the gay on line dating scene, mean something else?  If so, why the hell is someone from New York winking at me?  What possible purpose could it serve?  Should I wink back or not?  I mean to say, I am not going to be travelling there to see if we ‘get on’, stuff that for a lark!  So what was the point?  I am certainly NOT looking for pen friends (I have enough problems keeping in touch with people that I know well, as some of you may know – what with me being a typical English bloke and all).  So I don’t really get it at all.

As a result of the ‘winking’ thing, I’m now a little concerned that, given the sexual promiscuity on the scene in general, that, should I meet someone, they will expect sex that moment, which is certainly not what I want (hell, for that I can just go down the road)

So, do I make that plain from the start?  If we get on and I am sexually attracted to them then maybe but not immediately I clap eyes on them!

My worry is that this is just another facet of the same scene – another meat market.  One of the sites I purposely did not go on is, more or less, used for one-night stands (so to speak), apart from other reasons which I won’t go into here.

So, here I am, already invited down to the southern(ish) part of Italy; being winked at every five seconds; emailed; looked at; scrutinized – I’m not at all sure that I like this much.  However, there’s a life to get on with so it has to be.  At least, on these sites, I can be certain that they are men looking for men, which is a huge step forward, I suppose.

And, who knows, maybe I’ll meet some really nice people (they can’t all be camp, screaming, psychotic, axe-murdering, weirdos, can they?) and make some friends?  And, maybe it’ll be fun finding out.

I have to be honest and say that my limited experience indicates that the French and Spanish seem more into this on line thing and, looking at the photos, maybe I should be moving to one of those countries for they are hot’ – see there’s my gay superficiality coming out again.  Damn.

Rufus goes on holiday

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There with his little bag packed.  Will he miss us, do you think?

Actually, the bag was a plastic carrier bag from Unes.  Filled with the food bowl, the water bowl (actually a plastic sandwich box – to give that to Dino would mean that it would be chewed, I think) and enough food for a week.

The idea was, because of the heat and the fact that, when it was really hot, he did suffer a bit, he would go for a few days to N’s, who is on her own right now and has a portable air-conditioning unit, so that he would, perhaps, be more comfortable – and to give him a few days break from Dino.

Although, maybe, also, to give N some company and so she would go walking in the park, etc., etc.  Not sure who it’s for really.  As the weather has broken, maybe more for N than Rufus?

As it would be too difficult to leave Dino in the house whilst taking Rufus over, I take them both.  Dino now happy to go in the car.  Dino is a ‘licker’, licking everything – it’s like we would shake hands or give a kiss – he has to taste everything.  I’m not sure how I get him out of that habit as not everyone likes it.  I’ve never had this so much with dogs before.  Hmm.

Anyway, we get over to the flat.  Dino, as a puppy, wants to go everywhere, Rufus just lies down and goes to sleep, as normal.

We have pizza and then go and meet some ex-pats who are trying to sort out their move to Italy, for an ice-cream, taking the boys with us.

Dino and I leave Rufus in his new, temporary home.  Rufus won’t miss us at all.  I was intrigued as to how Dino would be without Rufus.  We arrive back and he is the same as always except, perhaps, a little quieter, which is no bad thing.  It doesn’t seem to bother him though.  It was certainly quicker doing the walk this morning.

Soon, given Rufus’ age, this is how it will be.  Then I will have to make more of an effort to ensure we go walking when and where other dogs are about as, normally, at the times I take them out, we rarely see any and Dino will need some ‘dog stimulation’ for certain.

I’m sure N and Rufus will have a great time.

Feeling like Frodo

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I felt a little like Frodo.

It seemed to weigh me down; it was certainly irritating – but only after the moment when V came in.

V has changed and, yet, still the same.  He remains, probably, one of the best looking guys I have ever known.  I am sure (no, I know) that in some ways, I held him back all these years and I am happy that he is starting to live the life he wants.

I did wonder how I would react on receipt of the information (much earlier that day) but, strangely, or not, as the case may be, the reaction was one that took me a whole day to work out.  I just couldn’t seem to get my head around how I felt, how I really felt, inside, underneath it all.

What I mean to say is that there was a certain amount of shock (although it was entirely to be expected) which lasted a few moments and then….. well, then, nothing really.  After 20 years, did it really only take 6 months or so for it to be, finally, over; for the feelings to change so much or, looking back, was this actually ‘in the making’ for the last few years.

Of course, just like an old pair of slippers, being with him was so comfortable, in so many ways.  Being apart is certainly hard in other ways.

