Robert Hugill

Thanks! Here's hoping.

>Are you seeing Neil this week, love? “Tomorrow. Why? We’re going to the open mic night.” >You’re not singing again, are you? I laughed. Mother had not approved. “Don’t worry: we’re just watching. Why did you ask about Neil?” >He’ll need your support. He’s told his mum. “About being gay?” >Yes. She’s not best pleased. She phoned me. “What’s the problem?" >Well, she didn’t make much sense on the phone. After all, she’s no problem wit

Margaret does have rather a lot of my own mother in her!

The 1950s lot comment was Neil being inaccurate!

I’d not thought about what effect Charlie’s presence would have on our Sunday activities. I’m not sure Neil had either. He was simply relieved to have Charlie back under the watchful eye of the family. Mother phoned on Sunday morning as I was making coffee whilst watching Neil doing his press-ups and leg exercises. It had taken time for him to admit to a regular regime, and even longer for him to do it in front of me. This morning he was naked, and his bum—the way it was flexing—was giving

>You around this weekend? “I can be. Why? Is there anything you fancy doing?” Neil’s call had come out of the blue. We’d talked about meeting up for a drink: what was becoming code for him coming back to my place. But this time he seemed more uncertain. >It’s just... Bollocks! I need a car and I can’t bloody drive, can I? “Look: you can tell me to piss off, but how come you only have a motorcycle licence?” >Never got around to it. Never seemed to need it.

Wow!

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Thanks! Certainly never thought of it like that!

I had been practicing—to the detriment of my real work. However, when Neil came back to our table with two pints of Admirable Growler and a broad grin on his face, announcing my position in the running order, I started to panic. It was the weekly open mic night at the Marquis of Granby in Kenwood, a relatively unassuming 19th-century inn to which someone had attached a long low barn-like structure at the back, which was now their function room. I’d known of the place: it had reputation st

Yes, reading the story back I realised that but thought that it made a degree of sense. Neil would probably only manage to talk to Gar about something concrete - 'seeing a bloke' - rather than his sexuality in the abstract. For years I thought that berk was spelled burk mainly because I only ever heard it spoken!

A week later I was ready to post Evan what I hoped was the finished score of Werther and was just returning from the post office where the postage had been a small fortune. Having got Werther out of the way, I was wondering whether I dared doorstep Neil by waiting near the workshop so that I could catch him alone. As I walked back to the flat, I spotted a figure sitting on the doorstep. A familiar figure. To my cry of “Neil!” he stood up, muttered something incomprehensible and presented

More action in the next episode! And there are over 40 chapters in all, so more to come...

Interesting, I never thought of it like that!

“Now, less of the guff. What’s really bugging you.” Lila glared at me. “I know you. And don’t kid me that work’s got you so involved that you’ve no room for anything else.” Lila was a big woman, prone to wearing little more than T-shirt and leggings, though today she had dressed up and had a smock over the top with a shawl for good measure. Whatever she wore, Lila did it with style. I always enjoyed her company, even when (as now) it was forced upon me. But she knew me well enough