Dodger

A long walk, minimum of half an hour--try to clear your head while walking--then straight to bed. This depends on where you live of course, probably not a good idea to walk around some neighborhoods late at night. I've lived in places where insomnia would be a healthier option, but if you can, walking always helps and is good exercise too, although I'm no health freak.

Ha ha, love it! I will visit one day, but I'm not interested in Los Angelesation, Disneyland, or Hollywood. I would go to the National Parks, Redwood, Joshua Tree, Channel islands. Probably San Fransico (I like bridges). I'm not after a second home, so I'll pass on that one. Although, it's not just California that's being bought up by the Chinese. There are loads of empty apartments along the river in London that are owned by them and kept empty, while the city has a growing homeless crisis. In Vancouver, they are trying to address the problem by putting a 15% property transfer tax for foreign buyers, and Toronto looks like doing the same. House prices in both cities have gone through the roof in recent years and the same is true of London, where it's no longer possible to buy an average family terraced house for less than half a million pounds. Oh yeah, I guess California doesn't have much of a heritage just yet, but maybe in the future? Nice tangent you started here.

I don't think that it's odd at all to be reading a story at any age. The characters may be young, but it's not really written for teenagers. I think we can all identify with younger characters in stories, because we've probably made a lot of the same mistakes and worried endlessly over the same problems that in the end didn't turn out to be problems. I'm rambling, but thanks so much for commenting and I'm pleased that you have found some enjoyment from it. It makes the effort worthwhle. Oh, and congratulations on coming out at 62. It's never too late!

'Adorkable' I love that and you're probably right. It does suite him. Not too many cliffhangers left. Thanks for leaving a comment.

Thanks for your comment Kjamieson. Yeah it's hard even for me to keep up. I think we all knew that Rory was going to be OK. He's a nice guy and Robbie obviously values his friendship. There's no reason why they can't be best pals. Daniel is a worry, because his behaviour is so untypical of him, we will have to wait and see how much he knows, if anything.

Well spotted, thanks. Of course--Spring Equinox is not in June--all fixed now. Yeah, I think Jake has to be hot favourite.

“Robbie has done remarkably well, and we’re very pleased with his progress. He’s made a few friends and proved himself to be a capable and popular student.” It sounded as if Mr Andrews was reading from a script, but I was happy to accept his candy-coated compliments as we played hosts to the school principle and his young wife. Nicola, unimpressed by his laudatory remarks, rolled her eyes at me from across the dinner table, but I had put a lot of effort into improving my grades and was prou

I don't think that it's a bad thing for cities to have these regulations, they do a lot of good and without them, we would probably have lost a lot of our heritage, replaced with stainless steel and glass. I like the Mission style architecture in California, all credit to Santa Barbara for preserving this.

Thank you so much for reading this chapter and for your positive comments, I hope that you enjoy the rest of the story.

There are a lot of these houses in Central London. Most of these Georgian and Victorian houses are listed buildings, which means they cannot be altered in any way, particularly at the front. There are strict rules that the property owners have to follow, which may seem petty, but the councils and English Heritage take it very seriously. They have a lot of power and control over these properties, even though they don't actually own any of them. The rules even govern the colour and type of paint that has to be used on the outside of the building as well as the height, font, colour, and position of the house number, which of course has to be hand painted and perfectly matched to the others in the street. The owners need to apply for planning permission before any works are able to be carried out even on the inside of these houses, like replacing the boiler as in the story. It's all done for a reason, of course, to preserve London's heritage, but sometimes it seems a little over regulated.

Thank you. I wasn't sure how well this story would be received by North American members. I wanted to keep the dialogue as realistic as possible without losing people along the way or having to interrupt the story to explain everything. I find accents and slang fascinating but difficult to write. I'm sure it's about getting the right balance, but I'm still just learning. I'm glad that you enjoyed the first chapter.

Corey's mother's behaviour is the complete opposite to that of most normal, 'loving and protective' mothers, but there are some out there. She should not have had children as she's not suited to be a mother. As for the reverend, well, it doesn't matter what religion he represents, why would anyone even bother to listen to this bigoted, condescending, bible-bashing, old bastard? With the church's history of abuse against children, he and his like would be the last people on earth that you would trust to guide your child. I would have slammed the door in his face! Great chapter, it really pissed me off!

