... and

It’s 30 December and as I’m hurriedly typing this Fella is fast asleep. He looks like an angel when he’s asleep…

We had a lovely Christmas, at his parents’ place outside London. I got on very well with everyone in the family so we can definitely mark it as a successful visit. I felt very much welcomed by them all. It really was nice,.

Fella got me a new DVD player (my old one was very much on its last legs so well observed by him) and his family gave me a cookbook. The gifts I got them whilst in Germany went down very well too. There was even snow on Christmas Day. All in all it went much better than I could have expected.

I’ve been thinking a lot about New Years resolutions. I am amazed by how well my relationship is going and we’re both talking in terms of the years ahead, not just weeks or months. So in many respects 2010 will be focussed on building that up. Hence I am resolved on matters pertaining to that:

Work – keep working hard, and trying to do well. I’m not sure yet quite what that looks like; but it’s great to mix things up. Experience new challenges.

Education. In keeping with the above start my master’s degree. The people I deal with on a daily basis inspire me; I aspire to their example. It will be a challenge because I will have to give a few evenings a week to study and classes; time I would spend with Fella. Plus he wants to go back to bar work to make some extra money. That’s going to really hit our time together. BUT (customary preposition notwithstanding) I am keen to take our relationship forward to meet these challenges because I really think we’re in a good, strong place.

Domestic: it’s time to move. Things here with the Gardener are fine, but not really suiting me. So, I’ve decided to try and get a place of my own again . No great rush of course; but given the challenges I’m introducing I do think having a place all my own, that Fella and I can share, will help ameliorate the effects. Before you ask, gentle reader, we aren’t ready to move in together. No: not at all. What we do need is a place where we can be together, but in separate rooms – if that makes sense.

Legal: hints have been dropped. I know, for example, which of these Fella would most prefer. And indeed, it has been made clear that were certain questions to be asked the order of things would be I should do the asking… so while 2010 might not quite be the year in which the question is in fact asked, in the next 12 months we do consider that the decision to ask it will be made.

So, stay tuned... and in the meantime:

Happy New Year

I hope 2010 brings you almost everything you desire ;-)

Merry Christmas...

Merry Christmas, Gentle Reader...




Another year over with. Started with International, ended with Fella. I've moved house, been promoted, and started a proper boyfriend type relationship! Woo-hoo. 2009; had its ups abd downs, but will be always considered quite a vintage year.

2010 will have its challenges; health, wealth and happiness? Well, that kinda depends on me. But I'll discuss that nearer the time.

Today it was a hurried last minute shop, then I'm meeting Fella at 4:30 to get the train to his parent's house *angst*. Well, I'll tell you all about it when I get back.

For now, let's make this post all about you.

Thank you for reading; thank you for comments, advice and feedback. I do appreciate it!

And now, Merry Christmas. I hope you have a really great holiday, and I look forward to blogging at you in 2010...

Roasting

I genuinely had nice weekend this weekend. A coupley weekend of niceness it was.

On Friday my manager had her leaving drinks from work. I bought her a nice present – a very expensive pen, if you please, in a gorgeous presentation box – on behalf of us all, and some champagne. I owe her a lot; I’ve been lucky with managers these last few years [ahem] and my recent elevation is as much due to them as any talents I have brought to bear on the matter.

Anyway, après les drinques I met Fella at the Royal College and there were more drinks; the staff had had their Christmas party and the entire building was a-swinging. We left about 10:00 and tried to head home. Sadly, the gods of snow had other plans. Our trains were delayed! Well, I was unhappy about this and Fella impatient with my attitude so we ended up having a row. Darn. Still, we couldn’t have a proper humdinger as that would have involved parting ways and he would have walked off into a blizzard and been eaten by wolves or chavs or something. And I would have spent the weekend being bored.

So instead we had a heart-to-heart. A proper one. It was good in many ways. I think we both agreed we could talk about things. Properly. Without me descending into an orgy of self-questioning misery, if such a thing is possible.

So, Strumpetville being Happy Holiday Fun Town, we continued our merry weekend of fun with a house party on Saturday at which we hardly needed the emergency services at all. And on Sunday, as a reward, I did Fella a lovely roast dinner with real German potato dumplings that went down a treat.

And then we relaxed all afternoon – he slept and slept! And watched Soapdish to round off the evening. It’s a good film; Fella loves it.

And then we slept

Yeah, that was a nice weekend. Now I miss him. I was very sad to part with him when it was work time on Monday. But that time together was oh so nice...

I’ll help myself get over it tonight by piling all the pillows into one head, sleeping right in the middle of the bed, and getting up when it suits me! So goodnight gentle reader; more from me tomorrow.

The voice of love

There were so many comments on the previous post here that I thought, for a change, I could respond to them in a follow up post.

I think the people commenting on my own ramblings raised a number of really good points that really made me think, so in no particular order…

I have done that thing of judging people on their looks. Particularly when sex is in the offing. I used to judge people instantly based on their profile pic, or how they looked when I met them. I have heard this is a common trait among us humans. But then so was sh*tting in the street, and now we have plumbing… its material progress and we have emotional progress too. I know this because for being me I was only ever in the prison I built for myself.

I, I, I… Anyway, I put my own behaviour down to, firstly, having a type. Thin over large, for example. And secondly what I shall loosely terms standards; saying “I suppose you’ll do as no-one else is biting” is hardly more flattering than “you are not my type”. Don’t you think, gentle reader?

But of course, this spurs me on to try and look good – take care of my body, wear the ‘right’ clothes. Moisturise. I don't choose my friends on any of these criteria of course; and should not value their friendship if they judged me so. But my friend ‘A’ put it best when she advised me not to display those traits I myself find off-putting. This, of course, related to behaviour in (seeking) relationships. Nevertheless the lesson still holds.

So I am, to an extent, seduced by the shallower side of the gay pool. And this becomes a circular thing because Rule 5 notwithstanding, I am bound when trying to look good – to conform one might say to the Strumpetville Standard – to measure my results by the approval of others.

This in turn means I must behave differently when I believe I look good compared to when I don’t. Perhaps, then, it is true that people are merely reacting to my confidence OR I don’t mind so much that they don’t approve OR both.

It is also true that it’s what’s inside that counts and I’ve generally found that giving people a chance really does pay off in virtually every instance; maybe feeling good about looking good advertises that you are good inside? Hmm, I doubt that,

I do know that I have become more comfortable with myself and I certainly don’t try to look good for anyone other than myself – how it makes me feel. I don’t go crazy for clothes and shoes, though I do much more than before I came out. I like colours; I like wearing a suit. I’m not on the cutting edge. But I don’t think – whilst not wishing to deny my undoubted flaws – there’s much physically I should seek to change.

Emotionally? Personality? People skills? You betcha. Much work remains until... thanks for the comments. Thank you; thank you.

The look of love

I have found that how you look makes people treat you differently. Well, d’uh, you might say. And your exclamation might well be right.

Of course we should all make an effort to look after ourselves. Looking good is a significant part of feeling good about ourselves. That’s why so many of us are dedicated followers of fashion. But, more than this, I’ve noticed that casual acquaintances – colleagues, friends of friends etc – tend to treat me differently on days when I look good compared to days when I look merely my usual average self.

Now, you know me gentle reader; I’m not one to boast. But at a stretch, on my very very good days I can see myself as quite attractive. Coming out helped me in two ways. The first is I made an effort to lose some weight, dress better etc. The revelation, supremely hurtful though it was, that Darren was slumming it with frumpy old me spurred me on to no small extent. I went down from 92kg (203lbs) to 75kg (165lbs) over a carefully planned six-month diet.

The second thing was the veritable human wave of man types willing, nay eager, to make Frumpella’s acquaintance. I even managed to convince some of them to hang around for a while.

So it worked.

But the fact remains if I dress just right, my hair is OK, I’m wearing the right shoes, people will talk to me and then the next day, when I revert to type, so do they: ignoring me.

I’m not talking about the superficiality of the average gayer. I’m as guilty as anyone of picking in the past a potential partner, for dates or assignations, primarily on looks. I mean: it’s bad but we’re not exactly looking for to oh-so-telling ample bosoms and wide child bearing hips are we? THAT’S not shallow at all…

The funny thing now is, having plumbed new depths of lightness (if that makes sense) people do keep complimenting me on my looks. Having gone down from a medium to a small I get to have even more retail therapy now; on the other hand having seen photo’s of myself throwing some shapes on the dancefloor last Saturday I know that MUCH work remains to be done. In many ways, despite opening up to valuing myself through others’ appraisals (a risk we all take when putting ourselves out there), being noticed makes me fell quite good. I try to get more of it. I try also not to be to vain… honest.

