The corbel of Dick, a gardener and honesty or appropriateness

1. The leaf carvings in Southwell Minster are famous for their delicacy and extraordinary inventiveness. We visited the Minster and its Chapter House on the way back home to York today. I found one carving, (I think they are called corbels), is of a handsome little bloke who looked so like my good friend Dick it made me want to kiss it. Dick is by no means little, I should point out, if anything he has a very satisfying largeness to him. The little gargoyle head has a little dragon snake carved around him. I thought that was very significant and sexy in a psychoalchemical sort of way. I was thinking about the ouroborus snake that eats its own tail and the implication of circulating sexual energy and tension. But I let that thought go pretty quickly as it was far too silly. No, my heart found its way back to Dick and that naughty smile...

2. When we got back to York I finally mowed the grass in the back garden. The smell was divine, really spiritual and uplifting. And today the poached egg plants were beaming in the sunlight. The garden is now almost completely overwhelmed with summer growth. Allan and I worked for several hours to get some weeding and titivating done. It could seem like a hopeless task. What we really need is a garden boy who comes regularly on a Thursday afternoon. This makes me think of a delightful little story in Nigel Slater's book "Toast. The Story of A Boy's Hunger" which is a memoir of his childhood told through food and meals and related incidents...there was one afternoon when the gardener Josh was getting changed, ready for work "...his denim jacket is on the seat of his Triumph...Josh's white T-shirt is out of shape and so short it barley comes down to his belly button. It looks like he's had it for years..." Anyway, putting aside garden help fantasies (clearly Mr Slater did not...the chapter is entitled "Radishes" you work it out), I could use some help because otherwise my beautiful garden will become a beautiful jungle. I might as well admit that Nigel is one of my hero's, first for being a gorgeous gay man, outwardly at least, happy and contented with being himself, secondly I like his books a lot (except obviously for that weird one about drink, which I don't have, it might be called "Thirst") and thirdly because his book about his childhood mentioned above resonated with me in so many ways that I have read it at least three times and written a ridiculous essay for my degree course on a portion in it. (Very slight joke there). Enough. I want a Josh. (And I'd be happy with a Tom and Harry too).

3. Third beautiful thing...there is a choice between honesty and appropriateness. I'd like to think honesty is the bestest policy but appropriate has its own careful joy too. I had an extremely unguarded and unexpected moment this evening which was wonderful fun and a pleasant conversation with he-who-must-not-be-named. (No, not Voldermort you fools, damn! there I said his name now too). You can judge for yourself which was honest and which was indiscreet. Hehe.

The punters, Barnsdale and colcannon

1. We set off after achieving a fine enough breakfast in College this morning, prepared by a cute bit of rough diamond who no doubt pleases the Masters with his repartee and charming culinary skills. Cambridge is filled with unreasonably beautiful Colleges and equally incredible and irresistible totty. We read the Sunday papers, and drank coffee in Nero’s and walked across the Bridge of Sighs at St John’s College. We reached The Backs and admired the young punters as they progressed their charges up and down the Cam. The sun shone, people sparkled with happiness and silliness, children scampered about and the occasional graduate walked past in full gownage. (It was graduation weekend in Cambridge). All felt very well with the world. My hangover was receding and the prospect of adventure on the homeward journey beckoned. On the way north we detoured to Wing in Rutland for an emotional hat-tipping from Allan for the site that he worked on for his Doctoral Thesis. Also in the village there was an extraordinary turf maze which dates back to Medieval times and is said to have been used by penitents, following the path of the maze on their hands and knees repeating begging prayers presumably hoping for forgiveness. Thankfully there was none of that for us but simply the joy of retreading some steps from the past…

2. Barnsdale was Geoff Hamilton’s television garden during his supreme reign on Gardener’s World in the mid 1980’s until he passed away. It was a complete surprise for me to find myself turning into his garden. Allan had planned this element of our weekend and kept it a secret to surprise me. He knew quite exactly how Mr H had been an inspiration and the object of love and admiration to me. I to this day moisten in a happy way when I think about him. I’m hoping that there are other people who feel the same way. Our visit to his gardens was a bit like a spiritual horticultural pilgrimage and as if on cue, when we arrived there was Mr H’s delightful DNA clone, smiling, handsome as hell just like his father, and greeting us warmly. The gardens are a series of little rooms, many of which I know so well from happy times watching Geoff on television and reading his books. The best, for me was the Artisan Cottage Garden and especially the home-made obelisk with its ballcock sphere atop and painted duck-egg blue. I made one too…it still lives in my little garden in Sussex. It was a happy time especially then but even more today for the kindness of Allan’s gift of this visit.

3. This evening I find myself in a fancy hotel near Barnsdale Gardens. I had local darne of fresh water trout on a bed of the most delicious colcannon. This is a gorgeous mashed potato and cabbage thing that comes I guess from Ireland. Mine had pepper and spring onions, it was just perfect with the fish. I'm going to make this with left-overs back in York at the next possible occasion and it may therefore have to have a second beautiful entry in this silly bloggett.

A mini-miracle, Dancing with Queens and a kiss on Parkers Piece

1. Allan and I had been invited some time ago to attend the wedding of Douglas to Annette in Cambridge. After yesterday’s excesses, managing to be awake early enough and in a reasonable state to travel was a beautiful mini-miracle. It turned out that we had been invited as the naughty “uncles” along with several other dubious characters enjoying similar familial status. The wedding was hilarious, straight out of a rom com from the late eighties set in the delightfully uptight United Reformed Church. The brides family it should perhaps be noted is deeply of the god-bothering persuasion, while the grooms were on the very bright side of atheism. Afterwards we went to Addenbrooke’s Hospital (how ridiculously unlikely was this?) for the reception. On the way Allan and I chose to visit the Cambridge Botanic Gardens. And it was here that I was photographed, dressed to impress, in my cool linen wedding frock and Mark’s gwowgeous “pulling shirt”. The shirt turned out to be perfect, making it clear to all and sundry (and there were definitely some of those) that they were graced by the presence of a total Worcester who was keen to make friends.

