Where I live in Manchester I walk along the canal to go to work.

Every morning I cross a huge dual carriage way and instead of following it and getting an early morning high off the exhaust fumes I drop down a flight of steps and follow the canal along the Piccadilly Basin.

Much better.

Sometimes the canal is high, sometimes low. Doesn't matter, you walk along the towpath and you find yourself transfixed by the way the sun is bouncing off the ripples or the way the raindrops (this is Manchester after all) bounce and ripple before being lost in the watery ether.

On a hot day you can smell the heather, see a couple of Morehen's and maybe some ducks.

And then there is the Canadian Geese.

I hate the Geese.

Every day I have to run the gauntlet. You can be walking pleasently along, all is right with the world and then further ahead you see two Candian Geese on the towpath.

They look at you.

You look at them.

You slow your pace a little and you walk as close to the small crumbling wall as you can, they're blocking the path from the water's edge.

As you pass them they hiss at you, a deep dark hiss that come from the bowels of hell itself.

Okay I'm being dramatic but they scare the crap out of me. They are bad tempered little bastards. They're bitter old men, but with wings.

So you walk past them, your heart in your mouth, the hissing still ringing in your ears.

And this happens EVERYDAY.

Okay, Binky! at least three times a week.

So I'm walking along the canal yesterday with the folks - they've checked out of the hotel and we have decided to have some lunch on the canal before they drive back to Lichfield.

We're walking and up ahead are two geese. As we get closer (I'm at the front followed by my step mother and father's bringing up the rear (thats usually my job but I digress...) one of the geese starts walking toward me hissing and flapping it's wings. I stop and back up, so does my step mother.

My father takes the lead and starts shouting at the goose and waving his arms.

At first the little winged bastard didn't know what to do. To him/her/it humans usually get out of it's way. Like it own's the fucking canal.

But not this human, my father.

The Goose beat a retreat to the water's edge then dropped into the water and paddled it's little ass away.

Okay it was only a goose.

But it was also my father, my hero.

Sometimes being single sucks.

Met the parents today after lunch, had a drink with them outside 'Mr Thomas's Chop House' in St Annes square. Then went for afternoon tea at the Lowry and a little later a chinese.

(I highly recommend 2 chinese restaurants in Manchester. The Red Chilli or Mr Wings. The popular choice should you ask anybody would be the Yang Sing, but in my humble opinion it is tired and old. Mr Wings in slike a western-ised chinese restaurant. Fantastic food but western decor and music. The Red Chilli is always full of chinese people which speaks for itself.)

I digress.

After the meal I said goodnight to them and decided to take a slow walk through the village.

The village was bustling. Outside the Rem I heard a huge 'BANG' and looked up to see a fire work display.

Night of Lights I think it was called.

I paused and stood and watched the explosions of colour, blue pink and silver diamonds exploding in the night sky over Manchester.

Tasting life spectacular before fading into oblivion.

I stood there and my gaze fell earthward to the people around me. I looked at a couple across the way from me, one guy standing behind the other with is arms folded around his waist and nibbling on his ear.

And I was hit with a pang jealousy.

I've had boyfriends. Clive was the first - uptight musician but big and cuddly. Too queeny.

Then there was DamienTheBastard who ripped me off for £3k.

Then there was Colm.

Colm. I fell heavy and hard for Colm. He was what I wanted in a guy;older, moderately successful, very intelligent, great crowd of interesting friends and an expert cocksucker. Colm loved sex first thing in the morning and for a year I started every day by riding his ass.

He dropped the bombshell that he didn't love me so that was that. My heart was truly broken and it took me a long time to get over Colm.

Then there was Al. Al was a great guy, younger than me by a couple of years. He taught me to be a bottom and I loved it. My ass was hungry for him.

If you have never known the pleasure of being penetrated, the slight pain and then the pure feeling of ecstasy as he pumps you then you need to bend over. Take a whiff of poppers and OH MY GOD.

While I was seeing Al I shared a house with a straight guy. He was out one afternoon and I was on my knee's blowing Al in the kitchen. His endowment was magnificent. But it wasn't quite right, it wasn't meant to be. I loved having sex with him but I didn't love him so I broke it off.

Then there was JJ from Spain. Truly lovely guy but the sex was crap. Mutual Masturbation - or Bambisex was the order of the day and for me, that wasn't enough.

I first got off with a guy when I was Sixteen, but thats another blog.