Some of my friends do get exasperated by my wish not to put the weight back on – I don’t know what this illness is but I bet I could make good money if it turns out to be contagious. But looking good – or at least making a real effort – is getting quite important to me.

New Job

I posted recently that I have been promoted. I am very pleased, but it’s sad to be changing to a new role at Christmas. Leaving the old team in the midst of seasonal celebrations is a bit of a shame, but needs must, gentle reader.

Fortunately my promotion is effective immediately, and whilst in my darker moments I wonder if that means I’m leaping from the frying pan into the fire, the good news is I don’t have to wait for the lovely lolly that comes with my new grade (as others have to do) and I see it as quite a vote of confidence. It feels nice to be well liked, in a professional context if nothing else, by people whose intellect and talent impress me.

My organisation is one of 10 regional health authorities (Strumpetville being a region) and the Department of Health (the UK’s health ministry) is reviewing the 100plus statutory functions we are charged with executing, as part of an assurance programme. And I will be helping with that, as well as continuing my lead on the planning of local health organisations for the 2010/11 financial year.

This means in turn that I will no longer have direct responsibility for a specific group of hospitals and community providers (or commissioners of those services).

The plus points to this are (a) I am now only doing project and programme management; (b) I am getting wider exposure to more organisations and building wider professional relationships and (c) I will have greater control of my day to day working life as I shall be planning rather than reacting – and serving only two or three masters rather than the current nine!

On the other hand relative isolation with a revolving door of short-term relationships may not suit me; it takes me time to get to know people and I’m quite introverted. I’m not that good at selling myself; publicising my achievements – sheer sticktoitiveness is a big part of getting me noticed.

Well, as per (and given Rule 5) the solutions rest only within myself. At the risk of contradicting the previous paragraph, I KNOW I’m good at things when I actually bother to get to grips with things. In a blaze of powerful insight I can confess I have enough brains to just coast along in most situations. Well, I’d like to do really well with these projects so that strategy is out!

Though this post disguises it well I think the work will be interesting. And as these projects will be over at the end of the financial year there will be even more new and exciting things to come.

Party Season

So another weekend over! It was fun, actually. Friday I had my work Christmas party, followed by drinks with Fella and his colleagues at the Royal College where he works. On Saturday he went ice-skating with his friends; and then we met and went for dinner in Soho, which became after dinner drinks; and that in turn became dancing the night away at a club. It really was fun.

The down side was I couldn’t make Sunday Fella’s day as I had planned, because we slept in and he needed to go home in the afternoon. Goshdarn.

Still, we have next week and the week after before we stay with his parents for Christmas. Next week I have “Mary Christmas” drinks in Soho with friend ‘A’ and he wide circle of gay friends. That night Fella is working at the Church so he may combine naughty with nice and join me. Then Friday I have another work lunch and my manager’s leaving do. And on Saturday a house party. Presumably on Sunday Fella and I will spend some time together but I do find that when we have a lot of social engagements – even joint ones – our quality time suffers. That will be something to think about in 2010.

I’m lucky I get paid before Christmas or I’d really find myself chronically pooped in a financial sense. After all, Fella’s long (and growing) list of Christmas presents, my own extensive gifts to myself the party season is a bit of a burden. Still, Strumpetville is a paryt town gentle reader so I see no desperate need to hold back.

Dancing the night away… I love doing it. And it had been a short while. Fella and I complement each other well enough in that he knows the best places to go, and I know how to enjoy myself once we are there! Oh yes, a bit more of that next year if you please.

I have begun to think about the New Year and what might be done – achieved rather – in the coming12 months and the truth is I’m looking forward to it in a rather different way than the last two years. And, as you may have gathered from the last few zillion posts or so, Fella is a big part of that. Party season – soon to be over; or just beginning?

Fast Fashion

Fella has gone out ice skating this evening, leaving me with a couple of hours to write a new post before I join him and his friends for dinner in Soho tonight. Most of these friends were there, the other night, when Fella had his… episode.

Since then he’s been trying to make it up to me in the nicest possible way, which in turn has begun to get a bit tiresome… I’m just glad he’s alright.

So what happened? Well, it seems that on occasion (I’ve never seen it before) a minor hormonal imbalance combined with sufficient alcohol flips the off switch in Fella’s brain – and when it resets hew goes into full-on panic mode. Now, that is understandable and to be sure none of his friends or colleagues judge him wanting in any way because of it. Perhaps, then, Fella shouldn’t drink so much. Well, that’s up to him. He can certainly drink. He doesn’t drink every day, or all the time – and he doesn’t like (any more) those late nights painting the town red that neither Frumpella nor Strumpetville have quite forsaken… Still, he does on occasion get very very drunk and getting him home in circumstances like that have put the greatest, and indeed very dangerous, strain on our relationship.

So, not a Problem Drinker but drinking can be a problem. Maybe I’m dancing in distinction-without-a-difference land. Or maybe I’m being too grown up a fairy. But he’ll have mo on tenterhooks from now on when we go out and there’s alcohol involved and an Emergency Taxi Fare will never be far away from now on.

Goodness, those are a lot of words to describe not very much. Time for succinctness:

What does this mean for my relationship then? For all my concern there is absolutely no prospect whatever of us finishing over this. I was somewhat surprised by how resolute I am about that. I am totally certain; we’re solid as a rock. Perhaps he is surprised too: this last couple of days whole new words have begun to be heard in Strumpetville. Marriage (maybe). Cohabitation (even more maybe). Children (NO). This is all a bit ‘heat of the moment’ to truly excite me. Though I do now know what kind of engagement ring he would like; diamond set into the band; which will be silver, if you don’t mind gentle reader.

So there we are, then. Dinner, drinks*, and a steady hand on the tiller of our relationship, steering between the rocks… whatever they’re made of ;-)

A cup of good cheer

I’m here at about midnight. Fella is asleep. All is quiet. Nevertheless, it has been, to say the least, a rough night.

He likes a drink; we both do. But when he’s had too much Fella becomes uncontrollable. It’s so simple to write it but…

Tonight he really got drunk and then, in the blink of an eye, he collapsed, right there. On the floor of the bar. Unrousable, his lack of consciousness led me to call an ambulance; his friends were in tears, the other customers in the bar half-indifferent, half-concerned. The paramedics came and them the ambulance. Before they had arrived a local doctor turned up; had all manner or equipment down Fella’s throat and just about managed to rouse him by digging into his hands with his car keys.

After Fella was brought onto the ambulance he recovered; but it wasn’t him. He attacked all three members of the ambulance crew; I wouldn’t have believed it had I not been there to see it. I was lucky to get him off the ambulance before they called the police. He then marches without further ado, off into the city, I have no clue where he’s going except that it is in exactly the wrong direction… this of course is when I get stressed and a stressed Frumpella is nobody’s friend! So we really rowed, right there on Fleet Street. And at the train station I got him to. And on the train. And in the taxi at the other end.

Sometimes I really dread going out with Fella, when I know he’s going to drink. I know he’s got problems, but I don’t quite know what to do. Am I a total bastard to think I should not be a slave to this? That perhaps there are limits? I'm frightening myself with such thoughts. We exist in the zeitgeist, my Fella and I, with booze... and possibly something else, according to the professionals whose night we ruined.

The thing that really hurt me most – and I’ll be honest, we both said things, is that Fella doesn’t believe me when I say I love him. But I do, I do, so much.

He’s asleep now. He won’t remember any of this when he wakes up. He never does. I might regret writing this down for all to see but I can trust you, gentle reader. The thing is, the strange thing; for all of this, I would far rather this evening with him than, well, anything else. And he doesn’t believe that I love him!!! So how do I prove my love and improve my love? Goshdarn - it's time to sleep.

74

74 is the number of kilograms I now weigh. This in many ways is a good thing; Strumpetville loves a thin gayer right enough. In fact, since I started this blog I have lost some 18 kilos; almost exactly 40lbs.

If that seems a lot, gentle reader, well – it is. Actually, the ideal weight I aimed for not long after Darren dumped me was 75kg and as such I can consider this yet another string to my big pink bow.

