Life Goes On
31 January

I don't know why I should be surprised (because I have plenty of previous evidence to back up the contention) but life does go on and, indeed, even develop despite considering that stasis may well have been reached.

For example, I bought myself a new Kindle Fire with Amazon vouchers that had kindly been given as Christmas presents over the Festive Season.

My man cheerfully helped me with the decision making process and I used all of the online facilities we take for granted these days to make the transaction happen.

But then...

I don't always want to be sat at home waiting for a package to be delivered and so I thought that I would try out one of the different delivery services that are available.

I've seen Ross use the Argos delivery centre next to Sainsbury's in Crosby and I seen for myself the Amazon collection lockers at Merseyrail's Blundellsands and Crosby station, so I thought that I would give the lockers a go.

And how easy it was.

Though I have to be clear that it is a bit of an earie sci-fi moment when you key in the pass number and a locker door swings open to reveal your package.

Good to see, by the way, that Liverpool Ladz are still not keen to see a stenciled message remain unaltered.

I have also joined the 21st Century literate classes by engaging with the online word game, Wordle.

I think that crossword puzzlers would find the challenge an easy one.

Although the aim of the game is to deduce a five-letter dictionary word, the method to find a solution is actually mathematical since it relies on the probability of letters occuring and occuring together.

Mum continues leading at good life in her care home. The last weekend in January is the RSPB annual birdwatching count and she and the other residents have been preparing by making lots of attractive bird feeders.

With the courgette (zuccini for our North American readers) on the left and the aubergine (eggplant) on the right and the romanesco cauliflower/broccoli in the middle, it looks as though I have been shopping in Ann Summers rather than a local grocer's.

btw There are no vegetables here. The courgette and aubergine are fruit (seeds in the middle) and the romanesco is a flower (as indeed are broccoli and cauliflower).

Tom thought that Ann Summers was probably much too tame for me.

I'm sort of in agreement though I think that this aisle in B&Q might be just a bit too heavy duty for me.

Leo and I continue you have truly bonkers conversations on WhatsApp. He's currently using an online writing program to re-write a guide to ADHD using, with only a few exceptions, the 1,000 most commonly used words. In this universe, dopamine is now called the "Well Done Good Job special brain water".

I love these games and promptly responded by renaming serotonin as "Oooooo big joy special brain water".

My next contribution (Adrenaline renamed as "Go fast special brain water") go me into deep water. Leo pointed out that adrenaline isn't necessarily "a special brain water" since it's made and stored above the "smelly yellow water bags" and works mostly on the "red water pump" and "meat".

I was taken aback. I've obviously been working under a misapprehension in my belief that the adrenal glands are situated up by the medulla oblongata rather than down by the kiddlies.

However, I was a bit befuddled by "smelly yellow water bag" which sounded to me more like the bladder than a kiddlie. I think that a kiddlie is more of a factory/filter than a bag.

Undeterred, Leo was straight back with a tidbit of arcane knowledge. Epinephrine and adrenaline are the same hormone and the meaning of the names are the same: one is Greek and one is Latin and both mean "above the kidneys". And he quoted the etymology as well. God, my world would be a lot duller without a Leo in my life.

I've been keeping going with the odd arts event as well.

Roland and I went to the Lucian Freud: Real Lives exhibition at Tate Liverpool in the last week of its stay there.

The focus was on portraiture throughout a long career and the differing and different people who say time and time again for Freud as he regarded them, puzzled over them and set them down in paint of a canvas.

I came away impressed by the craft and the draughtsmanship of the work and the control and delicacy of the use of a very limited palette of colours.

I also came away with the feeling that Freud himself was a complete and utter shit as a human being. Charm and generosity may have been powerful elements of his personality but they were elements which were always in thrall to his need to control those people who he wished to work on only for the length of time that he wished to work on them.

The narrative is choc full of people who were taken up and then discarded. It is also full of stories of young women who were charmed, bedded and portrayed on canvas. The paintings are almost like notches on a bedpost.

And, although there were no overt statements, it seemed to both Roland and I that there was more than a strong likelihood that Freud was just as likely to fuck the men he painted as he most certainly did the women. It's just that he chose subjects who were very unlikely to talk about it later.

This is an inadvertent work of art which looks to me as though it resembles a Francis Bacon painting.