Part of me likes being single, I like the independence. I like watching what i want to watch on TV. I like sleeping in until midday and then vegging in front of the TV for the rest of the day with no pressure to get dressed or wash up or do anything.

I have the freedom that is denied most men, I can leave the toilet seat UP.

The other part of me wants to be with that special guy, standing beneath the firewoks wrapped in his arms as he nuzzles my neck. Part of me wants to be half of something that is greater than me. I need more than a lover, I need a companion, somebody who will stimulate my loins as well as my brain, who will put up with my bullshit and love me anyway.

Tall order, isn't it?

My good friend David in Atlanta is having a rough ride at the moment as a famliy member is about to go though chemo.

So if you are reading this I ask you to take a moment to send him some positive mojo or a prayer.

C'mon guys, put those pesky midichlorins to a good use!

Scott Capuro is the bomb.

Anybody who refers to hompohobic Derbyshire farmers as a bunch of 'country retards' on national tv (and he's a yank!) gets my vote!!

He's gay, funny and slightly bitchy, but in a sophisticated way.

My parents are visiting this weekend.

Cue me cleaning the apartment this morining like a mad thing, paranoid that I've left a bottle poppers lying around or they notice the leather boots in the bedroom.

I'm not a leather bear but I'm becomnig one.

It's so fucking sexy. To look at and to wear.

My father is a great man. He is an ordinary man, he has worked in the Prison service for thirty years, he was the longest serving Special Constable in Staffordshire. He has never had much, he grew up in Birmingham just after WWII and the social degradation and the influx of immigrants helped to form his rascist views.

He married my mother they had two children and then divorced. He married my step mother and they have two children, great guys both of them. I bear no grudge toward him or my mother about the divorce because their marriage was wrong, it wasn't meant to be. I know this because my father and stepmother are so in love 25 years later.

When I think back to those times part of me feels that I betrayed his love. I was nine years old and we were given a choice of which parent to live with and we were both - my older brother and I - torn between both of them and one of them would have to get hurt. I chose my mother. My brother chose my father.

So part of me is resentful that we were put into that position - no child should have to choose between their parents and part of me feels guilty that I chose my mother. I remeber when I had to leave to go to my mothers , I walked out into the hallway of my fathers small council house and he hugged me.

I don't remember him hugging me before that.

He hugged me and he was crying. For one moment I was wrapped in my fathers love and I remember it very clearly. Then I went to my mothers but thats a whole other blog.

I lost contact with my father for about four years. I don't know why. But I remember one night when I was seventeen or something -I had just passed my driving test- I drove over to his house late one night and parked up across the street,not having the nerve to go and see him. I watched as the living room lights went dim and the lights in the bedroom came on, when i gunned the engine of the car the curtains twitched.

My father, the longest serving SC in Staffordhire.

Then one night maybe two years later I went to see him, I just knocked on the door. He opened it and the man standing before me was very different to the man I had remembered, he looked old.

I went inside and met the two brothers i hadn't seen in a long time. Last time I had seen them Andrew was a baby and Paul was precocious two year old. Now they were much older.

I am to this day Paul's hero. Don't ask me why and I don't care. I Just am. Deal with it.

That night he drove me to the bus station and while I was waiting for the bus he hugged me again.

I rekindled my relationship with my father.And I am so glad I did.

He can be very rascist but when I told him I was gay it was no issue at all. When I broke up with DamienTheBastard he drove all the way down to London to help me move.

He is a very quiet man, a lot goes between us that is unspoken. He is not a rich man but he is a man of principle and his love for his wife and his children is infinite.

My father is 63. I think about his dying a lot. When he goes it is going to break my heart. Maybe I think about because I am in some way preparing myself for it. Death is wrong.

I had been thinking for a while about getting my nipples pierced.

I used to have on done but removed as it became a little irritating and had missed it ever since.

So today in a kinda spur of the moment-but-meaning-to kind of a way I popped into a shop in the northern quarter - aptly named Holier Than Thou.

I got both done and chose a bar as opposed to a ring.

I can't remember when I had it done before that it hurt!! It hurt today. Not a pain as such more like an incredible pinching. Anyway it's done now and I like it.

Tats next!!!!!

Thanks George. Good movie.

So I'm in the offifce this morning.J has returned from her anniversary weekend with her husband (we lived through the drama of trying to buy chocalate paint last Thursday.....) and H had her head down recharting the system when somebody mentioned that Kylie has got breast cancer.