But. This is not a boast about my rippling gorgeousness, oh no. Because after creeping back up to the 80kg mark I became ill and whilst I may not be entirely sure from where the weight was lost, I do have an idea how!

Fear not! A disgustingly detailed discussion of my symptoms is not for here. For now! But my ongoing health issues are, well, ongoing and as such my efforts to resolve them are ongoing.

I saw a doctor recently who was a bit more interested than my previous sawbones so we got a bit further than the narrow range of tests I was given before. I also have medicine which is not only controlling my symptoms a bit better but also has made my appetite come back with a vengeance. I am having some blood tests done shortly,, and then after that off to the hospital for even more tests. And eventually a doctor will one day tell me exactly what is wrong. Crohn’s disease? MS? The leading contenders – but we shall see.

What does worry me a lot is Fella. His mother is chronically sick and it impacts our relationship because as his father travels for business he dutifully looks after her when she is on her own. It causes him some difficulty, and although he does this with all good humour he hardly needs me falling apart on him. It isn’t… fair on him. He’s ignored the issue when I’ve raised it – sensibly, really, as it was only a bout of self pity that made me do that. Yet I worry still.

Damn, damn, damn. I’m 32. The life expectancy of a 32 year old man in Strumetville is a staggering 91 years. How, or more importantly why, I cannot say... I was hoping for a little more mileage before I really began falling apart though. Good job I came out when I did. Still, the next 58 years might be a bit more fun if I could have a drink – it’s currently a major major trigger for biological unpleasantness, which is a bugger. Fortunately that isn’t a trigger at all so all is not lost.

The Wanderer Returns

So we’re back. From outer space…

No, from Germany actually. And do you know, we had a good time.

I shall, if you will permit me gentle reader, start with a rant. And it is this: at the airport, going through security, I am forced to question the wisdom of having me remove my shoes and belt to be x-rayed but at no time whatever checking my passport and boarding card. I find it difficult to imagine how the security of the western world is assured by having people waddling around barefoot with their trousers round their ankles. It is pointless and silly, as is so much of this sceptred isle. Even Fella was rather annoyed. Though I think the root of his mood lay more in the lack of sleep, whereas for me of course it is due to nothing so much as that I am rapidly becoming a grumpy old woman.

But, after all of this we met the sun in the sky and 1004 kilometres later were in the centrally heated bosom of my mother’s abode. Fella, mother; mother, Fella.

Actually they hit it off rather well. Annoyingly well, in fact. I hardly needed to be there it seemed on occasion. Of course Fella achieved this by slavishly agreeing with everything he said, a strategy of sycophancy that earned him no small ribbing from me. I gave that up when I was about seven years old. Nevertheless, on that score the trip was a success. We did some shopping at the Weinachtsmarkt in Ulm, and wandered through the pretty village where said mother lives. We ate out in a traditional German restaurant; I had goose, he had wild boar (yum, and double-plus yum).

And then we came back, with plans to visit again next summer. My dislike of flying enhanced neither by my experience, above, or the violent turbulence on the way back I am now firm in my foot-downedness that we will drive next time. And Fella rather brilliantly suggested we make something of a road trip of it and go on to Berlin after.

So, there we have it. I must say it is only looking back whilst blogging this that I dimly perceive the milestone that has been passed. I have not only introduced my partner to my mother – but I have done so as an acknowledged gayer! Actually, it went well enough that it was a good relaxing break, which was also timely. And I was able to shine a bit with news of my promotion too.

Success!

Update

December already! It will be 2010 before you know it… the third year of Strumpetville. I’m writing this after packing for the flight to Germany tomorrow; I’m waiting for Fella to come home.

I spent more money than is strictly safe making sure I look as good as possible, and capitalising on my recent, admittedly involuntary, weight loss. I am vexed by the fact the rain has quite ruined my new coat, Grrrr. But I have new everything to show off when I see my family tomorrow, not the least of which his my man!

My illness continues unabated. I am being sent for yet more tests, and am under strict instructions to get the results at an appointment with a doctor, rather than over the ‘phone. The options are looking increasingly rough, but I’ll keep you informed gentle reader…. I am well below my ideal weight, though this does attract some favourable comments so I’m determined to keep the weight off and turn it into yet more rippling gorgeousness.

On the plus plus plus side I applied for a promotion recently and, to my continuing shock, I got the job. Yay me. I said YAY!

What will my new role be? Ah, well, this is the British public sector. So, let me try to explain…

How it works is, I have demonstrated the skills and experience to be promoted to a certain grade. Now my employer must cast about for a particular role commensurate with the elevated heights reached by your cheerful fairy correspondent. In practice this means on Monday or Tuesday I shall be whisked away to a new desk, team, role and… be left to get on with it. Frying pan meet fire? Let us hope not.

Fella bought me a takeaway Pizza and some fizzy wine to celebrate on Monday night which was rather nice. In truth I was kinda looking forward to a quiet night in, given the rest of the week will be so hectic. But why look a gift boyfriend in the mouth? I love him really… so can’t complain :-)

Last night I was well and truly on the lash with friends ‘A’ and ‘F’ and as such I am massively sleep deprived and hung over – a good night indeed. I think we may have to avoid the Boat for a while… but I also think I deserved to celebrate.

So there we are, Christmas a coming and here I am. Tired, promoted, in love, ill, happy.

Retail (couple) therapy

Fella is at a concert tonight so I’m waiting for him to come home, and once I’m done here I’ll be cooking us dinner before we settle in for the night.

Today has been a nice day. A lie in, before a breakfast of *ahem* and a morning spent lazing in front of the television. After going into town we had lunch in a small sushi restaurant in Soho where I bumped into a former neighbour of mine of whom I was always rather fond – I hope she (a very bubbly Malaysian lady) and I can meet up again soon as she was always a lot of fun! Anyway, after that Fella and I began some serious retail therapy. Shoes; coat; watch; cufflinks. All for me! Bless his heart if Fella wasn’t following me round – entirely without complaint - some all afternoon staggering under the weight of things that had caught my eye. I do like clothes shopping, gentle reader; as some unfortunate Frenchists found out today, many a slip ‘twixt a mirror and me when I am cooing over a new purchase.

I did a bit of Christmas shopping too; a nice journal bound in leather itself inlaid with semi-precious stones for one of my cousins, and a hand-made Egyptian jewellery box for my mother. All in all I spent heaps of lovely lolly. Well, ‘tis Christmas, and in Strumpetville retail therapy is prescribed by any doctor worthy of the name…

Now all I really need to do, bar a few more gifts for the known knowns who are my friends and family, is find the something for the known unknown who is my boyfriend. Hmmmm… Asking him outright has, annoyingly, failed to yield results. I want it to be right and I have the double burden of the unknown unknown that is his family’s judgement and the bar of Paris to at least match. So I reeally do want to know at some level what to get him; what gifts he would like most.

The shopping today is also in part to prepare us for the trip to Germany next week. Time has stolen a march and in four days we shall be flung across the sky in an aluminium death-tube full of other people’s farts to confront under Why There Are No Grandchildren. To be fair it’s also largely Because I Wanted To (and that, as an aside, has been the justification for a lot of what has been blogged about this past couple of years) but really both of us are beginning to get a tad nervous and taking this time to be together, to be sure we look our best and to know how we plan to do things before we go, is proving to be very important.

Us time

I want this weekend to be all about Fella and me. But mostly Fella. We haven’t seen each other for almost a week, and absence surely does make the heart grow fonder! He is working on Saturday night, but apart from that I think I can make his weekend with me worth his while!

The main reason for this is that next week we’re travelling to Germany and that seems to mark the start of our Christmas season. After that it’s work parties and seeing mutual friends and his family for Christmas and some kind of New Year thing to round it all off… So I think it would be nice to spend some time together before it all kicks off.

It being our first Christmas I am beginning to think about the things I need to do. What kind of presents to get; and when to give them to him. Where we should go out etc. Funnily enough when I think of Christmas with Fella I think of Valentine’s day; I’m not sure what it is that makes the association in my mind, though I suspect we don’t need Dr Freud do we, gentle reader?

One of the nicer things about our relationship is that we have begun to have a fair number of mutual friends so I do think our December will be a busy one. I think Christmas itself will be quite a challenge, as I don’t really know his family – met his mother a couple of times, the father and brother once. At a funeral. So three days with little food, no booze and [the horror] only four TV channels – oh, and a single bed to boot.

