Marty

Lucky sushi! Oh! And...................

Another interesting chapter... It could be Nate, but I'm thinking that's unlikely, if only because they've had sex in the past and appear to have moved on from it. And Nate comes across as basically heterosexual (with maybe a little bit of curiosity thrown in). That seems to only leave Kyle... But I can't really see that either. I know Kyle has a some of the qualities that would appeal to Greg, especially being able have an adult conversation. But he's half Greg's age, still only 15, still at school, not able to have a drink with him in a bar or restaurant, not working and able to pay his way. I think all of that combined would stand in the way of a genuine sexual relationship between the two. (Plus the fact that Greg would be concerned about being another Richard?) Sudden thought! ... Uncle Farid was asking about romantic attractions, not sexual ones. Maybe that could include Kyle..? (And maybe Uncle Farid will ask about sexual attractions in a later therapy session...?) I just love a story where I find myself second guessing what will happen. Sometimes I may be right; sometimes wrong. But I'm happy enough to let the author decide for me (although sometimes the author will tell me that he had no hand or say in the matter, and it was the actual characters themselves who led the story). Nate and Uncle Farid both told Greg to talk to Kyle. I'm sure he said he would. But nothing so far has indicated that he has... Thanks, @Jason MH for a great story!

Behave!!!

Hey, Page! Sorry, I can't stay and chat. Have to head out for the evening. Voluntary work. Might be home again by 11:30 pm my time (where it's 5:47 pm as type this)

Enjoy!

That thought did cross my mind, as well...

Yea! But I was trying to find one that wasn't also a slang term... I did think of using another technical name: male gonads - but that may have been a bit too obscure.

A slang term for bollocks, erm... balls, erm.... knackers, erm.... nuts, erm.... testicles!

I've never seen him on TV either. But, in my case, the reason is that I don't have a TV.

For those that don't know, The Naked Chef was the title of a BBC2 cooking show that ran for 3 seasons, starting in 1999. Jamie Oliver was the chef. Apparently his intention in the show was to strip down restaurant techniques to their bare essentials and create cool dishes for everyone to cook at home. I suspect that was what gave the show its title... And the programme was credited with inspiring men to cook due to Oliver's "blokey" approach.

My recipe is adapted from one by Jamie Oliver - sometimes referred to as The Naked Chef But I do have to admit to cheating slightly... I used a packet of ready rolled puff pastry rather than make it from scratch.

Here's some home made sausage rolls that have just come out of my oven. Help yourselves to one, gang! Careful now. Don't burn your mouths. They're piping hot!

Well I think I did hear at least one member mentioning a day or so back about having difficulty sleeping.

I fear I may have put everyone else to sleep, though...

Come gather round children and listen while I tell you the tale of my world famous talking cat.... The Talking Cat (A fairy tale by Marty) Once upon a cold and wintry night in the early hours of the morning, as I was slowly staggering home only about one tenth sober, after what may commonly be known to the drinkers amongst us as a lock-in, I discovered to my chagrin that my house keys were not in my pocket, and that I now seemed to be well and truly locked out (as well as totally locked). Hoping that I may have forgotten to lock the back door, I staggered round to the back of the house, only to find that I had indeed securely locked and bolted it before I had headed out for my night of sampling the finest wines, ales and spirits at the local watering hole. Not being what one would exactly call the warmest of nights, the thoughts of sleeping on the doorstep seemed not all that appealing to me. Staggering back to the front of the house, I briefly considered heading across the street and knocking on the door of my neighbour who always held a spare key to my house specially for emergencies like this one. However, when I looked at my watch, I realised that he would not be truly pleased to be woken up and got out of bed by a drunken sot like myself - especially bearing in mind that this was a week night, and he would have to be getting up for work in a few short hours. Pulling my threadbare jacket around myself, I decided the only course of action was to sit on the front step and hope that, if I actually went to sleep, my neighbour would spot me on his way out to work later, ask me what on earth I was doing, and fetch my spare key across to me so I could finally get in. After about a half hour of sitting there shivering, and wondering just what in a past life (because it couldn't have been anything I had done in this life, could it?) I had done wrong to deserve this present bad karma, a thought began to slowly take shape in my befuddled brain. 'Maybe I left the key hanging on that piece of string inside the letter box,' I thought. This was a tendency I sometimes had, probably a hang over (I very nearly joined those last two words together) from my days as a latchkey kid, when my mother used to work late, and I would get home from school before her. It would simply be a case of pushing the letter box open, hooking my index finger behind the string that was hanging down inside it and retrieving the key that was tied to the end of the string - the string being long enough for me to reach the keyhole on the outside of the door. Staggering back to my feet, I pushed the letter box open and peered through it. My heart sank on finding that there was no piece of string hanging there inside. I was about to sit back down when I noticed, in the dim light of the nightlight that I always left burning when I went out at night (to put off the potential burglars, you understand), Tibbles, my cat, sitting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs in the hallway, looking at me with a confused stare and an amused grin. I was saved! "Oi, Tibbles!" I exclaimed. "Open the door." Tibbles gave me one of his haughty looks and simply said "Me? 'ow?" And that, dear children, was how I discovered that I had a talking cat...

Hey, Page.

Okay, but it may take me a while to type it all in.... (Watch this space...)

Speaking of cats.... Did I ever tell yez all about the talking cat I once had?

Buenos tardes, Alberto!

Hi yourself, Thorn! And here's some more hugs for anyone else that needs them....

What needs to be tidier? The kitten or the bedroom?

I could swear I saw Albert claim that he was a nice guy three or four pages back....

Oops! I misread the word plaid at first and saw paid. I was about to ask exactly how much you'd had to pay when I realised my mistake...

Gary!

Estoy bien, gracias! And remember the old saying... "Whatever you say, say nothing, when they ask about you know what."