Frolic
12 February

Well, it had hardly been ten days and my Rossi was back in my arms again courtesy of Virgin trains.

He'd not been up to see the house since before Christmas. In fact, he'd only seen the new kitchen through this EJ. I'm pleased to say that he's impressed. He also likes the things I've done to the bathroom as well. We celebrated by shagging most nights of the week. Poor lamb had his ME constrained stamina pushed to its very limits of endurance.

And he loved every frolicking minute of it.

We sort of watched television and/or videos most of the time rather than do spectacular things. It was far too cold and damp for one thing. Shopping locally. Nice sausages from the local butchers - pork and tomato. And coffee at Smolenski's which I can see may become a regular sort of a haunt.

I'm enjoying The Grimleys on TV at the moment - it is a sort of naughty comedy set in 1970s Birmingham and features Craig Kelly who was Vince (the nice one) in Queer as Folk.

Talking of which, the latest issue of Attitude has a feature about QAF (USA) and the actor who plays their version of Nathan/Justin is called Randy Harrison (stop tittering you at the back) and is actually gay himself and looks about 15 - which is about right since the character is supposed to be that age. Even so, it does look a little shocking to have this minor in the rôle. I hope they show it over here.

To be honest, I really bought the issue because it had an interview with Adam Rickitt.

He's going to be in a production of Rent over the summer - I said stop tittering you at the back. Anyhow, Ross and I feel a burning desire to keep abreast of developments in the area of musical theatre.

I've also been keeping abreast of Popstars on the television. It's far better than Castaway or any of the other reality programmes at present. They've now chosen the full group. We all like Noel.

Phil thinks Noel is gay. I couldn't possibly comment on such scurrilous gossip. However, Noel is pleased that the group will play G.A.Y. sometime in March and NME informs us that he's quite happy to be a gay icon and welcomes fans of all persuasions. As long as we buy the singles, I'm sure we could be sky blue pink with a finny anny border and they'd love us to bits.

What else? Oh, since this is turning out to be a gossipy issue of the EJ, I might as well tell you about the identical twins at work. They're called Ian and Neil and they are completely indistinguishable the one from the other. In fact, I am frightened that, should they ever appear in the same room together, there will be a ripple in the time/space continuum. They are nice lads. Not particularly my usual type, you understand. But the thought of a threesome with identical twins has encroached upon my ardent nocturnal imaginings. And this is even after stonking full on sex with my bloke.

Saturday night we watched The Next Best Thing starring our Rupert and Mrs Guy Ritchie.

In case you don't know, the basis of the story is that two friends accidentally start a child. The man is gay. They make the best of it and bring the child up well. Then the woman starts a full on relationship with a second (straight) man. The whole friendship/fatherhood thing goes pear-shaped.

There are a number of good one-liners. The playing is reasonably good. But the plot is too operatic for words. The bust up didn't seem to have any real motivation. I'd like to have seen who was fuelling the dissent. My guess would have been the legal profession since it favours their purses to do so. All the other characters seemed (ultimately) too nice to let things get so out of control.

But it was too close to my own life to be at all comfortable. Oh, Gill and I never ended up in court debating my rights. I never ever thought I had any rights. I certainly didn't get any say when Gill changed jobs and moved to the South East with Robert.

Just before they left, the three of us and Richard (my partner at the time) all went on holiday to Rhodes together for a fortnight. After it was over, I sobbed and sobbed saying "It's over, it's over" and I didn't mean the holiday.

Then, the first time that Robert came up to stay with me for a weekend, I took him down to Lime Street and, when he was on the train, he looked up at me with eyes like saucers and said "I don't want to go back". A thousand fantasies raced through my brain and I had to dismiss them all. I replied "But you've got to go back. Mommy Gill is waiting". Robert nodded and accepted the reality of it. Getting off that train without him was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. It's why I moved to London in 1993.

I can't pretend that, by my own lights, I've been anything like a good father. I don't think I had a chance to do it the way I would have like. I don't know that, in the early days, I would have known what to do with the chance. Fatherhood wasn't on my agenda. I was too busy chasing dick in the form of Mr Right round the gay clubs of Liverpool.

However, I'm still there for him where many of his friends' fathers aren't. And, in a short while, I shall go to the Playhouse in Harlow and watch a dance piece that he has choreographed and say nice things whether I like it or not.

Sunday Ross went. I spent the rest of the afternoon working in the garden. Bulbs are rapidly appearing all over the place. Even the ones from London I put in the front garden are sprouting. I've planted out pretty much everything now apart from the honeysuckle and the roses.

Monday was half term. No cars on the road. Cold. Icy. Ross was gone. I felt sick with loneliness.