Well, I’ve made it quite clear I’ll come up after work on 24th and be back on 27th; I’ve preferred to spend Christmas this last few years with friends, and 2008 is a matter of record on this very blog… the family thing has not been a big thing for me.

On the plus side I know Fella is very excited about Germany and is currently convinced that there will be snow and lederhosen and blonde girls in pig-tails yodelling. Bless ‘im; perhaps he won’t be disappointed. Though if we do get snowed in, well my family are certainly no greater a prospect than his… Southern Germany ain’t no Strumpetville. But the most important thing is that he has a good time.

And as for this weekend, Fella has requested curry for dinner. And then I think perhaps a film, and after that…

Gentleman's Area

After a lovely weekend with Fella he has now gone home; I am therefore on my own and to make matters worse I shan’t now see him until Friday. I’m used to seeing him in the week, and this will only be the second week that I shall be entirely without him. How sad :-(

So, I thought to myself, as I’m at a loose end why not write about penises? Well, I sometimes have strange thoughts… but since this bog was started I haven’t discussed greatly cock; banana hammocks; one eyed trouser snakes; the wedding vegetables.

Fear not, gentle reader, this wurstfest is not some self aggrandising soliloquy, eulogising my God give talents. No, I never claimed to be anything special in that department.

We don’t like to talk about penises openly; by which I mean debate rather than discuss loudly on our morning commute. You can't avoid it when cruising - that's what you're after, after all. Still, I have been genuinely taken aback when someone has initiated a conversation with an enquiry about my size; or sent me a range of intimate photo’s of themselves entirely unprompted. Good people, you are mistaken; for I am the puritan whore!

Nevertheless, we all worry about our endowment to a certain extent as we are growing up. In the end, of course, 99.99% of us are absolutely fine and when push comes to shove, as it were, we realise there was little to worry about after all. Nevertheless, you go on gaydar and it’s ‘cock-size’ section seems remarkably well populated with large, nay, extra large gentlemen seeking to make each others’ acquaintance. My personal experience is often the ‘larges’ are prone to exaggerate whilst the ‘averages’ are paragons of modesty (if, ideally, not virtue).

Of course we rarely truly believe adages such as ‘it’s what you do with it that counts’. In reality it is what you do with it that counts, very much so. It’s just that if you are a luckier man than most… well, *ahem* you may not have to do quite as much.

Still, I have been with my fair share of men. the nights of 1994 spent largely in the carpark behind the bus-station in Salisbury; my now-married college housemate whenever he fancied a round of what he termed “the duvet game”; a sizeable proportion of gay men between the ages of 20 and 50 with a postcode beginning SE… and I would say that there is a “goldicocks” size out there: not to big, not too small, but juuuust riiiight. One of my exes was prodigious not only in his enthusiasm to the extent there was a period when I genuinely could not sit down. And whilst sometimes that’s fine, sometimes there’s something alarming as well as genuinely aesthetically displeasing at some enormous great thing looming out of the dark at you.

Still, it’s funny how important this kind of things seems to be. I do think how good someone is in bed is an important part of what future I may have with him; but at the end of the day I think referring you to rule 7 is the best way to end this post.

Work

Today applied for a promotion. Regular readers may recall me mentioning that being promoted is one of my goals for this year. I’m very keen to seize this opportunity – not least as it's mid November after all! But I really do feel I deserve it and my colleagues have strongly encouraged me to go for it.

Going for it, as it were, has been a bit of a challenge on this occasion because of the complicating factor of my relationship. That is, on the face of it, unfair. Fella doesn’t stop me seeking career opportunities after all. No, what I mean is that we spend weekends together so working on my application this weekend I had to plan carefully around him-and-me time, especially as it was our hemiversary or whatever the word is.

Anyway, I go it done. Where I work has a peculiar system where a person can apply for a promotion at defined times in the year, but there may not necessarily be a specific post attached to that promotion. The upshot of this is, should I prove to be successful, is that I don’t know what work I’ll be doing.

Another thing I’m doing is finally applying for that master’s degree. I have selected my provider – Birkbeck College – and I am currently picking between two courses; and I hope to be accepted to start in September 2010. The course I really want requires an academic reference and costs about £5,000 a year in fees alone. While I currently hold two honours degrees (physics, and economics) I have been out of study for some time so I am not confident I can meet the reference requirements. The other costs about half as much; and requires merely academic qualifications for the entry requirements. Still, we can but try; if there’s one thing this blog shows it’s that I’ve decided being a one man idiot will stop stopping me.

I hope my employers will pay about 75% of the course fees (that is the standard percentage they offer) and recoup the rest by a monthly deduction from my wages. So fingers crossed on that score. The real challenge will be squeezing two evenings a week lectures plus study time out of my busy schedule. But this is something I really want; and I don’t see my relationship as something that would hold me back – if I plan carefully. On the other hand planning carefully is most certainly something the Cheerful Fairy has never considered a forte!

But anyway, there we have it. Those are my work plans over the coming months. I am quite convinced they are the right thing to do, not least because of the inspiring people I have come across in my day to day worklife that really make me feel I should strive for something better. I think being with Fella is a big part of that, in the sense that I have to be more careful apportioning parts of myself and what I commit to – it’s not just about me. I have to think what’s good for us. Fortunately being the best I can be is right for us – phew.

Six months

It’s about 3:45am GMT on 16 November 2009, as I’m sitting here typing this on my laptop in the dark, bit of cheesy pop on the headphones. Fella is asleep, snoring quite loudly, bless ‘im, but I can’t sleep because I’ve been kept awake by my illness. My, as yet diagnosed, condition keeps me awake some nights as I go through peaks and troughs. Been in a bit of a trough recently, which is a shame. On the plus side the weight’s been dropping off me [nervous laughter] so it’s not all bad. This is due to my recent aversion to anything alcoholic or chocolate, and my nascent fondness for light salads and early nights.

What the hell kind of illness does that to a young gayer about town, eh? It’s like some kind of anti-vampirism. But it still sucks, haha!

Nevertheless there was the chance to quaff some fizzy stuff and partake in a delicious meal cooked by Fella last night as it was our six-month anniversary*

Yes, indeed; six months. I think that puts him pretty much in the lead in terms of sheer sticktoitiveness, ahead of all the other boyfriends and boyfriendettes on the scene since I started this blog.

And let us not forget, gentle reader, that this is merely the beginning. I am spending Christmas with him at his parents (eek) and our eight month anniversary coincides with the annual ball at the Royal College where Fella works.

In addition the visit to my mother has been booked and sorted; she apparently is perfectly happy for us to visit and proclaims herself to be never so open-minded. I suspect a wee bird has tweeted in her ear about not being quite so… her. But so far so good. Fella is very excited; he is convinced we shall be flying into a winter wonderland of lederhosen and girls in pigtails. As we’re going from 3rd to 6th December, I suppose you never can tell. As not the world’s best flyer I hope the snow holds off to a certain extent!

So soon it will be time to think of Christmas presents for my gorgeous guy, and planning for his anticipated move back to London in the New Year – we both agree we’re not ready to move in yet, not by a long way. It’s funny how relationships develop; mutual friendships, mutual plans. Though that is a subject for another post; in the meantime it’s 4:11 and I wonder if snuggles might help me sleep for a little while.

*strictly speaking it should be sixth mensiversary or half-anniversary or something but that’s a bit clunky and you know what I mean when I mangle English in this way, n’est pas?

Edukation

At the moment I’m pretty busy. That’s nothing new, of course; but squeezing in 50-plus hour weeks, my social life and of course my relationship with Fella is really tough sometimes. This week, for example, I have not less than 10 hour days, evenings out Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday and – as I’m going for promotion at the moment – a fair bit of paperwork related to that to do. That’s life, and it’s better to be busy than not at all. But there are things I want to do that would require yet more time.

Part of my work involves sharing and disseminating expertise so that really challenged healthcare providers improve their performance. The people that I work with to do that are really inspiring; and for some time I’d been thinking about doing some kind of evening course related to my career. Recently both ideas have coalesced into a wish to undertake a master’s degree.

Two nights a week for at least two years. Plus studying, research, revising and exams. Doable – so long as there are no classes on a Friday!! £5,000… that’s less easy; but again it CAN be done. I’m proceeding on the basis I won’t get time off or financial support from work of course. If I can, well, that would be great. If not, well, that would be that.