Err...don't think so buddy, but if that don't tell you something, nothing will! I guess he's only young and wants to please his friend. Charlie is good, I think, but she got it wrong when she said that Bret had dumped him. He hasn't dumped him and that's the problem, Corey may not like it, but it should be obvious to Bret now that his friend isn't getting the hints and he needs to give it to him straight. Sleeping in the same bed is definitely not a good way of doing this. Good story and I'm quite liking the flashbacks.

Emi, you're younger than I am, you've got plenty of time to find someone special in your life, and for better reasons than just to let us know if you bite the dust.

178 St. James’s Walk was a three-storey Georgian townhouse that overlooked Regents Park. It was a prestigious address in the heart of London and only a brisk walk away from the West End or trendy Camden Market. The house was owned by one of the big record labels and used by their artists when visiting England to record, promote or tour. It had recently been renovated but the plain, featureless façade at the front disguised an opulent and surprisingly spacious interior. It was nine o’clock o

Plumber’s apprentice Andrew Richardson finds himself in an unlikely battle of wits with a pretentious American pop star visiting London for the Brit Awards. The singer is unhappy because there’s no heating, but the boiler needs replacing and on Sundays, Andy goes to church.

This was something which up until a few weeks ago I had never even considered because I was indestructible and way too young to worry about anything like that. I will admit that when I was ill, I didn't give a lot of thought to my friends at GA, but if it were to happen again (I hope, of course, that I never have to go through that again), then I probably would. I have had a lot of really cool messages of support from members of this site, most of whom I don't know and have had little or no contact with before. It's a good idea to have some kind of plan in place just in case, and I've made arrangements. So if I should I pop my clogs any time soon, you'll all know about it. Oh, and in case anyone's wondering the story--although unedited--will continue to be posted until the end.

Thank you, Tim, Gary and everyone else. That was really cool. Although I'm still a long way off my best and maybe I'll never get back to my best, I'm certainly not down and I'm not alone. My family has smothered me lately and I've enjoyed all the attention although I try not to admit it (I'm not fooling anyone, they know me by now). I went through a period where I was feeling sorry for myself and felt cheated because of my age, and they were telling me that I was gonna need heart surgery and I wasn't allowed to fly, and it seemed as if my life was over. I was wrong and now I consider myself very lucky. Reading about Skinny helped me to understand this and that's the message that I was trying to get across in my blog. Thanks for your comments and support, they mean a lot.