2. Dancing at a wedding, especially after several glasses of champagne, is always a beautiful thing at the time but on reflection it is possible that people were irredeemably damaged psychologically or injured by direct physical abuse. Not being one to let a reasonable challenge go unheeded I launched myself onto the dance floor once the speeches and the tears had been unleashed. The music was dire…the first dance, the bride and groom’s dance was played to a delightfully obvious tune, which sadly I can no longer remember the name of….after that it was steadily downhill working its way through the obligatory “Dancing Queen” down to her belovedness Ms Kylie. I danced my arse off. Quite literally I think. I met up with two darling worcesters from York, friends of Douglas, a couple, who were usherettes. We flirted in a kind way (they were babies) and the prettier of them, a boy with the cheekiest sparkling smile that was guaranteed to melt any heart, bet me £50 I couldn’t get the brides father to dance with me. Enough to say that I did succeed (bless him, if that’s not too patronising). And also his wife, the grooms father and mother and latterly with a very personable young man called ’Nick’ who was wearing a red tie. I mention this last miracle because the pretty sparkly-eye boy said he rather fancied a dance with red-tie man. When I succeeded I introduced them and said “This is my friend and he’d rather like a dance with you”. At which point, quite rightly I was described as something not so very kind…The beauty of this kind of event is that one may never meet these people again and therefore whatever occurs is likely to be forgotten by the next morning. I met some very good people. Especially I enjoyed hanging out with Jon (the kind one) and Matt (the sparkly-eyed boy) but everyone who was kind enough to dance with me should be listed in the Queen Birthday Honours list….actually I guess this is it.

3. Allan and I walked back to Emmanuel, where we were staying, (an unreasonable distance but somehow acceptable when one has drunk a lot). We crossed Parkers Piece, a fabulously huge, green and grassy space in the middle of the city. About half way across, in the dark, we kissed and hugged each other and laughing made our way back to college beds. It was a lovely end to the day.

Both ends, recognising Sean and a beautiful bladdering

1. I have I think its fair to say been “burning the candle from both ends” recently. It has been amusing, even fun to let the dissident hedonist out of his box and see what happens. I had about three hours sleep following some intensive and happy partying with friends old (in the relative sense) and new (in the literal sense). When everyone had gone, I sat on the bottom stair for a moment feeling exhausted, as without another breath, and depleted like a jar of olives taken from the refrigerator, consumed and satisfyingly empty.

2. After little sleep and a day at work, I spent the evening with several work colleagues out in town celebrating the end of Sean’s temporary contract. He’s returning to foreign parts to resume his other life. I will miss him. I have probably already added Sean to the RHB list but I’m adding him again. My heart is fuller for having had a little time around this bloke. He’s one of the few people I know that I would trust my life to and who is at the same time just very slightly dangerous to know. He can be unpredictable, in a good and reliable way, I never quite know what thought or ideal he might challenge next. I really like that in him. He is also a very emotional human with a beautiful smile and the kindest disposition. I might never see him again, (but I think I will) and in some ways that wouldn’t matter. Because just one moment of recognition is enough to be connected forever. You are a good one Sean.

3. Here is a third beautiful northern concept: “bladdering”. We drank a fair bit on this jolly jaunt in a variety of bars in town. Each of them had their own beautiful dimension, none that I visited with this curious group was particularly historic. We began in The Parish on Bridge Street, which was OK but sort of empty, it being 5.30 on a Friday and the happy people mostly heading home first I’d guess to get changed for a night of abuse. Then on to The Yorkshire Hussar, a lovely, skanky little pub on North Street, where a darts game was played and various secrets were exchanged. A little old gentleman arrived in the bar in the middle of the game apparently somewhat befuddled and amused by our friendly fumblings. I suspect he might have been an ancient mystical sage, with a wisdom to share. Frankly he looked like an architypal Yorkshire giffer, but what was disarming was how lovingly Cindy cared for him. It was a beautiful moment. There were other stops I think but for me the evening ended in the Hansome Cab, known in the past for providing reliable quantities of blood on the pavevement but which is now a pleasant and friendly spot to have a beer and a pee. I came to realise that I was “bladdered” and that it was time to go before I witnessed anything more of my colleagues proclivities or comedy routines. And at the same moment, my lad called and was suddenly there to whisk me home. He was so very tolerant of the bladdering that it almost hurt. In a good way.

Input, Output and Savings

1. Beautiful input

2. Beautiful output

3. Beautiful savings

Smile from a stranger, a blush and a chuckle and a comedy of errors,

1. A smile from a stranger can lift any amount of insecurity and sadness in a moment. Today i was making tea an coffe for my workmates in the tiny kitchen we share with the YOTs. A lovely man turned up all smiles and bright conversation. He was tall and unexpected. He told me a long story about carrying trays of hot drinks and how dangerous it could be. All the time smiling and sparkling eyes until he opened doors and escorted me back to my office.

2. I flirted outrageously with the man on the comuter software hotline and said something inappropriate. I blushed. He chuckled.

3. A comedy of errors tonight on the internet. It was completely Midsummer Nights Dream. I got myself into deep and hot water, and then made mad, ridiculous attempts to extricate myself and others from beutiful misunderstandings.

Team meetings, Miss Thing and spaghetti bolognese

1. Team meetings can be very dull. The one we had today was long and pretty tedious but it was made just slightly better by making myself speak up. I could see the rest of the room groan inwardly as I found yet another thing to say. It didn't matter though. I felt good. I'm working on being more confident and contributing even if it might make me look stupid. One colleague left muttering about the complete waste of his time it was. Hmmm.

2. Emma was outside the office to meet me today when it was time to go. People in my office came to the window and waved down to her. Lil Phil dribbled coffee on his trousers. Suddenly everything wrong seemed a bit right, and everything bad seemed a bit good. I rushed downstairs to find Ms Thing and we strode off towards Lendal Bridge, arm-in-arm, giggling like the big girls we are.

3. This evening over home-made spaghetti bolognese Ms Thing and I had a heart-to-heart chat. She cleverly identified me as a bit lost, which I am. I cleverly tried to be cool about it. This evening I was charged to dye Ms Thing's hair blonder, and come to terms with being honest with her. I can't think of anything finer than saying what you really mean and want to say in spite of the possible consequences. I chatted to that bloke again, the one that drives me nuts with his rules of life and his monosyllable replies. I tried to tell him something true. It's hard though because I've begun to expect him to criticise and usually (I hope) , I would never prejudge an outcome. With Ms Thing though the outcome is unexpectedly normal and calm, which is just what I would expect from a Real Human Being. Another RHB chatted to me just a little while ago and he helped to make my heart soar.