As far as I can determine, the story behind it is of someone waking up during a CAT scan and creating this startlingly fluid and nightmareish image.

My first orchestral concert of the year was all all French affair. Messiaen's Les Offrandes oubliées was glorious. Jean-Efflam Bavouzet was peerless in Ravel's Piano Concerto. Absolutely smashed it as young people say these days. I thought he made perfect sonic and formal sense of the first movement in a way I'd not previously encountered.

The second half had excellent music-making but the wow factor was a bit dampened. To be honest, though lovely to listen to (and Hindoyan does grace and elegance much better than Petrenko tended to do), I've always found Debussy's Jeux to be langorous noodling. Roussel's second suite from his ballet music Bacchus et Ariadne was fine but this fashion for not having a printed programme means that, if you are listening to unfamiliar incidental music, you have no idea as to what incidents are being portrayed.

A week later and I was into Liverpool by train for another concert and onto Bold Street where I ate at the Akasya bar and grill. I ate a very, very good meal before walking up the hill to the Phil.

It was Bruckner's Symphony No8 with Domingo Hindoyan conducting. This was certainly one of my highlights of the year when I first saw this season's programme. It's been nigh on forty-five years since I last attended a live performance of this mighty work. Georg Solti conducted the London Philharmonic. And not very well.

Hindoyan took to the music to the manner born. I liked that the clarity of detail was a part of the ebb and flow rather than an impediment. The brass were magnificent but, for me, it was the woodwind who were the stars.

If timings are anything to go by, then it was dab smack in the middle of tradition. Faster than Haitink and slower than Solti, it was on a par with Karajan and Jochum.

The music under Hindoyan flowed without seeming rushed or precipitous and unfolded organically which is essential for Bruckner (and for that matter Sibelius). There was none of the 1970s teutonic sludge that tried to cleanse the Reich and worshipped heilige deutsche Kunst.

I think the word "organic" is apt here. What I heard clearly for the first time were the integral cells of sound (too small to be motifs) which are the building blocks of the symphony throughout. What was spectacular was that Hindoyan made these apparent rather than forcing them into view. I think this technique was a large part of the organic growth of the work.

One of the things I disliked about Petrenko's view of Bruckner was that it was very stop go sharp contrast. Hindoyan didn't blur the transitions as Karajan moved towards doing but neither did he accentuate them. I can't wait for the Sibelius later in the season and next year's Bruckner as I hope there will be. I stood and cheered along with many others.

On Netflix, I'm currently watching Dark - which is Teutonic mind-melting time travel among three generation of four families. The sort of thing where sons may well have fathered themselves.

My niece Mary has been on a journey. She has had an interview for her first post student full time job. The interview went well lasting just under an hour. However, the outcome remained uncertain for twenty-four hours as there were a lot of candidates to see. Many pairs of fingers were crossed.

And then the news came and it was fabulous for Mary. Linda and Ian were over the moon for her and immediately cracked open the bubbles. Proud parents... and a proud Uncle as well.

The contract duly came through and she will start on 31 January. She likes the team and her boss seems fun. Accommodation is the next big hurdle: Mary is aiming for a furnished house share in Southsea.

I've raised the idea that Mary's birthday would be a good time for flat-warming presents. Mary, herself, was enthusiastic about the idea but unsurprisingly unspecific as I guess she has no idea of what she needs. I was also sure that mum would wish to contribute with money for something substantial. It is a special occasion - grand-daughter's first truly independent dwelling.

I've had some completely uneventful visits to see Mum. She is glad to see me. We chat. After half an hour, she wants to get back to the puzzle she had been doing. I guess her age and mental condition mean that she finds it hard to concentrate for longer periods. When Linda and Ian and Mary went to visit her before Christmas, she was the one bringing the visit to an end despite the other three having travelled a long distance to see her. The main thing is that she’s contented and occupied. The Glade were very pleased to receive the LPA. They'll keep it on file and a future insurance.

Roland has been having a less than happy time of it. His partner Colin is having a reoccurence of the cancer he experienced a couple of years back. They attended Aintree and the initial news was not good. Rather than the original cancer having spread, this was a new cancer centred on the thyroid which had spread on right side of his neck. Surgery followed by Iodine treatment seems to be the preferred option.