There is of course the worry that I’ll be taking on too much at once but on the other hand it would be good for my career; and as I enjoy learning and being challenged it would, I think, be beneficial on many levels.

The money side of things is a bit tougher. I am thinking about rather dull grown-up stuff like pensions, saving for a house, and other things. Taking a chunk out of that will be quite a call on my resources. Though there would be plenty of time to save as the course might not start till next September.

Well, I’ve really got an interest in doing it so, although I’ll need to do more research before I find exactly the right course and institution, this is definitely something I want.

And you know how much I like to get what I want gentle reader ;-)

November

November already! I really am letting my blogging slide. It’s something I’ve noticed of other bloggers who have entered long term relationships; but as their blogs are better than mine the relative paucity of my posts is less of a loss.

So, best start the month with a catch up, run down, and general summary of life in sunny Strumpetville since our sojourn to Paris.

I think starting with the worst; I have been increasingly unwell since we came back from holiday. I shan’t trouble you with my squishy organic symptoms. I’ve had some tests done and we shall see soon what it is that ails me. It could be any number of things, but the range of symptoms is too narrow to really suggest anything serious.

On the plus side the illness, unpleasant though it surely is, has left me with a much reduced appetite and a real aversion to alcohol and chocolate. What rare malady it is that makes me crave nothing but light salads. My weight loss is beginning to get comments!

Anyway… moving on; at Hallowe’en Fella and I went to two parties. One at a mutual friend – a gay female couple Kevin ahs known for ages but who have clasped me to their collective bosom. It was a double celebration as they had also recently become engaged to be married, which was fantastic news. I went dressed as the devil, cape horns and pitchfork. I was rather pleased with my effort. But after a could of hours we had to head home, because there was a party at my house too!

That was as expected. There were outrageous costumes and cocktails galore! There was also yet another new housemate, replacing the previous mystery housemate (keeping up?). He seemed very keen on me, so I had to try and avoid him for a while. Unfortunately his keenness has spilled over into the post-party world.

He’s another odd one [but of course]. Canadian and lacking in subtlety; my efforts to make clear I have no intention of sleeping with him led to an invitation to ‘just cuddle’. In our underwear. Hmmm. Or; not. I must admit to being somewhat bemused by tactics such as “come into my room; I’ve got something to show you *wink*” or “you’re cute. I’m horny”. Like an amazing diamond, the many facets of this house continue to dazzle!

So that’s where we are at the start of the month. This week I’m seeing Fella on Wednesday, and then we have friends over here for dinner on Friday. Later in the month we have, amongst other things another fancy dress party and of course I’m still in the throes of organising the trip to Germany. So forgive my scant attention to this blog, gentle reader: I promise there is plenty to come to hold yours !

Domesticity

My home-life has taken another bizarre twist. It seems The Gardener has moved in someone without telling me, and this person (working nights) has been here for some time entirely without my knowledge. A secret housemate. My day to day experience of domesticity has changed in many ways since moving here!

Presumably that will make the masked ball type party that is being held here on hallowe’en all the more exciting… 20 gay men, lots of booze… sometimes (only momentarily of course) having a boyfriend can be inconvenient! Who knows, perhaps some of them WON’T actually be living here. Fella and I will also be making a brief sojourn to the party of mutual friends; a lesbian couple who recently got engaged. It seems a lot of my/our friends are settling down, breeding as various bits allow… being proper grown ups.

Anyway, it seems Paris has left me a little legacy in the form of le trots. Not sure what caused it exactly. But I only mention it now as it’s quite severe. I suppose one test of a relationship is not just how well someone ‘does’ your arse, but how well they handle the world falling out of it. Gosh, I must be ill if my writing descends so. Still, it’s done my diet no harm. Lost 4 lbs already.

Domesticity itself has taken hold with Fella and I; he insisted on looking after me this weekend while I was stricken which seemed to involve me doing a lot of cooking, cleaning and shopping than I would have thought as the nursemaided invalid. But either way, as we spend the majority of a week together and I live in a couple of rooms, things can get a bit cramped – and especially so when a tad under the weather, As we approach the six month mark and Fella considers moving back to London I imagine things will continue a-pace. Of course, if he moves reasonably nearby, then we can begin to share domestic arrangements.

In the meantime the revolving door of my house continues. It seems a Canadian gentleman has expressed an interest in living here too, assuming the new random housemate moves out. I don’t really mind the Gardener moving in (and out) all these waifs and strays… I just wish he wouldn’t show them pictures of my from my erstwhile gaydar account to entice them!!

Trips

I’ve already hit on the place I would like to take Fella for his next birthday… New York! Well, it’s an idea. I’ve never been; and Fella apparently likes the place very much. And I have a year to plan for it.

Of course, I still want to go to China. At some point. That trip I will probably do by myself; so I’m not really looking forward to being away from Fella for a couple of weeks.

In the meantime I am thinking of taking him in early December to meet my mother. She lives in Germany, so it would be at the very least another long weekend. He’s met my aunt and uncle and some cousins… but I’ve met his parents and so I think it’s time he met mine. The one that’s available at least!

He’s quite reticent, though. Annoyingly so, in fact. Admittedly it is because my mother isn’t exactly a huge fan of the gay thing. She’s… OK with it. Just not happy about it. Now that is annoying! So I can understand why he feels the way he does.

So Fella is not keen to meet her at all. I decided not to push it at the time as it would only precipitate a row. Instead we talked about it this weekend just gone; he’s booked some time off work. I just need to approach my mother and find out if it would be OK to come over… I would be very, very disappointed if she decided not. I mean, it really ought to be done at some point, don’t you think gentle reader?

I’ve never taken anyone to meet my parents. So it’s a big thing on many levels. However, as insurance against any… awkwardness there are a few family members passing through the weekend we’re planning to visit so – safety in numbers?

Overall I’m disappointed that my relationship with my mother has suffered with me coming out. I know it’s worse for some of you out there, gentle reader, so I can’t complain too much. Yet this anti-goldilocks scenario of the worst of both worlds is somewhat draining.

We shall have to see how it goes… stay tuned for the next instalment of the Cheerful Fairy’s Adventures on Parentville!

Paris

Well, I’ve been a lax little blogger, haven’t I? Fear not, gentle reader!! I have returned to Strumpetville from gay Paris and am ready to blog again…

First things first; le trip.

We travelled in the early afternoon from St Pancras; and I’ll be honest, the train is the only was to go. Fast, efficient, no hassle getting our seat, stowing our luggage… before we knew it we were under the sea; and then in France itself.

We’d booked a studio apartment near the Gare Du Nord so we were quickly there. The place was really nice, on a little side street off the main boulevard. And from then on we were out and about, exploring the city.

All the touristy things of course; the Louvre – absolutely fantastic; worth a day in its own right. The Arc de Triomphe; really impressive. The Eiffel Tower. A tad rusty! The people were far friendlier than I thought they would be; it’s the little things that can really make your day, don’t you think? Just turning a corner from the main streets we found ourselves in a small family run bakery, where the staff fussed over us letting us taste thus or that… or the attentive waiters in restaurant we had to ourselves one lunchtime, in the gay district near Rue de Te,mple, who all worked to give us the perfect Parisian dining experience. My verdict? I’m sold. Paris is a thriving, vibrant, beautiful city where I would very happily live one day.

Highlights:

- The Rodin museum
- The Louvre
- Notre Dame
- Pompidou Centre
- The Latin Quarter

The best thing of course is that Fella really loved it. He’s shown he appreciates his best birthday present in many ways, not just the physical *ahem*. Tonight is the only night since last Friday, and until Sunday, that we are apart – hence the time to write a post. He’s changed ever so slightly. Things are more… comfortable. The rhythm is easier in some way.

It was his trip after all – so I’m delighted he liked it. But for me it was great. The last time I went abroad it was with International to his villa in Spain for a dirty weekend of naughty nookie. This time it was a joint experience of art, culture, food and wine. Something shared, and ‘grown up’. It really was a great trip.

And for the next birthday trip? Hmm….

Mirror

Conversation regarding baby photos:

Fella: “you’re not allowed to see the ones where I’m drooling and looking dopey”.
Mike: “well, to be fair I see THAT first thing every morning”.