And then, finally, yesterday, we met again, on mutual ground, to ‘swap sofas’ and other things – except none of that worked out quite as either of us had hoped – but he was a changed man, superficially but substantially enough for me, at sight, new things, still thin (too thin), too there but still beautiful – tall, dark and handsome – but not for me, I’m afraid.

And then I saw and then it started to feel heavy and itchy and, although I only had it on for two days (two because he was supposed to have come round the day before), it had to come off as soon as possible.  And so it did.  Now to be put away with other things, forgotten until that ‘one day’ when you open up the box and have a sudden pang, a sudden flashback, to better times.

And, although it meant a sleepless night (or, at least until 3) it was only because I couldn’t work out how I felt.  I thought it might be something different than how it was, somehow.

All strange.  Not expected.

At one point, I thought of Willow and realised that is what I want us to be like for (in) the future.

And, this morning, I am so positive for no real reason that I can fathom.  Even, I could say, a little excited, again for no real reason.  But I really want it to continue, to be on-going.  Still set-backs will come from time to time I expect.

Bits and Bobs from Unpublished Posts

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Is that someone waving or just a shadow or a strand of hair on the lens?

The chasm is made up of many things; separateness in things done; an ‘unknown’ part of life – that can never be recovered, reclaimed. Friends are not friends but pawns in the whole game and, like wounded animals, they fail to understand the reasons for the hurt which is not even really intentional.

And my heart bleeds for the chosen road; with the emptiness; for the chasm that has become so big. My heart bleeds and yet there is nothing to stop the flow for the heart must keep beating, pumping, working until it may burst, just to give life to the body that remains.

And if, but it is a big if, things should change in the future and things become something similar to how it was once, before the drifting, these things will not be discussed – or if discussed then only in a very superficial way as if, by discussing them thus, it minimises the impact, minimises the importance. It certainly, as we know from experience, reduces the suffering.

I know he knows.  I hope he knows.  I hope he doesn’t know.  I don’t know if he knows.  I don’t know anything.

I have already told him.  Sort of.  Kind of.  In a roundabout way.  In an obvious way.  In a subtle way.  In a way (of any kind).  Not really told him at all.

I know that what I know is nothing and I want to know everything unless, of course, it is better to know nothing, in which case, I need to know everything so that I can take the informed decision of whether I should know anything or not.  At which point, it is, certainly, too late to know nothing.

And yet, in spite of that, I want to scratch it and I don’t want to forget and I want this pain as if, by this pain, I can tell that I’m alive and that there is hope for me even if there is none.

I hold the torch aloft as if my life depends upon it but unsure if anyone can see the flame.

Even the acrid smell of the dog piss, not there in the cooler morning, but now, with the heat of the day and the many dogs that will have been there, especially now, later in the afternoon, when people come home from work and take their dogs to enjoy (?) the dog areas and do their thing, even that, which reaches into the back of my throat and makes me want to retch, cannot take away my happiness, although I do hurry by, perhaps a little faster than I would or should in this heat, which, now I have reached Milan proper, has fallen to 35.5°.

After the smell of dog urine, it should be a pleasure to be away from it but the smell is replaced by that of humans. It seems like deodorant and perfume sales are down as there are no perfumed smells to be had in this hot city only stale and fresh body odour, as sharp as the dog piss and just as hateful.

She’s a cantankerous old biddy and, I think, slightly crazy as she also seems to beg although I cannot understand her Italian which could be dialect. They (the assistants) all know her in the shop and, undoubtedly, she knows them all by name. She hollers after them and some try to help whilst others try to ignore her.

I remember, because of updating the last post, which is to go live in about 10 minutes, to put the ring on, which is good, I think.

I wish that I had remembered to make you ugly beforehand and then, maybe, all this wouldn’t have happened as I could have focused on the ugliness that I could find – and I would have found something and I would have made that important and overriding and essential even if there was nothing really (and there was/is none) – and then it would have been alright.

Although you had been there before, some years ago now, that was only for a period.  It was expected and you stayed for a while.  Then you went missing although I didn’t really miss you.

The Real Life Game Show

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It’s the mornings that are the best or worst depending upon what has happened.  They’re the times when my head seems to be straighter, less complicated and when, sometimes, everything seems to be ordered and I am able to see, in retrospect, the things that happened in a different light.

And so it was this morning.

To put it mildly, I have been a right chump.  Worse, still, I have not been ‘listening’ to my friends, old and new, and all I’ve thought about is myself.  Well, as Best Mate said about herself, it’s time to get my life back.

For some, it will certainly mean an apology, for others, just letting it be and for some others – well, I don’t really know the right path but I’ll do one or the other.