More biopsies and further consultation followed. However, an early diagnosis, a swift response and no sense that Covid will delay treatment were all good signs. In the event, the cancer was determined to be Papilliary level 2 and the doctors were very positive about a successful recovery.

Colin has been in a dark place during all of this. He has a long list of family and friends who have had a second cancer and none of them survived long. However, while no-one would want to have cancer, if you do have one, thyroid has the best prognosis. Roland has deep concerns that Colin has not been accurate in telling them the full extent of his alcohol and niccotine addictions. It will be a moot point as to how he will cope with the withdrawal symptoms at the same time as healing. Colin is in surgery as I write.

This is me and I am 67 years' old.

And I like the fact that I can still delight in the pleasures of the flesh even if my role is sometimes less than integral these days.

I brought Jack and Luke together and it was a pleasant occasion. Probably more for them than for me.

And probably more for Jack than for Luke. Luke really does work hard: he got very little back from Jack.

Four encounters now.

I think that we've probably run our course.

Luckily, I had someone new in mind - Dermot.

We had tried to meet on a couple of occasions already but it had come to nought. He doesn't/cannot host and I can only rarely host.

So, I did a bit of research and came up with the fact that Travelodge hotels in Liverpool are offering a double bedroom for one night for £25.

So, I thought, let's give it a go.

Dermot turned out to be a very pleasant young man who was one big erogenous zone. I can honestly say that it was the best first time sexual encounter I have had in many a long year. The fact that Dermot also turned out to be a grand lad himself was an extra bonus.

I got a real kick out of the level of rapport we developed and relished the banter and discussion.

To see his body spread out on the bed was a delight. I took great delight in pleasuring him. I was able to give both his cock and his ass a great deal of tender ministry so that his cry of orgasmic release was almost of anguish.

I then took him through a controlled descent which kept him gasping and shuddering for well over a minute. It gave me a sense of quiet accomplishment that I've not felt in long while.

I decided to treat myself to a good meal and found myself in San Carlo, a rather high class Italian establishment on Castle Street. The food was very tasty to be sure but, frankly, looking at the final reckoning probably £10 more expensive than it needed to be.

Then I went back to the hotel and met up with Danny.

It was very tender and gentle but most of the fire and passion has gone out of the encounters now. We know each other too well and I need a bit more novelty - which is what I got with Dermot.

If we'd been going steady for six months, this was the sort of meeting where we'd be both acknowledging that we didn't want to take it to the next level as so we should probably think about splitting up.

The same can be said of Dylan as well.

He's not reliable and, like Jack I guess, I'm not sure that I want to meet up with someone in living quarters which are less than salubrious.

Sadly, I don't think that I shall be seeing him again.

Idris, however, may be another new addition to the rosta.

He took to the baby oil lingam massage like a duck to water.

And, when the vibrating butt plug went in, he was on cloud nine.

Unfortunately, we were in his small student room with the usual acoustically conductive walls and so he couldn't make the amount of noise he was wanting to make or, indeed, Dermot did actually make.

And, like Dermot, there was a big, creamy cum shot.

I do wish that Viagra still had this sort of effect on me.

I'm not getting the sort of sturdiness these days that makes for confidence in a meet.

In the wider world, Phil Foden here looks as though he has just had his first experience of a Polaris Worm Probe.

And Timothée Chalamet continues to wear statement fashion.

I'm hoping that he wasn't too constricted down there by all of those strappings.

They all seem to be heading in the right direction.

I've also started to take a liking to Dominic Fike.

And so have Calvin Klein.

And laughter, thank god, continues to help life on.

There's a thread on Twitter at the moment discussing whether or not we should GET DICK OUT. Unfortunately, it's about the Metropolitan Police Chief.

I liked the jest of this signage.

And I like the meme that is pissfingers.

Most days I am that caring soul looking to welcome a new pissfingers into my life.

Other days I am pissfingers.

And, if you are going to call your eating establishment Willy then you really would need to think twice before combining it with the word sanitiser.

And, again, thinking twice about the positioning of the words on the page would have made it much clearer to the casual reader that what was on offer was employment for a Kitchen Hand.

And finally, a reminder that you should never buy a train set off E-Bay when you are drunk.