It was a bad day. I’ve had a few recently. Often enough to know that they don’t get better halfway through; only progressively worse. After lunch, I should have packed up and gone home to bed. I had done that before and it had worked; no one could argue against the logic. The less I do, the less that can go wrong. Why tempt fate by pressing on regardless, when the situation was beyond saving. A phone call increased my workload; I should have switched it off earlier. The error led to a twenty-mile journey in the opposite direction and another so-called ten-minute job, that turned into four hours. I’ve been doing this work since I left school and I’ve never been able to do a job in ten minutes. I loaded up in the rain; it had been constant all day and getting worse. I needed coffee and dry clothes, but the coffee spilt and the clothes got wetter. The cup holders on these vehicles are the wrong size for Tim Hortons, American trucks, designed for American cups. Why can’t they make them bigger? Big enough to fit a coffee cup would be good; is this another way of saving money, what were they thinking? I was already uptight and irritable when I pulled onto the world’s biggest parking lot, sealing my fate. You would think that eight lanes in each direction would be sufficient to take the weight of this city. It’s not as if everybody drives or leaves work at the same time. There’s a good transit system; subway, buses, streetcars, and trains, and it’s nearly eight o’clock, but nothing is moving! Sixteen lanes of stationary traffic for as far as the eye can see is a harrowing site and my foul mood takes another turn for the worse. These people don’t understand my situation, if they did then they would get out of my way and allow me to pass so that I can get home and rest. I should be doing that; the doctor told me. Instead, I’m stressed, hungry, tired, and wet, and now I’m helping to set new records of congestion on the four-oh-one. If I die; it’s all your fault! Yeah, you mister suited and booted in the Mercedes next to me. A real estate agent if ever I had seen one. No wonder properties are doubling in price around here; someone has to pay for that car! Who needs a car that big anyway, to carry a stinking briefcase? When the traffic edges forward, I try to keep the nose of my trusty Dodge truck in front of his overpowered glamour car, and I’m doing okay as we speed up to almost a crawl. I get some satisfaction by leaving him behind, but it’s hardly the brickyard and it was only because my lane was moving quicker. I could have walked and still beaten him, but it didn’t stop me from gloating at his misfortune. See you later sucker! Then to press home my advantage and keep him behind me, I swung into a sudden gap created by a daydreamer, seizing my opportunity with skilful precision. Lewis Hamilton couldn’t have done it any better. Later, as the traffic eases, and we approach highway speeds, he shoots past me on the outside, leaving me for dead, but it doesn’t matter anymore, I won when it counted. It was late when I got home and the house was empty and cold. I should’ve stayed on the four-oh-one, at least I wasn’t alone. After a shower and some food, there’s nothing left of the day, but perhaps that’s a good thing. I don’t want anything else to go wrong if that was even possible. I’m at my desk trying to relax; I should have been doing this all day, but my doctor won’t pay my mortgage, so I have no choice. I have to work to live; but to live, I have to rest. It’s a difficult choice, but one that is made easier by my bank statements. I haven’t felt any discomfort for a few days. I’ll live; if only to annoy others. I may even get around to finishing my story. A few weeks ago that had seemed improbable. Writing was one of the few activities which the doctor had encouraged and it was easy to see why. I use it as an escape route to a more interesting time, where I am able to re-write my own history. It’s therapeutic, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to distance myself from the main character. There are several projects that I’ve started and shelved and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to write anything else. It was too late that night and I were barely able to stay awake, but I logged in, if only to satisfy my addiction and check on the progress of my latest chapter. Gay Authors has become another well-worn escape route and one that I am using with increasing regularity. I’ve even made a few friends. Cyber friends, I suppose, because none of them actually know me. We never talk, but type messages and express our feelings with funny little emoticons. They know me simply as Dodger and their only visual reference is a cartoon drawing of ‘The Fonze’ from ‘Happy Days’. The television character is a poor representation of the real me. It’s the perfect disguise and perhaps that’s why I chose it. It was close to midnight when I sat back yawning. My bed was calling me, but I was distracted by a familiar avatar on the page. It had been a while since I had seen anything posted by Skinnydragon and he hadn’t reviewed in a couple of months. Perhaps this was his long-awaited explanation to everyone and my mood was lifted. I knew that he would come back, he enjoyed the site, he had unfinished work and was a prolific poster and reviewer. There had to be a good reason for his recent absence and when I saw the title of his blog, it made sense. Skinny’s sorry. Yeah, whatever buddy; let’s see what you’ve been up to? Travelling maybe, busy at work, moving house…illness wasn’t on my list and certainly not that illness. It was soon clear that this was no ordinary blog, and the gravity of his statement hit me at the end of the first paragraph. I read on until the end, before reading it again much slower, and then once more in tears. I had read every word of every chapter that Skinnydragon had posted on GA, but his final paragraphs were perhaps the most powerful that I had read from any author. It was obvious to me that those words were laced with pain particularly at the end where there were mistakes so untypical of his work. Dying wasn’t even a probable, but when I noticed the date, it became a certainty. Nearly four months had passed since that blog had been posted. I never knew about it, and had never bothered to find out why my friend had been absent for so long, although I did have a few problems of my own. He was my first friend on the site and in the early days, we had spoken quite a bit via comments and messages. He had followed my story from the beginning, posting regular reviews and when I needed his advice, he was quick to respond and thorough in his replies. He was a good guy and friends of everyone on the site. It was easy to see when reading the many tributes left on his blog. No longer tired; I stayed awake until the early hours reading and re-reading every one, but beneath my sadness was a constant reminder of what could have been. ‘There but for the grace of God go I’, was something that my mother used to say, and after reading about my friend, I’ve been using those words a lot myself. It was February 26 when I was admitted to the hospital with severe chest pains. It was a Sunday and I had been feeling ill for most of the weekend. That evening the pain became unbearable, I was short of breath and collapsed. I was fortunate that I wasn’t alone. Most nights I would have been. My friend got me to the hospital, the doctors saved my life and I’m still here! I haven’t seen the light and I’m not going to start preaching to people or telling you how to live your lives, but I will admit that I was very scared and the initial assessments that I received gave me good reason to be. The days that followed were dark and with little or no desire to write, I focused on more important and seemingly urgent requirements. I gave instructions to the family for funeral arrangements, prepared a will, and even wrote letters to friends. I never realised how exhausting dying could be, but when I read Skinnydragon’s blog I was able to feel some of his pain. I hope that he had good people around him, and I also hope that his end came quickly, leaving him as little time as possible to dwell on his fate. I thought I was too young for heart problems; I have a reasonable diet and I’m not exactly overweight, but no one knows what lies in wait for them. While most of us can hazard a guess as to where we will be in five years’ time, we are unlikely to even consider the possibility that we may not be around at all. I was lucky, within a week my breathing improved and the chest pains had disappeared. I spent the first two weeks of March, in cardiology being hooked up to machines that I was unable to even pronounce. I have no idea what all of this would have cost me without a health card, but I was at least able to see where some of my hard-earned taxes had gone and for once I didn’t begrudge them a penny. The Canadian health service doesn’t suck! I asked a lot of questions and learnt a lot about the human heart and how complex and resilient it is. I bet that most people are unaware that it can often repair itself to overcome minor defects and there is a good possibility that this is what is happening in my case. On Friday, six weeks after my collapse, I was delighted to receive a clean bill of health. My heart is not perfect, but it is in a reasonable condition and contrary to the initial assessments there is no longer any need for surgery. I will need to change my life a little, but I am happy that I still have one to change. Others, as we know, have not been so fortunate. In loving memory of our good friend—Skinnydragon. May you rest in peace, my friend.