Fella sulks. Cheerful fairy congratulates himself on wit. Diverse alarums…

I have heard it said, Gentle reader, that art holds a mirror up to life. And if so the two films Fella and I saw this week reflected a lot back to me.

The first was Away We Go. One of my favourite films ever is Happy-go-Lucky, and Away We Go is in a similar vein. However, it’s much more of a laugh-out-loud comedy and brilliantly acted. In it the main characters go on a journey and meet various friends and family members. Each relationship they encounter is flawed in its own way but as the couple struggle to come to terms what might become with them they, perhaps, realise they need to make their own paradigm that celebrates and encompasses their flaws…



Well, I hardly need Freud to point out the parallels between this and my posts here on this blog. It touched me in many ways and I loved it. Hooray for the Haymarket and Orange Wednesdays!

On Sunday we saw Up. A new Pixar animated adventure that, in all honesty, Fella and I had waited to see for an absolute age! And so, there I was, in a room full of four year olds, with tears running down my face. Gosh-darn. That’s no way for a cheerful fairy to behave!



You see, at the beginning a couple meet, fall in love, grow old and eventually die. Ordinary people, whose lives were touched by ordinary tragedies and yet never lost their sense of adventure. Very beautiful; and obviously very touching. So why did I cry? Well, two main reasons.

The old couple reminded me very much of my (maternal) grandparents. The finest people I ever met; now in the winter of their lives, they are universally loved, raising four fin children under fascism and then communism and still somehow being good people. I love them to most in all the world; we don’t even speak the same language! Yet I don’t know how I will bear their loss when, in perhaps 10 – or more – years time (well, their 85 or so, and it’s been 70 years of beer, cigarettes and lard… you do the maths…) when they are gone. They’ll never know, of course, but it’s respect for them and the family they built that gave me the strength to come out to my family at all. Better late then never, I suppose!

But also, I saw the potential to be like them and have that “forever”. Soppy old fairy that I am. But, well, you know… when you fall in love with someone it’s an adventure all its own and, really, do you want to have every adventure all by yourself? Things aren’t just mirrored in glass after all.

Confession

I’ve been thinking for a short while about how to tell Fella about this blog. I love blogging – and I’m not going to stop – but I don’t really think I can justify him not knowing about me thinking out loud to the Universe at large about us and me and him.

International knew about this blog, in a roundabout way. It was an open secret and he (lacking interest in most things about me) never really pursued the issue. But with Fella it’s different. He has become, naturally, very much part of my life and the more we share the more difficult it is to keep things from him; even innocent things like this blog.

Of course, fate steps in and this very Sunday, just as I was about to tell him, he notices an unpublished comment sitting in my inbox! “Oh. You have a blog!!” Well, that was that.

I explained to him all about it; but I asked him not to read it. I assured him he isn’t named; nothing detailed about him or his family is on here; and I don’t discuss our sex like. I started it as part of coming out and… he described it best: it became my hobby.

It’s a big ask, not to read it. I Trust him; so I’m not worried he’ll go behind my back. I was careful to explain if he ever did read it he would find it told entirely from my point of view… of course. I couched it in terms of a diary, but he was naturally dubious… diaries are private in the sense they aren’t on the internet. No, I mean I wonder if I ask too much of him not to be part of this… my hobby.

Compromising, I suggested this:

He could nominate the things I may not write about; and suggest things that I should write about. He could even take part in video posts with me (he said no to that).

Well, he was fine with it. He likes the Rules, anyway. I hope you don’t mind me outing you this way gentle reader, but it’s best he knows about us don’t you agree?

It does occur to me that the raison d’etre of this blog has changed yet again. First it was suggested by the first, ignored by the second, and now… accepted by the one??

Monogamy

Fella and I are monogamous. It seems odd posting what must have appeared to be a given, but nevertheless; it is so.

The real reason is that he insisted on it from the outset. His Rule. And very sensible he was too. However, I’ve always said I don’t mind open or monogamous – I don’t equate sex with love. I need honesty.

This is the only monogamous relationship I’ve been in. OK; I’ve only had three ‘proper’ boyfriends amongst a series of boyfriendettes, regular gentlemen callers and the casual assignation. I never slept with anyone else for the sixth months I was with Darren before being so spectacularly binned but, as with so much in that relationship, I put that down to my own naïveté. As International has other boyfriends I carried on sleeping around with abandon – not reckless, but still…

And then, somewhat unexpectedly and rather unintentionally I stumbled across Fella. What marvellous luck; I rarely do so well in matters of chance!

Apart from a bit of bank holiday fun – which Fella knows about and is fine with because it was between our first and second dates, before we started our relationship proper – I haven’t slept with anyone since I met him. Nevertheless, because Fella has tended to go for relationships while I have tried, but failed to do the same… I’ve slept with many, many times as many partners as he. Fella’s fine with it. International, if memory serves, was always insanely jealous of my past.

Fortunately, whether it makes me seem base or no, our sex life is great. As with so much in our relationship it took work. Ironically I never felt a one night stand (or equivalent) leads to the best in sex. Still pretty good; but relationships are better. You will recall, gentle reader, that Fella and I recent went through a crisis. How better to make up than assign an… activity to each card in a deck (each house representing a certain type of activity) and inviting him, at various points over the weekend, to pick three cards at random?

Fella is probably the best fantasy I’ve ever had. And that’s a new thing for me; to put my current partner as the locus of desire (or lust or whatever you want to call it).

Monogamy isn’t therefore a challenge for me. I’m glad of that. After this most recent challenge to our relationship I am at least certain he’s the one I want; and I’m confident my trust in him is not misplaced. This kind of relationship is exactly is exactly what I want. Most of this post describes the bonus material on this DVD of love [bleurgh]. But I really wouldn’t have it any other way.

Housemates

Moving house has been very helpful, even if it does mean sharing for the first time in 10 years or so. It’s a large Victorian house across three floors; I have my own bathroom. There is a dishwasher. I manage. The money I save will help pay for a place of my own some day. It’s paid for Paris; and this laptop :-)

As you know, gentle reader, I live with the Gardener an erstwhile regular gentleman caller. Certainly there’s plenty of space for the two of us and our disparate schedules mean we rarely meet anyway. And we’ve managed to rub along without any awkwardness.

Nevertheless from time to time he does move in the occasional waif and stray which keeps things interesting, to say the least. Previously there was the Frenchist. Currently there is a gay couple staying here because they are opening a Friendly club locally. They are ‘open’ which has already led to an awkward conversation between them and Fella and I (we aren’t open, not at all!)… and it seems they have an enterprising attitude when it comes to other people’s money as the Gardener’s wages have gone missing and we both know it wasn’t me… It may have been one of the casual acquaintances they occasionally host. But either way I imagine they won’t be around for too long.

It’s a good way of expanding my social circle though. This house has beenm quite the revolving door of characters. Also, there is due to be a party here on 31 October; it’s only gay men attending… given my history with the Gardener Fella is not too keen to be there! Nevertheless, as it is in my house I do feel I have little option but to attend, if only for a while.

Fella and I have talked about moving in together at some point. He really doesn’t want to move in here, and in any event there is no room. But I’m glad to have my own space at least when he is here because we can be left well alone and whether a shared house or no, snuggle up in our own little space. So it works rather well here. Rather well indeed.

Smooth

It seems autumn is well and truly apon us and the nights are drawing in. How lucky, then, am I to have a gorgeous guy to keep me warm through the long cold nights.

Yes, as many of you queried both with your comments and emails, my week long absence from this blog is due to making up with Fella in the nicest possible way. Thank you all for your lovely comments. They were, as always, a source of great reassurance and are much appreciated.

Last week, in the midst of our crisis, I sent him some flowers and he thanked me. This was pretty much the icebreaker though conversation was rather stilted. I’ll be honest – the fact that flowers got him to talk when “I love you” didn’t rankles slightly still. But, in fairness, I suspect he was worried about where we were at and what happens next. And actions speak louder than words.

On Wednesday I bit the bullet and asked him to call me. He wasn’t answering my calls and it was getting to the point it was affecting my work. I think he may never know how close he came… if he had refused to call me then that would have been that.

Nevertheless, call he did; and those five minutes probably did more than anything else to sort us out. I explained there was nothing to worry about but our communication simply wasn’t working right now so we needed to chat to sort it out. He in turn reassured me I had nothing to worry about; that we are OK.

