My Brother and Her

So having justified to myself why it's a good idea to spend hours of my life typing rather unromantically onto a computer screen with my legs propped on my desk and a bottle of wine no more than an arm's reach, I guess I should come to the point.

My long-awaited and rather amazing boyfriend suggested that I write down what I was feeling after I recently showed a little too much of my crazy side in one go. And complex is hardly the right word. Everything in my life at the moment is a megalopolis of crazy.

Perhaps the biggest thing that's bugging me is my brother. Ever since I came out to him in 2007, we've gone from strength to strength in our friendship. In fact, this summer he said one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, when he asked me "are you coming out with us?" to which I replied "sure, I'll give you and your friends a lift" and he said "that's not what I asked".

Admittedly, he ruined it slightly by adding the word "moron" on the end.

The thing is, he's dating my flat mate. She's my age, three years older than him. And that in itself isn't a problem; I'm genuinely over the moon that my brother has someone so wonderful, and vice versa. The problem is it stops my brother and I getting on.

Everytime he comes "to visit me" I never see him. Every time I suggest going for a drink when she's around "he's busy". He spends all his time ringing her, so that even when she's not around, he's too tired or tied up doing work he could have done earlier to spend any time with me.

Typing this, I've realised just how selfish this sounds. But at the same time, it's as if he's taking my friendship for granted rather than as any other friendship on which you have to work to stop it freezing to death.

I wish we could go back to the old us - going out for a pint when we fancied it. And it's not even the spending time together, I find it increasingly difficult to talk to him.

Maybe that's just a symptom of spending less time with him. But I can't help feeling that it's because he's dating my flatmate.

A Problem Shared

Ever since I started trying to keep blogs in 2006 I've had problems trying to marry the idea of publishing your innermost secrets for people to read. As it turns out, I've nothing to worry about because no one seems to read them.

Blogs always seem to me as if you kept a diary, photocopied it and passed it around school.

Even if you're not ridiculed for pouring out your innermost feelings onto a website, and let's face it, there's something more romantic about carefully writing out your emotions rather than typing it onto a screen, what if no one reads it? What's the point in a blog if no one reads it?

And I'll be honest, I wouldn't read a 21 year old university student's feelings for "fun". Especially not when you can follow celebrities on Twitter, where you only have to read a sentence rather than hundreds of words at a time.

So if no one reads it, what's the point in a blog?

Maybe it's just in the hope that someone, somewhere might take an interest in your blog above the millions that are out there. Maybe they'll say something helpful. Nice. Or funny.

Personally, I think it's just that "a problem shared is a problem halved", and blogging feels a lot more like sharing than writing in a diary and bottling it up.

Let's hope so anyway.

The City That Knows How

For some reason, that's one of the ways San Francisco is known. Although it is true that San Francisco is The City that knows how to get hold of your money and never let it go...

Arriving there on Monday 7 July I didn't do much but walk around and have a bite to eat. By bite, I mean American bites - i.e. an entire plateful of great food that cost me about $4.50 (£2.25) and completely filled me up. Then it was back to the hotel where I slept like a baby - although I only wet the bed once.

Tuesday was up and at 'em heading in to Union Square to buy Sightseeing tickets on the tour bus for 48 hours. That was great because I ended up taking it three times, each time getting a different person and hence completely different information! It was a nice general overview of San Francisco including useless titbits like the "Tenderloin" is so called because it was once so dangerous to police that the police who patrolled it were paid so much danger money they could afford to buy tenderloin. Actually, thinking about it, most of the tour was useless when taken out of context, but very interesting. We stopped off at Pier 39 for a quick lunch (Fish and Chips - not what I thought they'd be, but very nice) and then off to catch Alcatraz Cruises (the irony) to go visit Alcatraz.

Alcatraz was very interesting, and it would be boring (and ultimately pointless) to go through anything about the barren little bit of rock that has housed soldiers, military prisoners, top security prisoners, prison guards and their families and a 1970s group of nationalist native Indians. Needless to say, there is lots about this little rock that surprises and interests, although it was a little less emotive than I thought it might be. The gift shop is also worth a visit even if it just to flick through the rule book: Rule 5 - you are entitled to food, shelter, clothing and medical attention. Anything else is a privilege. A useful gift for the kids?!