Brotherly love, TK Maxx and orange lilies

1. Falling in love with my brother today was pretty easy. I know it has a touch of the incestuous perversion to it, but this morning talking on the telephone to him I was overcome by a wave of love.

2. I went with Allan to TKMaxx at Monks Cross looking for new shirts. We found some beauties and it was fun. I was feeling pretty miserable earlier in the day and our trip was cheery and superficial. I'm going to wear the gorgeous pink candy striped shirt to work tomorrow.

3. The orange lilies are clinging on for dear life against the terrifying winds which have blattered York today. Fortunately I took some pictures of them yesterday in one of the few sunshine moments. I don't actually love them as flowers or the colour in particular, but they are so very DEFINITE as material manifestations. It's an exciting moment when they open at last so vividly and defiantly. This of course could be said of us all in particular moments and special circumstances. Today I felt battered and blattered by the wind and the changes going on around me.

York Youth Mysteries, the chorister and Emma returns

1. In town today I worked as a steward for the York Youth Mysteries event. I was given a ghastly and deffo uncool fluorescent yellow hi-viz T shirt. I have put a difficult image of it here on my blog...not because it was a beautiful thing, but just in the cause of openness...My post was in Memorial Gardens below the Royal York Hotel which is beside the station. I walked down there with my partner steward holding a placard and feeling very conspicuous. The York Youth Mysteries was a series of performances, plays, singing, dance, installations etc put together by various Youth Theatre and Arts groups. Its a revisionary and youthful perspective on the traditional Mysteries which have been performed here for hundreds of years. The play I was stewarding was The Song of Solomon performed by actors from the Upstage Centre Youth Theatre and directed by Dan Bye. It began with Sheba and Ruth talking about Solomon in the gardens, the actors moved off toward the hotel, still talking in character, with the audience walking along with them. When the group arrived at the hotel, which is grand in a gentle sort of way, the play carries on through the reception (random guests looking alarmed/bemused by this strange interaction) and up the grand staircase to Room 101. We followed the actors into the luxurious hotel suite which looks as if it has seen a night of passion, clothes and empty bottles of drink lying about and a dishevelled bed. The view from the window is of the Minster towers. Solomon emerges from the bathroom in his dressing gown surprised that Sheba is there with her friend and angry with her and is followed by his ghost brother. The four actors end the piece by singing "Hallelujah", the Leonard Cohen song but in the style of Jeff Buckley version. I moistened. In one performance a woman actually shed tears...I have to say I was blown too.

2. In the course of my duties I met some really interesting people. I handed out leaflets and talked to passers by about the event in general. A young man turned up, an actor but not part of this particular event, there to see a performance. We got talking, it seemed he had a photographic memory and was preparing to play the part of Capulet in a new production of Romeo and Juliet in two weeks time, but was yet to learn his lines...He had the most winning smile. It turned out that he had just finished the last of his GCSE's yesterday (so he was disarmingly young but didn't seem that way) and that he had been a chorister at the Minster along with the bloke who played Solomon in the play. The young man was charming and articulate and friendly in a genuinely encouraging manner. I wish him very well and this man is definitely on the list of The Real Human Beings.

3. The best beautiful thing today was the return (thanks to a heroic effort by Allan to collect her by car today) of our favourite, youngest daughter Emma from her final first year term at Oxford. She look as so often she does, radiant and fabulous. We will have the next week together to sort out her stuff, do the washing and ironing and prepare for her next adventure which is to be in Barcelona. It is a treat and a whirlwind experience having her home again. The dust in her room has accumulated and settled, just as she seems to like it. I have resisted the cleaning fairy in me, which anyone who knows me will agree is a feat of some unusual measure. We had a lovely supper at the Indian Lounge (its officially developed into a habit) and then home to lounge around and watch more Dexter from the DVD I borrowed from the library this week. I fell asleep predictably in the slightest Cobra-fueled haze and all was well with the world.

Three day weekends, a walk in the woods and BBQ Social

1. Friday is almost always a beautiful thing in working people's lives because it means that the weekend is almost upon us and therefore some feeling of freedom. I think two day weekends are much too short and that the three day weekend should be made the norm. Problem is for some of us it would mean we probably wouldn't get enough money, for some of us the problem might be that it would be too long to be alone or worse still to spend with our 'loved ones' and there would be some of us who just like to work constantly for whom it wouldn't do at all. For me I need three days free time a week. Day One, there are chores to do. I have serious housekeeping to undertake which requires a day of loud pop music or Radio Four in the background so that I can clean and wash and iron and potter about. Day Two requires a generalised relaxing, having coffee, reading the newspaper, watching the world go by, considering what would be good to eat for the rest of the weekend, browsing and marketing, going to the cinema, being with friends, having a few drinks. Day three is about rest and dabbling, perhaps gardening or walking or reading or just lying about. Three days would be luxury. I used to work part-time and had this routine when my week ended on a Thursday. Currently I don't often have that pleasure. But this Friday was OK. All the good routine stuff happened, meetings and bacon sandwiches...I do look forward to Friday, the same as everyone else.

2. I went for a walk with a beautiful friend through the fields and the woods near Castle Howard. The smell and the evening warmth and soft sounds made it very special.

3. I was invited to St Nicks Volunteer BBQ Social last night. It was fun in a small and gentle way. There were a few people I know from the business group there, Ivana was busy cooking vegetarian sausages and burgers, John beamed delightfully and looked sort of bemused by the whole affair and Allan and I drifted about engaging the next person in amicable conversation and introducing each other as "my partner" and smiling a lot. I met a few interesting people who heroically give up regular time to help maintain the centre and the nature reserve. I was particularly taken by a very handsome young fellow who works on their customer database. He had the most winning smile and we had a long conversation about the joys of Apple Macs and Access databases. I could have carried on talking to him all evening but even I began to run out of things to say without getting completely obviously tarty and flirty. The good York Beer and Wine Shop wine was kicking in by then and I knew I could get myself into serious trouble. But the wine reminded me a that shop which is on round the corner from Alligator on Fishergate. Its a really beautiful place in York and well worth mentioning here. They also sell fantastic cheeses and of course beers and ciders. Its well worth a visit and I'm going to go again very soon. All in all it was a pleasant evening, some delightfully nutty people and a gorgeous bloke. So great fortune was had once again.

