After Elias

 In the end I couldn't change our Les Miserables tickets on line. so had to speak to a real human being at the Sondheim theatre box office called Toby

He was dreadfully sweet and told me that I was only one of hundreds of theatre goers who he will be talking to today. The strikes have reduced the audiences by half for some nights, he told me and my sob story was just one of many. 

" We were just getting back on our feet too" he chirped sadly

I've rebooked for October

I didn't get much sleep yesterday. The weather was lovely and everyone seemed out and about. Animal Helper Pat stopped for ages for a chat. she's off with family cruising around the Med soon, which sounds delightful. and has been busy with her WI and Church activities. I reminded her of the bring and by sale next Saturday but she already has a plant sale planned

she looked well.

Mrs Trellis stopped next sans bobble hat. she seemed more  preoccupied with her own thoughts than usual and didn't stop long. As didn't Islwyn who called the dogs in turn for a cuddle at the garden wall.

I fell asleep at the kitchen table with my forehead on my arms, only walking a  short while later feeling like the Wreck of the Hesperus

Tomorrow ( now today) I will sleep in after a dog walk then I will venture over to Chester to meet an old friend Nigel for a late lunch and a chat.

This week, at Gay Book Club  I had a small row with cis gay man I will call Martin

Like me he is a powerful character who knows his own mind.

he is young, perhaps 25 and is arch to the point of rudeness and often will argue a point for the sake of arguing. 

He owns his own clothing business.

 

we were reviewing the rather moving novel After Elias by Eddy Boudal Tan which is about a gay fiancé of a dead pilot who has to piece together a complicated aftermath of a plane crash which killed his husband to be and 300 passengers, when Martin dismissed one of the women's comments of how she was moved to tears by its opening chapter as sentimental and indulgent she bit back and a somewhat barbed argument ensued.

when I reminded Martin of the ground rules of respect set out in the groups' first meeting he called me a "Gay Old Social worker" with a laugh

which shut me up, amid the tut tuts of some of the others

At coffee and biscuit time the only older guy in the group came up and asked me why I hadn't bitten back and I told him I just couldn't be arsed, which was true

but a small part of me, 

a tiny little gay twat of me,

would have liked to slapped him so hard in the back of the head that his eyes popped out

The River Dee in Chester this afternoon

We sat and ate ice cream like two middle aged gays