After that it was back to the city proper to eat and indulge ourselves. I'd be lying if I said I felt slightly guilty sitting in the restaurant - Aliotto's as it turned out - truth be told, I'd already put the suffering of those on Alcatraz out of my mind. Maybe it was the ferry ride, or the isolated nature of the island which made feelings towards it more insular and contained, but I think it was more to do with the fact that even though it is a National Park, it was a tourist attraction and considered as such, and not a place of suffering and hardship and death. Either way, Alliotto's was not ruined by any residual feelings, which is just as well as it made up for the cheap meal the night before, costing a whopping $50. Was more than worth it though, the food was brilliant and the view across the bay was spectacular with the sunset as well.

Next day was more time spent on the tour bus, and a slightly lighter day than the previous day, involving visiting a US Navy Submarine from World War II, the USS Pompanito (1943-70) which was very interesting although slightly lacking in information without the audio guide. Shame I didn't have my military pass - would have got a free entry!!

Then the 10th was off to pick the car up (which only took 2 hours...) and then off over the Golden Gate Bridge in the fog which was very picturesque, a photo opportunity on the other side, and then off to start my adventure on the West Coast of the US which would take me 2500 miles around some of the most amazing sights I've seen, some of the friendliest people and interesting places.

When in San Francisco, you can't help but notice a few things. One is the multitude of brightly coloured flags with horizontal stripes in several different colours. San Fran is known as the liberal bastion of the US, with a strong and thriving LGBT community, and I often caught myself asking myself if those two men drinking coffee were more than just business partners.

Jump across the Puddle

My trip to the US in July was my first out of Europe, and my longest flight by a long way. Perhaps understandably I was a little nervous, but it had nothing to do with the 11 hours I would spend in planes, or the transfer I would have to make, or the 4 hours I would have to spend in airports or even the fact that I was crossing the world's second largest open expanse of water where if we pitched down in the middle of it, it would be like a kid trying to jump across a puddle in newspaper wellingtons. It was more about going to the country that bears the brunt of a lot of my jokes and being surrounded for three weeks by the people who I uncompromisingly ridicule. It was going to be a fun trip anyway...

I left the house at 0600 on Monday 7 July to get to Brussels International in time to catch a 0800 city hopper up to Amsterdam Schiphol airport. Bleary eyed and hair like a mop, I just about managed to clear security - my brother had managed to set off a security alert because his name was a security risk flying to the US, and therefore needed checking. Brilliant, just what you want early in the morning with no tea inside of you... Made it to Schiphol without incident though (although that plane flight has to be the most pointless one in the history of aviation, apart from maybe Glen Miller's flight from London to Paris...) We spent more time on the tarmac at either end than we did in the air. Finally managed to make it on to the plane at Schiphol - we had a Dutch immigration check, and then pre-flight security. Fun!!

It was really quite amazing to be on a plane that had more floors than my house, 100 times as many people as were in my family and 1000 times the journey capacity my car has. I quite enjoyed the flight - and it has to be said, it felt nothing like 10 hours. I napped and watched films and ate and drank. There was no one with a sneeze near me, or anyone with any other annoying habits. Altogether quite enjoyable.

I rushed off the plane at the other end to try and beat the queues to immigration - and failed, naturally. But I did move through immigration quite quickly, which was a blessing. Through in to San Francisco airport and out into... the heat!! My God it was hot!! It was so hot I reeled back unintentionally, nearly fell over an 80-year old, instead falling over in to the outsretched arms of the window. Which I bounced off like a tennis ball on a racket. Onto the floor. Good start.

Made it to downtown SF where I quickly settled in to the hotel, and then went for a "quick" orienteering walk. It was about 1600 by this point, but my mind was quietly shouting "SLEEP YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT. I'M TIRED, GO TO BED" over and over. When I finally did crash in to bed that night, I can honestly say I blacked out more thoroughly than a pot of black paint could black out a white wall.

Let's start at the very beginning

A very good place to start. Once upon a time in a kingdom not so very far away, a very blond, very blue eyed baby was born, and they called him "beloved" (דוד). This he translated to David, for he was very intelligent like that. And so he was born.
So this is me, my life and I. Me, I'm a very sociable person, always up for a good time and meeting new people. Always got time for my friends, and if I don't, I'll always make time. Love going out for a drink, and generally happiest when with a cup of tea. I have a terrible sense of humour - dry, sarcastic and (I alone seem to think) quite witty. Bob Marley was recently complaining about the doughnuts in heaven, because they didn't have enough jam-in. See what I mean?
Anyway, so I'm gay. I have been out (although not to my parents) since May 2007, so a little over a year now. I used to have a blog, which I stopped updating for what I shall call political reasons, but just recently I decided that having strangers read about my life was strangely aluring and comforting. So I deleted it and started it again, with this being the proud result of the fruits of my labour...