Friday was the first time we met since the row. It was his leaving-do from his previous job. A small affair, but he was very affectionate and we didn’t sty out too late. We slept in Saturday morning, before going into town for an early dinner and then on to the church for another concert. This time it was exactly my kind of music; baroque, played on period instruments. I loved it.

On Sunday we had a birthday lunch for one of Fella’s exes… hmmm, not a huge fan if meeting the exes but on the other hand I’ve become friends with many of HIS friends so it’s difficult to avoid that kind if thing… and anyway, by the end of it all it was as if it had never happened.

One thin I will comment on is that this affair will have longer term consequences, both good and bad. We are better at talking. But I’m disappointed by some of the behaviours displayed on both our parts. It took a lot of effort to get through this and a number of my friends were concerned it wasn';t worth continuing given what was going on and how I was feeling. Nevertheless, taking the rough with the smooth, I am glad we’re back on an even keel and very glad that we’re still together.

Flowers

I had a pretty miserable night last night because Fella ignored my calls and emails both last night and today. I arranged first thing in the morning for some flowers to be delivered to him at his office; by way of an apology for making things difficult and checking that he was at least still alive.

He thanked me for the flowers. That’s a start at least.

I have a boyfriend who loves me and whom I love. That much at least is clear, whether or not we can still be together. But, and this gentle reader is the crucial part; he is what I think of as a ‘fair weather’ boyfriend. That may seem harsh, and I don’t want to appear to be insulting or abusing him when I post this. No, what I mean is he likes only the good times and simply isn’t interested when things are tough.

I know why – partly – and suspect why for the rest. His family of high achievers have, sadly (and this makes me very, very angry), quite a low opinion of my guy. I’ve always been impressed by his work ethic and intelligence but they seem not to see it. He gets enough hassle from them. I’m a bit of an escape. Also, I think his ex hurt him pretty badly. He won’t talk about it and I don’t push it. Not so much my business; but perhaps that will come out in time. He doesn’t want to go through that again. That’s understandable.

Nevertheless it is difficult to be allowed only a discrete range of emotions; how can we have the relationship I think we can have under those circumstances? I appealed to friends ‘F’ and ‘A’ today when I was at my nadir. They both gave me some good reassurance. ‘A’ made some pertinent points around communication being a two way street. I think Fella sure bet on the wrong horse if he feels I’m able to deal with that kind of thing forever!

So here I am, thinking hard and feeling a little foolish. It strikes me the solution is something in the middle ground. To take a step backward down the read we’ve both travelled down and, if there’s still a chance, rebuild. Creative destruction.

I’m not sure I could go back to being single again; fill the massive hole that losing him would leave in my life. I leapt off the cliff; and the ground may be fast approaching. But I’m willing to hit it if that is what I am left with.

Hedgehog

I’m sitting here tonight a bit down because Fella and me had a falling out. The longer terms consequences of this falling out remain to be seen.

I called him this afternoon to talk about going out, just him and me – because we don’t really do that too often these days. However, he was in a rush and pretty much ended the call without listening to what I was saying. This annoyed me, to put it mildly, so I sent a text saying there was, in fact, a reason behind my call, if you don’t mind, thank you so much.

He texted later to ask if I was OK and I replied saying that I wanted to talk so I can explain why I’m annoyed – not angry, or flying off the handle; just annoyed – which can’t really be done over the text.

Of course he then doesn’t answer the phone all evening. So I simply sent a final text explaining I merely wanted to talk but that I wasn’t going to call again tonight. I did drop him an email to, however, trying – briefly - to reassure him.

The reality is, for all of this, I don’t know how long I can keep walking this tightrope. I find things in this relationship so very difficult sometimes. Admittedly, I’m blogging from the perspective of my first real row with Fella when we’re not in the same room. So it’s rather unusual (not that rows are usual, you understand).

Co-incidentally; recently new ‘V’ got in touch. To refresh your memory gentle reader, he was rather exciting gentleman with whom I explored he physical side of my new out gayness rather… fully. But all good things, the first half of this post notwithstanding, must come to an end. For a while at least; for him and boyfriend have moved to London Bridge and are inviting me over for a housewarming party like only they know how to throw.

The thing is it’s…. very clear they are up for double plus adult fun. And if memory serves double-plus is an apt description Now, they know about Fella… and I know he wants monogamy. And that’s all fine; nothing to dreadful or troublesome to work out there, nest pas?

So why did the invitation caused me a little flutter of anxiety? Well, I talked about it with friend ‘C’ and she was able to help me work things out in my head.

I’m hedging my bets in case it all goes tits up with Fella. An interesting realisation. But it’s true. Shocking, but true. I love him and trust him and would NEVER do anything to hurt him but… well, this scenario puts me on the back foot and maybe I just need to be brave. A friend told me tonight that he and I can’t work out. I appreciate and respect his honesty. But there’s so much left for us to explore, Fella and I… and as I explained to ‘C’:

If we lived nearby; if work was less hectic; if… if… if… so it’s all to play for. If we don’t play games.

Vexatious like a fox

Round and round the wheel spins, and today gentle reader the dial stops at… mild annoyance. Well, it did. By the time I got to posting this I was happier. Nevertheless, it seems we have reached a point that all relationships go thorough but for which *sigh* good communication is needed.

Is there a theme emerging here? I wonder.

Anyway: Fella now has his job and that means a lot of pressure is off him and he’s got more time free not applying for things or doing interview prep. So, today, he tells me all about his plans to take evening courses and do yoga and join a gym… a veritable cornucopia of Fella-time.

Harrumph.

Not us time.

Double plus harrumph.

Incidentally the college apparently subsidises a lot of its staff’s extracurricular activity. It comes to something when there is a public subsidy for my boyfriend not spending time with me.

I work up to 15 hours a day yet I always make time for him and us; get up a couple of hours before him to finish work so we can spend more time together in the morning. Always making sure he has his cup of tea at the bedside however early I need to leave for work. Actively rearranging my work calendar around his availability.

So, yes, I am a little vexed he’s not thinking of time for us to spend together now he has time on his hands. I’m not suggesting 24/7 – far from it. In that event you could place bets on which of us would kill the other first. Maybe I’m being unreasonable; maybe I put in work and he puts up with me… that would be hard enough to be sure :-)

We do spend time together. There are the weekends and we often go to the cinema on Wednesday. On Saturday I’m going to one of his concerts and Sunday to enjoy the Regent St Festival (hopefully joined by Friend ‘A’). Friday is his leaving drinks from his temp role, to which he has invited me. But it does occur that’s having me along to things he’d be doing anyway.

Including me in things is really sweet. He doesn’t have to and I know he does it for the right reasons. But that’s where communication comes in. Rather than being Frumpella the Humphy Fairy - this is surely not a litany of complaints worth burdening him with - maybe I should just take time at the weekend to tell him I think he and I should spend some of his his new found tempus redux together, goshdarn it!!

Perhaps I’ll do it over his new cabbage strudel recipe that he’s using me as the guinea pig for on Sunday…

Job

Fella has a new job, which is great news. He was on a temporary contract administering an audit at a medical Royal College; and he has now been offered a permanent position. That complements his birthday nicely so we have two things to celebrate with our trip! He’s [we are] very much looking forward to Paris and I am currently looking for some suitable accommodation...

As for me, I have spotted an opportunity with my own employer that seems to suit me, and would certainly mean a step up if I got it. I won’t now see Fella till Saturday afternoon, so I have a little time to apply for it.

Work is very important to me. Before I came out I was pretty focussed on work as my main activity, but too unhappy to really push ahead as well as perhaps I could. Nevertheless, I have a reasonable career, moving from administration to regulation to casework to project management, and I am reasonably well paid (though in my darker moments feel not necessarily remunerated for what I actually do).

Fella is much more of a social person, with an artistic background (contrasting my scientific education) and as such not very interested in a traditional career or making money. And this puts us in very different positions with very different viewpoints on some things.

I am pleased – well, not pleased, but content I suppose – that I make about 70% of our combined income. Am I competing with him? Or do I merely want to contribute to our relationship in proportion to my gifts – support him in accordance with my abilities? I prefer the latter. I think he simply doesn't care!

I like working hard and making the time for this relationship is one area I am just about managing to pull off – admittedly with massive sleep deprivation on the side. It does make me a bit sad (and a tad envious) to leave Fella with his cup of tea to sleep a while and make his own way into work when I have to rush off at dawn o’clock – or get up two hours before him to do some work reading.