Now I've stood next to Kylie so my comment -although not the best comment to make between a Canadian and a South African woman but it was said with a bit of authority on the subject.
All I said was ''Breast Cancer?. She has no tits.''
The tumbleweed blew through the office and you could have heard a pin drop.

Believe me when I say that I have bigger tits than Kylie! And mine are furrier

Star Wars.

There is one person I would love to talk with about Star Wars.

Kevin Smith. Yep Silent Bob himself. Of course we would have to talk in bed after he has fucked me good and I'm down between his legs cleaning him after he has cum for the second time.

MMMMMMMM

(disclaimer: Kevin Smith is not gay, but the subject of many bear fantasies.Including mine. dirty, sweaty fantasies involving a gallon of grease.......)

Anyway Star Wars. Yep.

My inner geek is geeking out in anticpation of the movie being released this week. I am a slut for spoilers because I just can't wait. I need to know. And it doesn't spoil it for me. I will enjoy this movie as much as the next man.Or with the next man if Kevin Smith is free.....

And I soooo want this one to be good.

I was in Ireland when the Phantom Menace opened and remember feeling underwhelmed. Driving back from the cinema through the dark country lanes to Tiperary town I remember thinking that this movie should have instilled the same feeling Ep IV did back in '77 but it didn't. It sucked big time. I had seen the Matrix the week before and that had rocked. (I mean the first one not the crappy sequels.Ergo.)

George, you let me down. For years I had bought the comics and played with the toys (Yes I know how that sounds but it's true and any geek who tells you they never do is lying to you. Trust me on this one.The force may bind the universe together but over active imaginations is what binds every geek to each other...) and you failed to deliver on a promise of adventure in a galaxy far far away.

Then came Attack of the Clones. I was back in London and again hanging out at the Kings Arms and Quebec. I had a regular fuck buddy and met a boyfriend. I blew him in Hyde Park. You should try it.

You would know me if you saw me in the Kings Arms on Saturday night. Never on Sunday. Nothing worse than BearKareoke. Bearkareoke? GMAFB!!

This was better but not as good as Empire. It had moments. But that is all. The sandpeople were a nice touch. Obi Wan was better. Anakin was a whiny brat . Mace Windu you are a god.

Attack of the Clones. Imagine a whole load of leatherclad guys with handelbar moustaches hitting you with dusters. HAW HAW I made a funny!!!

And now we have ROTS. Don't let me down, Georgey Girl!!

The nine year old inside of me who created his own version of TheStarWarsUniversetm while the parents screamed at each other and finally divorced needs this to be the one. He needs you to deliver on all the promises you have made.

Failing that send Kevin around on a wet afternoon to console me. Send him naked. With handcuffs.

''Kevin, the control word is Banthapoodoo...''

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

No, really.

You know when you go on a training course at work and you all sit there like dummies, it's five after nine you don't know each other and your already falling alseep from the lack of air conditioning? The FACILITATOR (who has travelled back in time to deliver this course and keeps asking if there is anybody called John Connor present...) try's a lame ice breaker by asking you to introduce yourself and to tell a secret.

Well here goes. My name is irrelevant so you can call me anything you want. If I call you Betty then you can call me Al. Or John.....maybe not. Anyway my name doesn't matter.

Im a guy, I'm 35 I'm gay and I'm a bear.

A what?

A bear. A big hairy guy who likes other big hairy guys. God help the bed (and the kitchen sink but thats another blog...).

There's lots of us about. Bears,Cubs,Otters..we're fun loving people and we have no hang up about how big/small you are. Just be yourself. And let me be myself.

I live alone and this suit's - most of the time. I do not have a cat or a yorkshire terrier with a bow on it's head. I have no pets and the last goldfish I had is slowly mutating into a crocodile in the sewers.

I am an internet slut as you will discover but I'm also a hopeless (or hapless) romantic. I am caught in the crossfire between my heart and my dick.

I know one day I will meet that one special person, the lightening will strike and the world will move in slow motion and he will take his place at my side. But until then there is fun to be had. And I mean FUN.

I'm a bit of a scifi and movie geek so if I reference something, try to keep up.

Jeez, REM is the soundtrack to my first blog, ''Ebow the Letter'' brings a tear to my eye.

I won't tell you what I do or where I work, you'll figure that out in time. But let me tell you I work in place full of interesting people. Interesting, flawed,scheming, innocent,ego driven people.

Coronation street meets Eastenders on a day to basis. With a smidge of Arthur Hailey.

That was your first clue, you keeping up binky?

Anyway it's late and I'm sober with nobody to fuck

''England Prevails, Leader.''