Stoned tired, wedding of two radios and a nap with Giles Coren

1. Waking at five am has its pleasures. Of course when you went to bed at two am it's not quite so good because at some point in the day, probably earlier than later, the loss of "sleeping-blissfully-hours" takes its toll. Indeed that was true today. There was a point after lunch when I just could not stay comfortable or concentrate. My body kept sighing, and asking me to just close my eyes for a moment of "sleeping-bliss". I manfully carried on regardless. and achieved something reasonable at least even if it wasn't so important. There is a special tiredness that comes around four o'clock anyway. I'm sure that I've read about it somewhere. Like some kind of biorhythm energy drop. Its actually quite a pleasant, kind of "stoned" feeling...

2. Lil Phil's terrible joke of the day: "What was the wedding between two radios like? The service was poor but the reception was great". It made me laugh, as so often, with uncontrolled fits of giggles....

3. To say I was tired at the end of this odd little day is an understatement. I had a little supper this evening and slumped on the couch in my room and watched a programme from BBCi about Victorian eating habits with Giles Coren and Sue Perkin. Its a hilarious programme in a series of wonderfully entertaining shows but then I hardly watch the television at all just now. I download and watch later...I'm looking forward to watching the next one which might be about Elizabethans and food habits...but the beautiful thing is that I had a little nap with Giles after supper and a restorative gin and tonic...

The flowery shirt, Jon and The Turn

1. My good friend Mister G couldn't get over to see me yesterday. I was a bit sad but it couldn't be helped. This morning when I got in to work he called me from his bus journey into town. He had the flowery Jasper Conran shirt with him, (his 'pulling shirt' I think), the one he wore to his 40th birthday party. He is lending it to me for the forthcoming wedding Allan and I have been invited to in Cambridge in a weeks time to wear with my worcester off-white suit. Mr Conran is of course himself a considerable worcester himself, so the company is good. Mister G came up to my office and I introduced him to colleagues who were here, but they had no idea who he was...an odd, slightly blush worthy moment. Actually the blushes suited the little pink and red flowers of the fabric. There was a moment, just a moment saying thank you and saying goodbye which I wished would never end.

2. Facebook could get overwhelming. But not today. A young fellow called Jon from Alberta in Canada very kindly added me to his friend list. We chatted a bit on-line and he mentioned that his telephone provider gave him a 1000 minutes a month free call time to anywhere abroad. "You're the only person I know abroad". So he telephoned and we talked for an hour about life, the universe and The Real Human Beings. It was a beautiful thing for which I can honesty say I felt honoured to be a party to. This man was generous, full of humour, friendly and open about himself and able to hear what I had to say too. It's a treasure rarely achieved. We agreed to speak again and I'm sure we will.

3. I got a lot of pleasure from listening to a recent album from Alison Moyet called "The Turn" from 2007. All great songs full of emotional intelligence and vigor. I need to listen to this album a few times. Carl recommended it last weekend and played a couple of tracks. Its been a long time since I've lied to her wonderful voice and the carefully considered lyrics she expresses so vividly. I'm looking forward to the reunion of Moyet and Vince Clark as Yazoo.

Flying out ears, Patrick Cox and falling in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with

1. The opportunity to laugh early in the morning is always good. I arrived at work this morning early to find Mr O'D there all happy and handsome in his blue gingham (Indonesian assimilated into Dutch according to Wikipedia) shirt. He asked me brightly if I'd had my hair cut as my ears were flying out even further than they usually do. I think it was an oblique sort of compliment. He's not someone that would flirt with another bloke frivolously, and probably not at all. It made me laugh and for a millisecond he looked uncomfortable...but it passed like a tiny burp. He was talking about the tow path by the River Ouse opposite Rowntree Park and down to the Millennium Bridge and how beautiful it is and how he would love to live in one of those houses. I could only agree and I said how I'd fallen in love a hundred times walking along that path.

2. I went out with the new student at work today and we talked about life, the universe and being gay. Being gay? I often try to say to people who ask me "Are you gay?", no I'm a human being...The student was actually very engaged with the conversation and she really wanted to share. I'm amazed by the generosity of people when they share their stuff and their experience. This person had lots. And she likes shoes...we visited the expensive shoe shop on Gillygate at number 25, Exclusive Footwear Limited and she fondled pairs of diamante-encrusted beauties that cost £350 a throw. There were also fabulous Patrick Cox men's shoes, completely utterly beautiful. I did not touch, I only glanced. The shop itself was disappointing. Slightly tacky and small...I think if I had the kind of money it takes to buy a pair of Patrick Cox from there (sandals from £90 reduced in the sale) I'd want it to be a bit more "classy" and welcoming...but nevertheless I wouldn't say no.

3. Wanting to tell someone how much you love them is a bit tricky. Especially when you can hear the Buzzcocks singing "Ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with?". This happens to me everyday, around every hour and at least once a minute...It just will not go away. I am hopelessly romantic and there seems to be no cure, which could just be because there is no sickness and this is what we are supposed to do. This evening I could feel my heart, what ever that really means, filling with anticipation and the deflating with acknowledgement. I chatted, I talked to people on the phone, I gazed over at my good man and my heart sank and rose as if it were bobbing about on an ocean wave heading for the other shore. I'm in a hopeless, happy state. And in answer to Pete Shelley's lyrical question. Yes I have. Every day. And especially today, and its someone I shouldn't have. Damn it.

Astrantia major, risotto and tears of mirth

1. Astrantia major is a plant I've loved since I first saw a photograph of it in the Times Big Boys book of gardening a zillion years ago. It was described as a 'Victorian' flowering perennial. I suppose that's because of its delicate petticoat of bracts in greens and creams and the pink of the flowers in the middle "like pins on a pin cushion". I have two or three of them dotted around my crazy garden and just now they are beginning to flower and look the business. I also love the roses that seem irrepressible in this little yard. I look forward to the evenings when the scent is delicate. I appreciate the flowers in my garden, there are so few of them, mostly because they have to compete with the green and leafy plants that have grabbed the space and dominate the view.