If Fella and I had similar work aspirations or career paths, I wonder how well we would really get on? I suspect we would really be competing then. I’m not a huge fan of people assuming ‘roles’ in a relationship be it alpha/beta or masculine/feminine but it seems our differences help us rub along. And rub along very nicely we do.

Reportage

Ah that was the weekend that was, gentle reader. Fortunately it went off exactly – if not better than – planned. He loved all of his presents. He rather liked the pork with caramelised apples (such apples!) that I made as his birthday dinner *phew*. He is quite the gourmet, but now it seems kitchen duties will be more equally shared so I suppose in a sense that back-fired… and, thankfully, he’s over the moon about Paris.

I think that the best thing of all was the spread put on by his friends for his surprise party. It was themed as a third birthday party with pass the parcel and musical statues and lots of sweets and lemonade and jelly. With a little something thrown in…

Tremendous fun… though dragging Fella home on Sunday night in his drunken/affectionate state, with a stream of balloons emblazoned with the legend “birthday princess” was not my idea of a good time!

The most important things is of course that he loved his birthday. But, for the purposes of this blog, I am quite pleased about the weekend for a number of reasons.


Firstly, I sat down properly with Fella’s mother and got to know her a bit better over lunch on Saturday. Of Fella’s family she’s been the least accepting of his sexuality; but they are very close so it is good that she and I got on.

As well of this Fella’s friends do seem to like me, both in absolute terms and relative to his ex. A number of them are now my Facebook friends; the more the merrier… but it is important to him that they like me and they are very close. *Phew* again.

Finally, we had a bit of a heart to heart on Sunday night and it seems for all the ups and downs our relationship is on pretty solid ground. I’m a fool to worry sometimes, I really am, but I’m amazed by how I feel about him and the birthday weekend was just designed to show it in some way.

Because our social circles are beginning to integrate we have a lot of engagements ahead of us. Tomorrow and Wednesday we’re going out, first with my colleagues and then with his. We’ll be reciprocating the efforts of the hosts and organisers of Fella’s party by having them over here. And around the same time a dinner party with ‘A’ and ‘F’ and others. And a couple of work functions in the meantime. He’s even invited me to spend Christmas with him.

Lots to talk about :-)

Blabber

Just a quick one tonight, gentle reader (oo-er) because I am SO tired. I started work at 8:00 this morning and finished at 9:45 this evening – working at home after leaving the office. This is becoming a typical weekday for me - hugely busy because the pandemic is kicking off and we’re getting ready for the upcoming election and the next financial year – over 90 organisations have to have their plans evaluated for 2010.

I’ve been reticent about discussing my work on this blog because (a) it’s not really relevant to being a gayer, and (b) I dislike bragging and self-aggrandisement intensely. But this seems as good a time as any to scratch the surface.

I work for the body that overseas NHS care in London. Coming from a European background it’s interesting to see the ‘free’ NHS system and compare it to the European subsidised system. I’ve always been impressed by the dedication of the medical and administrative staff to nothing but patient care; and by the clear links between what politicians say and real on-the-ground action to make it a reality.

Fella and I both like to work hard. He has an enormous drive for work and it in many ways inspires me. And Cheerful fairy or no I am still competitive enough to want to always be paid more than him! So our relationship has actually strengthened that aspect of my life not only in the way our lives and work ethics interact, but in the need to plan carefully around him. I had to work late tonight because we’re meeting tomorrow, for example. And as you will have seen I cannot work at the weekend.

It’s very difficult to give to a relationship and manage such a heavy workload. As Fella and I are both swamped the time we have together can sometimes get slightly tense. As I try to be supportive and am NLP-ing my way to being a mediocre (versus a piss-poor) communicator I can dimply perceive why it is commonly held wisdom (and thus probably total twaddle) that relationships have an dominant and submissive partner (no, not like that. Filthy minded thing that y’are!). otherwise how can you reconcile the pressures of living in the modern world?

Work is an area, like so many, where Fella and I seem to both complement and contradict each other. Our similarities ironically presenting the challenge: which one of us stays home to look after the baby that is our relationship? Of course it’s a job for both of us, and an issue that must be worked through in its own delicate time.

In the short term, however, my stream of (fading) consciousness is done and I think a little wine and perhaps a little sleep.

PS thinking of my fatigued state: I watched REC the other day. A Spanish zombie flick with an interesting if underexplored twist. At just over an hour it really moves fast - I recommend it. If you like zombies!

Birthday treats

I have a new phone! It’s a Nokia 5800 and it does everything I want. I still haven’t quite sorted out how voicemail works… or set it up on my PC (so no pics for now) but I am nevertheless pretty satisfied.

Fella was rather bored of my constant twiddling with the device at the weekend. He’s not a fan of technology generally so my cooing over my precious did not impress him overmuch. Fortunately that Friday we had a fabulous dinner at friend ‘F’s – so good I was distracted enough by marvellous food and company to socialise at least a little bit. Plus I gave him his own account on my PC and he finally has a drawer, so I reckon he did OK.

Also on the plus side I am getting £58 for recycling my old one and that will come in handy for Fella’s birthday weekend. Yes, he reaches the grand old age of 30 this Saturday and even in Strumpetville that counts as a proper grown up fairy so there will be celebrations indeed.

For all my inability to communicate Fella’s protestations that he does not want a fuss, or presents, or for anyone to do anything special are a thin façade and so the plan is as follows:

Friday – drinks with colleagues

Saturday: family brunch; then into London where Fella, his mum and I will spend the afternoon doing whatever Fella’s big ole’ heart desires. Then (sans-mere) in the evening he and I will have dinner.

Sunday I have organised his friends to have a surprise party for him in Greenwich (I woe his friends big time for getting together at such short notice).

And at some point, presumably Saturday night, he will get his presents I bought him:

A Futurama DVD (it’s a joke present because we were, shall we say, distracted from these particular episodes one weekend recently)
A polari dictionary
A ‘Round the Horne’ compilation CD
A very nice bottle of very nice
champagne
Some chocolate (of course!)
An exquisite presentation box, inside which he will find:
Tickets to Paris.

Yes, the oft mentioned trip has been booked! It’s from 17 to 20 October, train, hotel, all my treat. Well, mostly my bank manager’s treat but he’s not to know. Would you swoon, gentle reader, over this cornucopia of gayer gifts? Would you?? I surely hope so. My worries about things recently are in part due to a fear I’ve gone a bit overboard. But why not, eh? I may be new to this relationship business but I didn’t arrive in a turnip truck; I’m determined to give him a really great birthday!

I was somewhat reassured when reminded of my Dante, and indeed came up with a brand new rule: if you can see the road ahead it probably isn’t worth the trip

*If anyone has any fairy-friendly hotel tips please drop me a line x

Communication

I’m a pretty poor communicator, it seems. That’s quite a challenge both to recognise and overcome. However things have happened both in my relationship and through my work that had given me pause for thought.

I think Fella sometimes thinks I don’t enjoy spending time with him, when I really do. We have different approaches to how we spend our time together and we’re both really busy at the moment so when we can get together it should be precious. But of course, being fundamentally flawed when it comes to expressing myself, and my feelings I find it very difficult to discuss things. Odd, really, when you consider I can talk, write, post ad-nauseum… but apparently say nothing at all.

All I can do is carry on and get better I suppose. I hope, genuinely, that Fella will stick around long enough for some kind of equilibrium to be established. I am convinced of the importance of communication but I really don’t know how to. And this in turn leads to a feedback cycle of increasing frustration till things reach breaking point.

As part of efforts to better myself I bought myself recently a book on neuro-linguistic programming (NLP). A proactive fairy am I, gentle reader. I hope that as [if] I get better at communicating I can reverse the cycle and dealing with people won’t be so draining. It ain’t easy being an introvert. NLP is something friends of mine swear by and I with a bit of luck it will let me garner some insights and solutions without getting me too down about myself!

Fella has an interview tomorrow so for the moment I am focussed on supporting him and so I don’t want to talk about… talking right now. And it’s his birthday coming up so I want to ensure he has a great time. If actions speak louder than words then I think I got some game…

Still, I do think I need to focus on the outcomes I want and just learn to give a bit more when I’m with him. I want him to know I want to be with him and am always sad when I’m not. Better get reading I suppose.