... 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.