2. I made risotto for supper. It is my very favourite comfort food. It takes almost nothing to make and yet requires conscious attention and care. My recipe has developed over time. Its pretty basic. I melt butter and coat the carnaroli rice in it. Then I pour a good glug of vermouth bianco into the saucepan and let it fizz for a moment, stirring madly, more from excitement than need. In another pan I cook some chopped leeks and red onion and celery in a little olive oil. I sliced the mushrooms and added them along with a good knob of butter and pepper, to gently fry. Back to the rice and add a good amount of proper chicken stock and stirring and stirring. I like to make figure of eight infinity signs. Meanwhile I'm baking the salmon tail and I add some frozen peas to the leaks and onions and a little stock. Keep stirring the rice and adding stock until it begins to get creamy and the rice softens and fattens. At some point it feels right to add it to the vegetables and more stock and more gentle persuasion with the wooden spoon. A little salad of fresh leaves from the garden with a dressing made from gomasio, rice vinegar, olive oil, tamari and the secret weapon maple syrup...When the risotto is done, its so creamy it barely needs anything else. I added the salmon in flakes, but if I'd has asparagus I would have added that instead. It's lovely with shavings of Parmesan and soft white ciabatta warmed gently in the oven. This was the perfect meal for the love-mired heart that writes this silly blog.

3. I should have mentioned, but didn't, how overjoyed I was yesterday to have a Fathers day card from Laura, beautifully made and signed. A treasure of constant surprise and loveliness. And from Emma a text message (she's so modern) and a call later to tell me that she loves me (I think a certain amount of alcohol may have passed by and that made it all the more charming). These women give me hope that all is well in the world and that my selfish little existence can take inspiration from their being. I felt like I was glowing at times today and wanted to burst into song and dance. I laughed a lot today. Lil Phil made the stupidest jokes of all time. I cried with tears of mirth.

A Hangover, Chocolate Cherry Brownies and the Back of Beyond

1. Waking up with a bit of a hangover and feeling fine is a blessing. Yesterday had a few strange moments and in the evening it seemed like the best place to go was the Indian Lounge for a curry. I had a couple of beers there and then on to City screen again like we did last week. I got pretty squiffy. By the time we got home I was ready for bed and slept like a prince. When I woke this morning my mind was calm and I felt OK. A cuppa tea and some early morning sun made the day begin well.

2. I was determined today, no matter what happened, that I would make bread and bake a tray of chocolate and cherry brownies. This is a part of my attempt to stop buying shop mass produced rubbish. When the bread cooled a little I had a few slices with some of the gorgeous cheddar I bought yesterday in Harrogate. Home baking is a real beautiful treasure and especially chocolate cherry brownies. I made them with my tree-watching friend in mind, a man who deserves to have sweetness lavished on him. I really missed him today.

3. I read my friend's blog Back of Beyond this morning. It's simply a little journal about his feelings, events and some remarks he makes about his days. So many people do this now including me of course, that what was once remarkable is now almost quotidian. But he has designed it sweetly and he writes politely. I feel just a little guilty reading it so I left a comment on his last post. He'll probably take it off, but the intention was fine. This evening I played on line for a while and I came to appreciate how perfect the simplicity of communicating this way can be. Also how easy it is to be mistaken and misunderstood...but when something really does get said and communicated successfully it produces a blissful good fortune.

Weeton's, a park bench and Viva La Vida

1. Weeton's in Harrogate is somewhere I've wanted to visit for a while. Its a farm shop in the heart of Harrogate, frequented no doubt by the affluent queens and families of that pretty little village. I bought a couple of simple cheeses: Old Amsterdam and Quicks Vintage Cheddar and then in another shop proper Orkney oatcakes. Weeton's is lovely and also so incredibly indulgent as to be very slightly obscene. They have a range of vegetables (some not so very locally produced, I don't think Brazilian figs count), meat, all manor of lovely breads and deli stuff. Its a fantastical little place that I imagine is much loved. I was struck but the cognitive dissonance required to cope with my conscience on this one. That is to say the sheer indulgent luxury of it all. I could have filled several shopping baskets with special and unusual ingredients but I stuck with the cheeses. Perhaps another time. Just a note to myself to add Andrew Loftus to the list of fabulous human beings I would like to interact with.

2. I visited Harrogate with a friend I made very recently. He had never been to Weeton's so I was there to burst his virgin shopper bubble. I was very gentle with him and he was incredibly kind to me for which I am very grateful. We spent a very happy and unstructured afternoon in the town, cruising the pretty men and scoring them like cattle at an auction. Its a disgusting little game some gay men play but its fun and relatively harmless. We sat on a bench beside Betty's Tearoom, clutching bags of recently purchased loose tea (I got Betty's Traditional English Breakfast for Allan and my friend went for Imperial Gunpowder) and gazed at the passing totty like two naughty old gentleman (well that certainly could describe me, he's a much younger bloke). It was lovely and playful and pretty innocent joyful moment or two. Thanks to Scrumptious T (and I promise from now on I'll never refer to you by that name, it's just the once and said with love).

3. OK that bloody new record Viva La Vida or Death And All His Friends by Coldplay is on my iPod now. On the journey to and from the spa town I listened to it yet again. On Friday Lil Phil texted me to see if I had bought it yet and to gloat that he had and that he'd been listening to it all night. Yer, whatever. I have all their other records damn them so it felt churlish to ignore this one. But I had trouble finding a copy locally and found myself reduced (that's patronising, but effectively how it feels) to visiting the local ASBO (aka ASDA) where I got a copy for £7. Feeling suitably pleased with myself I started to listen to the first instrumental track. With some pieces of popular music you can get a feeling right away whether or not you are going to enjoy it. This record has had some pretty varied reviews. Chris Martin has an annoying voice that I get used to. Its like one of those annoying little habits that Allan has, lets not be specific, but that I've grown accustomed to. You know like the song Professor Higgins sings about Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady. After two or three plays of the CD, and very like after a couple of glasses of wine, it begins to sound (and taste) good. Popular music seems to touch some addiction button in me. The joy of repetition must be some kind of chemical action going on in my addled brain. This one is a grower. Lil Phil described it as the best record he's listened to this year. Whoa! there canoe boy. There have been a few gooduns. Of course we no longer mention the lost week with Alphabeat...my new friend from Harrogate likes Allison Moyet and Vince Clarke separately and together as the recently reformed Yazoo. I think I do too. I'm happy to say I have what I think is a very catholic taste in music. Like the people I meet, I fall in love constantly with pieces of music and songs and pop memes. I never get over anything, I might try to store them to the deep parts of my heart (people who don't love me back) or on the shelf with the other CD's until I cannot bear the separation any longer. Coldplay's record is going to be with me for a while, all bed wetting and middle class angst about death and loss that it is. It's a relatively harmless beauty and joy.