The difficulty, of course, is a) to see things from the outside, as others do and b) it doesn’t mean that just because it was all obvious this morning it will mean that tomorrow it will be the same.  This road to some sort of sanity will have setbacks, stumbling and, for certain, falling flat on my face – but this morning is a start anyway.

For those of you who know me in real life and read this blog (the few of you), I can apologise here first – although, for most, I will also have to do it in person.  Don’t think that this means I won’t be as bad next time you see me but, at least, I may be able to keep it all in check better than previously.

One of the side effects of this morning’s new ‘revelation’ was that I thought about relationships and got quite sad at the fact that, in the end, I would settle for so much less.  That doesn’t mean I would be unhappy with it but that the settling for something means that it will be so much less than I really want or need.

The other night, A & I were out.  I intimated that I had almost given up trying for what I want.  A was surprised and said I should still go for it – but there is a great risk involved, of course.  As with anything in life, you have to choose whether you would rather have a little something (far less than you want) or go for the big prize and risk getting absolutely nothing at all.

To be honest, in this case, I am still in two minds.  This morning, I just thought how stupid it was to go for the big prize and then, a few hours later, I am still wondering if the big prize is actually, possibly, available and by settling for the thing I could get, I will miss out on the prize.

Sounds like some crappy game show, doesn’t it?  One at which I am the only contestant.  The difference is that, as with all these things (perhaps even game shows), the getting of the big prize or the settling for something much less, the risk-taking for what could be all or nothing would have, possibly, such an effect of my future path in life that it becomes all important.

Here I am with (maybe, unless I have already fucked it up completely) a possible £1000 which I can walk away with or a possibility of £1 million if I play the next round.  Imagine then that, in my mind at least, I have a 50/50 chance?  That’s got to be worth the risk, surely?

But what if the chance is actually zero?  I should, of course, take the money and run.

And, whereas in the game show, there are odds that can be worked out, in real life, the odds are more difficult to predict unless you already know all the answers, which I, quite clearly, don’t – else there would be no show as I would do the thing that would give me the most and be satisfied with that.

The thing about a ‘real’ game show, of course is that, at the very worst, you walk away with nothing – that is, nothing extra.  The reason why we are (I am) so undecided as to which way to play is that the ‘real life’ game show can mean walking away with less than you came with – and that’s where the actual risk comes in to play.

So, to play or not?  I feel I should play, on the basis that one never got anything by sitting on one’s hands and, at the end of it all, the possible loss, although it would sadden me, would not kill me.  However, the playing, if it is to be done, has to be done very, very carefully to stand any chance of the big prize (if, in fact, the odds are not zero, which they may be anyway).

You are the audience and I am being asked if I wish to take the £1000 or play for the big prize.  Bear with me while I think about it, please………..

Hugs, kisses, lies and sofas

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We hug.  I kiss her on both cheeks.

‘I hate this part’, she says.  I agree.  We hate it for the same reasons.  Being from the UK, hugging, invading one’s personal space – always difficult, always intrusive, always uncomfortable even if comforting.  ‘Let’s just get it over with’, I replied.  And that’s when we hugged.

It isn’t like we don’t want to show how much we care for each other.  We do it twice.  Once when she arrives and then before she goes through the gate.  Not in between, of course.

It’s different with a lover, naturally.  That is more intimate and, therefore, hugging and kissing is possible.  Although we care, we are not lovers and so this is all just a little hard.

‘Thanks so much for coming’, I say for the umpteenth time.  But I am really grateful even if, whilst she was here, I found myself going back into myself.  Still, the weather has cooled now and I am back at work with plenty to do so I can bounce back.

A few days earlier: V phones me.  Will I swap sofas with him?  To damned right I will!  Perfect.  Apparently, even if he has a bigger flat than me, the two-seater will fit better than the three that he has.  And I still get to keep the chair and, maybe, will get the footstool.

‘Someone offered to buy the sofa’, he said, ‘but I didn’t want to split it up’.  It was a strange comment as the suite is split up.  One part not even in Milan right now.  I don’t know what he means.  As I’ve said recently, I am failing to understand most things that people say at the moment.  I don’t ask as the answer may not be good and I don’t want him to lie nor tell the truth as neither will be suitable.

He has the keys to his new apartment and is obviously happy, I can tell by his voice.  I am happy for him.  There may be a tinge of sadness/jealousy/anger but only a tiny little bit.  I am genuinely happy for him.  I hope he can make it all work.

More recently:  I receive an email with the address.

‘I wanted you to be the first to know’, he writes.  Except I know I’m not the first.  This comes back to my previous post.  Better to say nothing than something that is not true.  Was it supposed to make me feel good?