Hey, Drew. Happy Birthday, and it's on a Saturday!!! Be cool buddy!

Thanks, Gary. I studied poetry at school but after clashes with the teachers, I became very disillusioned and critical, and have steered well clear ever since. Like everyone, I have been saddened by the news of Skinnydragon's illness and probable loss. I only found out this week, months after his original message, and I've been feeling guilty ever since for not sending him a message of support at a time when he may have been able to read it. He never let me down when I ask him for advice or needed a little confidence boost, so I probably owed him that at least. Your poem was the first that I have read in 14 years, and the only reason I did so was because it was written for him. I've now read it 3 times and enjoyed it more each time.

I thought you would probably appreciate that tangent. Sounds good; I don't know how many coal-fired plants they have left to close. They view nuclear energy as the way forward (very foolish, Fukushima 6 years later and still contaminating the Pacific) and are allowing the Chinese to build and operate nuclear reactors in Scotland to generate electricity for the UK. Some people see this as short-sighted, others as a possible threat to national security or a potential disaster. Unfortunately, the UK is so small there isn't really anywhere you can go to get away from these things.

I'm probably going a little off-topic here but as further confirmation, health officials confirmed in January that 'London breached its annual air pollution limits just five days into 2017', Calling it, 'a shameful reminder of the severity of London’s air pollution'. However, while there are countless schemes and initiatives aimed at reducing vehicle emissions across the city, there is never any talk about reducing the number of commercial flights at any of London's four civilian airports. In fact, they have recently decided to add another runway at Heathrow to further increase the capacity, of what is already one of the world's busiest airports. They'll need to build a few more hospitals as well or start importing oxygen.

On April 14, 2010, the Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajökull erupted sending a plume of volcanic ash seven kilometers into the sky and causing a potential risk to air-traffic. As a result of this UK and most of Europe were forced to close down their airspace to commercial flights between 15-21 April. Over 100,000 commercial flights were canceled during this period, stranding 10m people. I was living in the UK at the time and the government referred to it as an economic and environmental disaster. The airlines lost $1.7 billion and the airports lost 250 million euros. The stock market took a battering and the tourist industry was badly affected. We were warned about potential health risks caused by breathing in this fine ash which was being deposited across the country and you could see traces of it on parked cars. Some people in London began wearing surgical masks while outside, but although cautious at first, after a few days the air quality in London actually began to improve and it was definitely noticeable. However, while economically the outlook was gloomy, the skies above were clear and quiet. The much-publicised health hazard never materialised and officials later admitted that despite the several tons of volcanic ash that had fallen across the country, the grounding of all commercial flights for seven days had led to a significant increase in air quality across the capital. They didn't need to tell us that; everybody knew, it was that noticeable. I lived directly under the main flight path into Heathrow and commercial flights land at 90-second intervals from 5 am until 1 am every single day. Unfortunately, on 22 of April the powers that be decided that the ash was no longer a risk, and commercial flights resumed, the economy recovered and after a brief respite, the air quality fell again. In London, more people die of breathing related illnesses every year, than were killed during the infamous bombing blitz of world war 2.

I was a big Marvel fan as a kid; preferred their characters to DC's. Spiderman, Thor, X-men were my favourites and still are.