The doctor, A Man For All Seasons and a late night chat

1. I very rarely visit the doctors surgery. Mine is the Heworth Green Surgery. I have been perhaps twice in the nearly eight years that I have lived in York. One of those times was about someone else. I decided it would be good to have a little papilla growth that has been on the under part of my right eye for some time. I arrived for my appointment, the receptionist was sweet and friendly and almost immediately, certainly within a couple of minutes of the stated time the doctor turned up. Within moments the offensive little wart was gone and we chatted about titanium and the document management system now used by the NHS. It was very amicable and objective. What was beautiful for me was that my expectations had been low and the reality proved to be calm, efficient and cordial. The doctor by the way, a very handsome middle-aged bloke, can definitely be added to the role of honourable and gorgeous men in York.

2. In the evening I went with Allan to see "A Man For All Seasons" at The Theatre Royal. I don't often get caught up emotionally with the story in a play because unlike the cinema, I generally don't get so engrossed or engaged so as to forget that it is going on on a stage. I got completely sucked in. I moistened, I gasped and the whole drama seemed to be reflecting something about the moral and ethical dilemmas rolling about in my little mind. I came away feeling as if I had been through two and half hours of intensive therapy. It was extraordinary. The cast were convincing and powerful men and women. The actor Mark Frost who played Cromwell was extraordinary. Its a huge, sharp and fast paced piece which Mark Frost delivered so believably I occasionally wanted to jump up onto the stage and stop him from being so mean. And the lead character Sir Thomas Moore was played by a Theatre Royal regular David Leonard. He usually plays the baddie in the annual Berwick Kaler pantomime but in this he embodied the considerate and moral gentleman that might have been Moore. I got so much from this play about staying true to what you feel is right, about being canny enough to keep your mouth shut at the right moment and about resisting the temptation to take an easy path when a difficult one presents itself.

3. There is nothing so good to me, as a long late night chat. Its very nourishing and sets me up for a good nights sleep and happy dreams. It helps of course to talk to someone who actually gives a shit about whether one lives or dies, it makes a difference if the conversation is two way and not just an ugly blurting. The subject matter could be almost anything and doesn't absolutely have to settle anything either. I had a good one tonight.

Toast and Honey, Letter to Mama and S the P

1. Toast and honey was the first really beautiful thing of the day. I had discussed this as a possibility with Little Phil on Facebook last night. He had the honey and a perfectly wrong loaf of Warburtons sliced toasting loaf and full fatty butter was purchased. We made toast for all present in the office and lips were licked and satisfaction, although brief, was had by all who partook.

2. I was chatting to a someone about friendship and he reminded me about a letter that Michael Toliver writes to his mum in Armistead Maupin's "More Tales of the City". Its a beautiful letter I wish I'd written to my mother and contains so much of what makes me happy to be me. Towards the end of the letter he says "Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength. It has brought me into the family of man, Mama, and I like it here. I like it." I do like it here.

3. Finally I made up my mind that I could no longer ignore the fact that I haven't seen my friend S the P in a very long time. So I arranged to go and see him and catch up. It was good. The best friends are those you can continue a conversation with that might have begun a year ago as if time really was just an illusion. He made me a bowl of beans and we chatted about life, the universe and everything we love. It was perfect.

Mr Tumnus, Detours and daisies in my heart

1. Mr Tumnus gives me endless amounts of simple pleasure. He is the silliest creature I've ever come to love. I just adore him. Today I came home and he was curled up on a wicker chair in the sunnyroom. I spent sometime chatting to the good people on Facebook and MSN and it cheered me and made me miserable both. There's this one boy that drives me nuts, no matter how much I try to express friendship and compassion he rejects it. I don't really know why I bother, I can't quite give up. Perhaps it relies on my bruised ego for the nutrition to survive. It's developing into what I imagine is a sado/masochistic comedy show. So much, well all of it, takes place in my head and in the interweb world of zeros and ones, its crazy. It probably could get to be difficult to define one reality from another. I'm almost ready to abandon him and never bother again and then I think about how I feel when I'm alone, its not good. I don't suppose he's really alone but a small part of me thinks that perhaps a little part of him is. I have the very happy situation of having Mr Tumnus and the people I love around me to keep me bouyant and free.

2. Bloody Sheryl Crow. I have a bad feeling about this record "Detours" its full of the predictable trumpeting of this girly moaner. I'm about to get addicted again, like that song about about peeling labels off Buds in a bar. I've listened to "Love is Free" a hundred times and I've only had this record since today. Its just ridiculously shallow. But there are songs on here that are a bit deepier say "Peace Be Upon Us" and "Love is all there is". I read somewhere that this is all about a sadness at the end of a relationship. I'm enjoying the lightly sad expressions in it, they suit my mood. This evening someone challenged me to role play and make up a fantasy scenario. I thought it was a bit predictable rather like singing about a love that's moved on. Sometimes I imagine that everything will return to another time when everything was full of laughter and lightness. Right now I feel like I'm taking a a bit of a detour myself with pretty no idea of where I'm heading. It's not so very bad. I just have to stay stable and try not to sink.

3. Daisies in the garden help to soften the blows of craziness in my emotions. There are daisies in my heart. I went out and looked at the little patch on the back lawn today. I stood under the trees and remembered how good it felt on Sunday to look out at the trees and lie about chatting and breathing in the green and companionship they give up so completely and unconditionally. Whatever people might say about being in love there is something wonderful about the rush I feel when I think of each inhabitant of my heart. My heart is always pretty full and red. Today I've added even more to its already weighty and colourful load and I feel ready as always for more.