It’s not that it really matters but there really was no need to say anything at all and less to lie.  Some may say it was a white lie, to ensure that my feelings are not hurt, as if I am the most important person in the world to him – which, quite plainly and rightly, I am not.  But, I would rather know the truth or not be told, which would be even better.

Still, we are communicating after all and I know him better than to trust the things he says.  This may not be the communication I was waiting for but it is something.

And, the sofa is welcome as it means a better place to sleep for guests (or me).  There will still be room for everything else, I just have to move one small chair.

And now to work and the other work, both of which need some of my attention.

The (stupid) games we play

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Lying on the bed, resting, reading, waiting for the time to go, I am struck by the thought that the games we play with others, and our partners in particular, are decidedly stupid.

I wonder what this world would be like without these games, without the subterfuge, with honesty and forthrightness.  Sure, it may hurt sometimes but wouldn’t it be so much better?

What if we all said exactly how we felt?  If we were pissed off by some comment someone made to us, what would it really matter if we told them that, actually, we didn’t appreciate the comment?  If someone made us really happy with something they said or did, rather than just saying ‘thank you’ it would be so much nicer to be more effusive and tell them that they have made us happy.

Instead, we pussyfoot around, saying less than we mean or cloaking it in words that say nothing (or, worse, the opposite).

Oh, and before you start on me, yes, I do the same.  In fact, a friend recently told me that my blog was ‘oblique’.  See, there’s the thing – I didn’t think it was.  Well, again, that’s not entirely true.  Some time ago, when some of my readers were unsure of, for instance, whether I was a woman or a man, I didn’t think it was oblique just that I had been rather clever in disguising it – not that it was important one way or another and, actually, I became rather smug about it, which, when I look back was rather snobbish on my part and for which I am not proud.

The problem, I find with this blog is that, although I want to tell the ‘whole truth and nothing but’, I find it difficult when many people I know read it.  It is, of course, one of the beauties of having an anonymous blog – but, having started one of those, I find that it is hard to write, since I can mention no names or places or give any indication of anything that might find people tracking it down.  So, in itself, it is not satisfying enough – using it for some details that, if I’m honest, I am just too scared to put here.

And, the fact that I am too scared I also find unsatisfying and so, I think anyway, my writing remains oblique – satisfying sometimes and dissatisfying at other times.

Not long after V & I split, for some reason that I do not recall, we went for a Chinese during which I got rather drunk.  I think (but was not sober enough to remember all the details), I told him the truth.  The truth of the last couple of years and what harm had been done and, therefore, why we were here, at this point, sitting in a Chinese restaurant, apart and estranged.  I don’t think he had realised.  It made me sad that he didn’t realise and now I think it is sadder that I wasn’t more open with him in those two years.  Perhaps, if I had have been, things would have been different?  I don’t think so, but you never know, nor will ever know.  At least it would have given him (and me) a chance.

I have posts that I have posted and then withdrawn and posts in drafts that I felt didn’t say what I wanted them to or, worse, said nothing (much like this one probably) or ones (well, one anyway) that I am too scared to post.  And still posts that were written and never put up at all!  All kept but all should really be trashed for, if I didn’t post them then, perhaps they should never be posted?

Take the last post.  All of it was true but that doesn’t make it the whole story; it doesn’t give you the true picture, the true picture being much more complicated than a simple blog post.  I mean it was a beautiful day in a pretty seaside town and we had plenty of laughs along the way – but to blog that means nothing without the side that I did blog about.  The beauty of that post is that I can explain that to Best Mate and she will understand as with her I can be more honest than most.

People usually ask if V reads this blog.  The true answer is that I don’t know for certain but think that he does not.  I’m not sure why, other than he doesn’t really read blogs at all and finds them boring, I think.  I have no problem if he did anyway, unless he took some of the things I have said and thinks that they are about him as some of them are not and, therefore, he might get the wrong impression or, like the post before, see just one side of things without the full picture.

Of all of them there is the one (not posted) that I reread often.  I wonder if it would make a difference if posted and on more than one occasion, have had the mouse poised over the publish button, swinging the cursor away with logic and, for that time, grateful that I did.  I guess I may keep that one as I like it for many other reasons.

Even posting this post is dangerous, maybe.  Or, rather, not dangerous but being too honest even by saying that I am not giving the whole picture and that the obliqueness of it all makes it difficult to decipher what is really going on in my head or in my world.

Still, I will post it anyway and, maybe, next week go through the old stuff, the drafts and so on and trash/use them/use bits of them.  It feels time to get rid of some of the trash, like a spring clean, even if this is the start of Autumn.