Doodley smillograms, financiers and strawberry red

1. I'm whizzing through a little book by Tony Buzan called "The Power of Social Intelligence". I've read a couple of his books before and each book is just about the same material presented slightly differently. This boy likes mind maps, a little idea he has very helpfully copyrighted. These are basically interconnected doodles that organise thoughts and ideas and I use sometimes use them to take or construct notes or for revision. These doodley smillograms are made up of very simple labels and drawings interconnected in a spiderweb sort of way. I find them useful and occasionally beautiful. Near the beginning of the book Mr B quotes from a poem which has "appeared on the Internet"...very convenient, about smiling:
Smiling is infectious; you catch it like the flu,
When someone smiled at me today, I started smiling too.
I passed around the corner and someone saw my grin
And when he smiled I realized I'd passed it on to him.
I thought about that smile and then I realizes its worth,
A single smile, just one like mine, could travel round the earth.
So if you feel a smile begin, don't leave it undetected:
Let's start an epidemic quick, and get the world infected

I smiled a lot today as I walked about York. The people looked happier, it may have been my delusional state but the day sped past and I felt good. (The mindmap on this page comes from Toolbox blog, check out the link).

2. I made a batch of Financiers. These are little french biscuit cakes that you can buy all over Europe but which you don't really see here. They are made with almonds and egg whites. Allan bought me a magic silicone finacier mould back from his trip to Antibes earlier in the month. They are not difficult to make, I think they are delicious so I thought I'd take some in to work today. The reciepe I followed comes from a brilliant little book "Nobody Does It Better" by Trish Desine. This is an English woman who has lived in France for years and writes about the simple joys of French France cooking. Its straightford stuff and I dip into it all the time for inspiration. I was having a very girly conversation with my friend Mark the other evening about domestics. We also chatted gaily about our attitudes and use of cookery books. Mine are all splattered with chocolate and dried on cake mixture. He is much more respectful and tidy and makes notes from his on little cards...I love that...if only I could be so good. Actually if only I could be so good in general. Mr M by the way counts as one of the very beautiful things in York.

3. More strawberry red please.

Dracunculus Vulgaris, Ting Tings and

1. This incredible plant is called Dracunculus Vulgaris is flowing in my garden this week. It has an amazing form and colour and actually sinks just a little, its a member of the arum family and it attracts flies and other insects. Of course it also looks like an erect penis and when it fades, it goes limp and shrivels taking on a sad but familiar state. I was three three bulbs for my birthday a couple of years ago. They are very exciting plants. The foliage is robust and the flower is spectacular.

2. I'm enjoying the Ting Tings. "We Started Nothing" which Little Phil suggested I listen to. It comes as an immense and welcoming relief to find some new and brilliant happy pop music (...Alphabeat must die...) I saw this band on the television a while back on the BBC "Culture Show" a place I've been introduced to some very welcome alternatives to my usual choices. "That's not my name " is an easy target and its been very popular but actually this is a great album almost all the way through. I'm adding it to my list later. What makes this record a beautiful thing is more to do with feeling connected to the world than it is about quality of the invention of the artists. This isn't anything new, but it is bright and part of a long tail of style and happiness I wouldn't want to loose a fingertips touch with.

3. Feedback is a beautiful and sometimes difficult negotiation. You have to assimilate the news, absorb what's so, checking if there is space for the consequences if you take it on board and eliminate the parts that don't feel right. Mistakes can be made and gems easily missed. I pretty open to feedback but also pathetically easily taken out by it. I generally bounce upwards again if I've had a down. I'm not so very good with compliments, they seem so unlikely and I feel alternately unworthy or more worthy than they turn out to express. I asked someone how their day went and he said "not great, how was u'rs?". Perhaps thoughtlessly I responded with a list of stuff that hadn't been so great in my day. He was generous and patient and then said he had to go, conversation over. But as a last reminder that it doesn't take much to be perceived as selfish he said "But anyway you didn't much care why my day wasn't so great did you?". He was wrong, I did. But I'd been stupid enough to think he'd tell me about it when he was ready. I missed my opportunity to be a good friend and show that care. It was a tiny and beautiful gift, a little slap of recognition and a reminder to be more conscious.

Big Swop, Cafe Concerto and being open

1. On Saturday I dropped in to the St Nicks Big Recycle and Junk Swap at the Environment Centre. This is an annual event, I went last year as well. People bring unwanted stuff, could be almost anything and can take away whatever they find that other have brought that they need for themselves. Its like a church jumble sale but without money. Its also obviously a good opportunity for the Centre to promote its services and aspirations and for people like me to meet other like-minded people. I'd guess there were quite a few from The Freecycle community there. It was a very interesting mix of local people from Tang Hall, the travellers folk from James Street and jolly middle-class eco-warriors. I took two bags of clothes recently liberated from the wardrobe, mostly things we should never have considered in the first place but which hopefully someone thought worthy of trying (the obvious items seemed to go pretty quickly) and a load of books. Jo Pullar from Space in Walmgate was there making a sculpture from bits of junk, it was lovely. I found an old rusty red lantern, the type that gets hung on the end of a skip to warm passers by that perhaps its best avoided. I didn't actually have to have it but I sort of wanted to be in the spirit of the Big Swap and so I took it home for the garden. I'm thinking though that this is how the whole materialism attitude is kept afloat. Even knowing I have enough I still take a little bit more, just to be a participant, like drinking to be sociable.

2. Later I went back into York and collected Allan from the university event he'd been at all afternoon. We decided to have an early supper and headed towards Petergate in search of sustenance. Cafe Concerto looked promising and as it was early we got a table right away. I've eaten at this place a lot over the past few years. The jolly giant waiter who always seems to be there did not serve us but twinkled attractively as he passed the table a few times. Perhaps I imagined that more in hope than reality. They have a bread basket which has a more than adequate selection of delicious bread. We shared a bottle of cheap (but actually ridiculously expensive) Australian Merlot. I say we shared, Allan had one glass and not wanting to be wasteful I finished off the rest with a fabulous cottage pie. Cafe Concerto has been the scene of a variety of emotionally charged moments in my life in York mostly charged with happiness and humour. I definitely would be failing in this little task if I didn't count it in as one of the beautiful things. This evening was no exception. My view of how to behave and live seems to be fluid and open at the moment. Allan and I spent the meal negotiating and discussing what happens next. I think he and I have had these conversations before in the same happy location. We left, me pretty squiffy, demanding pudding (which turned out to be a beer at City Screen, sat on the steps of the terrace watching the potential revellers drift by in the sunset).

3. As much as I enjoy chatting to people over the Internet with speedy type and cute symbols and abbreviations, nothing beats actually talking apart from obviously being there in person. One of the things I love about MSN type chatting is that sometimes complete strangers become friends, sometimes just very briefly, and sometimes apparently with absolute candor and alarming openness. Of course I am pathetically unable to hold back and trust pretty much anyone. I have come to accept that I have to take full responsibility for my naive attitude to sharing my feelings in this way. Recently this has been the source of cathartic explosions of emotion. Sounds a bit dramatic but its true. I spent Friday night in floods of tears after a series of interactions on the web. It was hideously self-indulgent but stimulating and charged with energy. I now feel grateful but a bit sore. I've spent a lot of energy this weekend having a question and answer sessions with myself, a dialectical discussion which seems to be about reviewing and reasoning my values, morals and behaviour. A beauty of this on-going dialogue is its lack of importance to anyone else but me.

A cigarette, Nush and Selam Lasma

1. I passed the final module of ECDL this morning and I felt elated and exhausted all at once. When I came back I stood out on the roadside with Cindy and it was a lovely moment. My legs were shaking and I was just so happy to be alive. She very kindly obliged me with a cigarette which is something I would not normally consider. But the combination of the test on the stupid Access programme and the lost chunks of emotion which have been ripped out of me over the last few days took their toll. I was a gibbering wreck. Last night I had a long and (for me) difficult conversation with a 'friend' online. He gave me some pretty harsh feedback. Mostly that he felt I had been cruel to him in an unnecessary way. I've been over this already earlier in the week. He also described me as well low. And for some of today I thought he was probably right. Tonight I could cry I feel so miserable except that if I do it'll just draw even more attention to my vacuousness. So I'm feeling sorry for myself. Get over it Dave. The cigarette was lovely though.

2. I found my old friend Nush. Thank you universe...I have missed her. We were walking through Parliament Street and there she was, all washed out and tired and trying to explain where she had been. I don't care its just wonderful to find her again. I would have called her this evening but the emotional dramas just will not stop.

3. Selam Lasma! Nothing is going to adequately explain this one. But tonight I felt I was really honest with someone. It was horrible of course and not at all what he wanted to hear, I don't think. And as a result I doubt I'll ever hear from him again...and although this sounds corny, I'm heartbroken. Another 'friend' said he has three life rules and when I think about each of them they are reasonable and probably true. His three rules broke something too. Beautiful is not something you can easily describe in word. You can of course have beautiful words...but if I accept my friends three rules then perhaps even beauty is doubtful.

Cobwebs, enthusiasm and Alphabeat

1. Days can pass with all sorts of beautiful and challenging things which happen or are acquired or which I see go past me. For some reason this week has been a bit of a blur. The last couple of days filled with little experiences which have changed everything about how I perceive the world and from my ego-centric point of view, me. I have spent many hours chatting on the Internet, discussing my day and flirting, keeping up-to-date with new information and trying to study Access database. My laptop gives me a great deal of joy and although I had a good chat with Ian about maybe buying one of those beautiful Apple Notebooks so prominently displayed in SATC this one is still good. It has been a great tool for breaking down my shyness, for meeting amazing people and working on discovering all sorts of possibilities in the greater universe. I have been a Internet fan since a very long time and it has changed socially in some ways out of all recognition from the early days of "The Well" (for anyone who can remember that far back) to the !beauty? that is MSN Instant Messenger and all the other associated social networkers.

2. OK, so that was my enthusiasm overload expressed. But not quite...networking ideas seems like a wining solution which ever way I look at it. I had a meeting with a colleague which set me off on a whole web of new connections. I spent useful time following up some of the contacts he suggested and found new connectors along the way myself. I was blown away, once again, (pretty much a daily occurrence since I can ever remember) by how keen people can be to network and support complete strangers. Perhaps I haven't understood the dark Machiavellian plots of evolutionary psychology but I'm grateful to their generosity and for their combined knowledge.

3. All of that is very wordy and enthusiastic but so what. It's just so easy to dribble. It's what you actually do that has considerable consequence. I'm wrestling with that today. My wrestling has been supported by Mr W's patient and generous time, advice and comments, letting me blurt it all out across the digital highway with him. I don't understand why anything happens? It's tempting to conclude that there is a reason for everything. But that seems to veer towards a line of magical thinking I thought I'd moved on from. So the third beautiful thing today was a new CD which dropped through the letterbox this week by Alphabeat "This Is Alphabeat". There's nothing of great purpose here, its very straightforward happy summer pop music. I like it. Nobody will know I'm listening to it, because I can hide the CD and I have it now on my iPod of humungous joy. Every once in a while a song (or two) seems to sum up the feelings and enthusiasms of the moment. This week, today, this hour their songs "Fascination" and "Boyfriend" along with most of the rest strike an embarrassingly juvenile chord. Oh well, the remaindered seventeen-year-old in me is dancing and dribbling and laughing out loud.

Starwberry blond, recovering composure and delight

1. Strawberry blond
2. Recovered composure
3. Delight

The cycad, a 35 year telephone conversation and F*ckhead is not a good word to describe anyone

1. The cycad (Cycas revoluta) in the sun room has sent up 15 new fronds. It is a ridiculously joyful burst of leaf action after last year when nothing bloody happened at all except that some of the leaves got a bit yellow. There was lot of bursting out in my day, happiness (Mr Cycad), endurance (Ms C) and unnecessary anger (Mr Grumpy). All excellent bursts in different ways

2. Talking to C on the telephone I was thinking that there are some friends I could never live without and she is one of them. We often don't see each other or talk for months on end. Our relationship has changed over the 35 years we've known each other...a lot of times...but the bit that is really true, the half that loves the other half, is enduring and beautiful.

3. K*ckhead is a bad word. It is not a good word to describe anyone by. I must not use it ever again to assign an analysis of someones ego. Hurt could be done and taken. This is a lesson I should have been able to learn without doing it in the first place. Sorry to anyone I've ever used that phrase to. You know who you are. Anyway today I said it and regretted it and tried to take it back and quite rightly it was refused. I suddenly saw the person in a different light. It was a gift. I suppose its too late to suggest it was said with love...well I know that it is. But you are loved anyway.