Thank you Santa but this is what I really wanted for Christmas

Hello diary. Christmas here in Surrey was lovely. And extremely cold too. We spent the day with my brother Timmy, his wife Claudia and my two nephews who also brought girlfriends along. I won’t forget to mention the adorable two border collie dogs Stupid and Sharp. The issue of George has long been ironed out since our first visit here together. To be fair Timmy is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet - amiable and funny especially when he’s had a drink, my gayness was never going to come between us. He’s also very intelligent and with an acute sense of ethics which is why I wonder what he’s still doing in the pharmaceutical industry.

Everyone got on like a house on fire but somehow George and I still struggled in the freezing temps. The house is heated to 25 degrees C and there’s even under-floor heating downstairs. To cap it all Claudia had an electric blanket rolled out on our double bed. During the long weekend we stayed mostly indoors and only went out twice during the day to the nearby park to walk the dogs. I got a Shoei helmet from Timmy and Claudia while George gave me a leather-riding jacket. They must have been communicating secretly during the year after I said to George I want to start riding bikes again. We gave my relatives wooden African wall masks for their conservatory and I forked out a small fortune in cash for my nephews who are both heading for a skiing holiday tomorrow. To George I gifted a t-bar necklace in white gold. He says he loves it almost as much as he loves me.

Boxing Day afternoon I called Imelda who was away spending the holiday with her mum and her son. She was having a brilliant time frolicking in sunny Nairobi. I said you know what I’d really want right now, I wish you’d have knitted me a cock warmer because England is so cold. She laughed and said eh Tam, I’ve knitted many weird things before but that would be a first! Anyway Imelda being Imelda said, I’ll start knitting one for you right now which you can use during the wintry days here in July but you need to tell me what size your cock is. So I said take a guess but remember you’re due a salary increase soon. So she generously said, ‘Let me make it seven inches then you’ll be all warm and snug.'

I answered dryly, ‘Yes, Imelda at least seven inches flaccid. That’ll do!.' Lol!

Life is about one gay at a time and keeping fit playing sports (long version)

I think I’m getting a little lazier by the day. I resigned my job at the beginning of December to ‘pursue other interests’ because I believed life should not be just about sitting in endless meetings listening to the same old chatter and nodding like a puppy while dreaming, the sky is so blue and the sun is really shining brightly outside, how I wish I was working on a farm milking cows. We’re still looking for an ideal piece of land to come along at the right price. In the interim I get by on morsels dripping from freelance consultancy work but I’m not exactly overwhelmed. I even put in for voluntary work but nothing yet.

George also left his job with the police force. He’s now a supervisor for a security firm (not the one that keeps losing millions of shillings in transit, ok?). I can’t tell you which one otherwise I’d have to kill you, lol! Anyway he’s definitely getting more confident; thankfully he’s never had that problem in bed hehehehehe. A long time ago I read lies somewhere (no doubt by a sad and lonely bachelor) that there’s nothing like an impotent man; just an incompetent woman. Some men! And the pay George is getting is way better. I’m so happy for him because your self-esteem can take a dent when you’ve got a college diploma but end up working as a Nairobi traffic policeman (many might disagree).

Weekdays I normally get out of bed 8am-ish scratching my bum yawning and thinking foggily, ‘Thank you dear Lord for a lovely new day but what am I going to do with it?’ The demons in my head reply, ‘Tam, today you are going to do less than you did yesterday,’ and shortly after I have breakfast, cooked for me by Imelda (tireless gay-friendly house-keeper). I then sit sipping Sasini-gold black tea in the garden or on the balcony while I catch up on the newspapers. I can’t bear the morning news on the telly. I think that’s when you’re most likely to endure dyslexic presenters. One newsreader who looks like how I imagine William Ruto's and Martha Karua’s lovechild might look over shuffles papers as though she’s ad libbing, everyone knows it’s the autocue, sweetie.

I grab a quick wash next, lately singing what, what in the butt for inspiration. Let me confess at this point, my friends, that yes I do pee in the shower. Don’t be disgusted it’s really textbook man-alone-in-shower and we’ve had this conversation before. It’s how men are plumbed between the legs even the bits look like taps anyway. After I dry myself and dust some nivea pure fine talc on my nuts I get dressed. Freedom means no more suits just tracksuit bottoms and loose kitenge tops. I then sit in the study lying to myself that I'll get some work done at the computer. BTW, there are so many unsecured wireless connections around here it beggars belief. Every other day I also make kit calls to former colleagues (to keep in touch). It’s easy to forget and be forgotten and I also don’t want to cut myself off completely from other humans. This goes on till 11am when I go downstairs to join Imelda for the rest of the day. She’s usually getting our lunch ready or doing some cleaning so I get in the way talking too much while drinking lager. I know it’s very naughty because I now drink at least 3 deliciously cold tuskers before lunch. But not the other day because I wanted to be sharp while live-streaming Clinton’s major policy address on internet freedom. Cheers and good work Hillary!

Imelda is wonderful company and so, so easy to be around. I’m not just saying it, she really is one of God's angels. I love to bounce my tipsy ideas off her from the labyrinth I used to navigate that is branding and PR. In exchange I’m learning about accounting and finance (she’s taking a course at a college in town). Some days I forget about lunch (cold beers can numb the mind and they dull the appetite). So we play some pool (I'm good, but not misspent-youth good) or darts (flukey) in the family room which we converted to a games room and I end up having 5 or 6 half-litre cans straight from the fridge before 3 pm. Imelda never has an alcoholic beverage during the day unless it’s election time when we are nervously awaiting results but sometimes I secretly wish she’d drop her guard because I’d love to peel away the layers for a sneaky peek, see what I find (*major eye-roll*, some people and their filthy thoughts, eish!). She told me last week that now she’s got me during the day it’s like we are a married couple. I laughed but I wasn’t thinking anything like that. I just hope we get to that farm or something worthwhile to do soon. Check my CV, if you hear anything interesting please drop me an email.

In the meantime you can all rest assured that I’m getting better at playing pool.

(Pic is of the shoeshine bank on Aga Khan Walk - Harambee Avenue near my old office)

Breakfast in bed

I extricated myself gingerly from George’s embrace to roll gently out of bed. I didn’t want to wake him but he stirred and mumbled come back to bed, I knelt on his side of the bed and whispered,’ Honey, I’ll be back. Please let me go make some breakfast,’ and kissed his eyes shut.

Going downstairs just in my pyjama bottoms and tattered slippers to the kitchen I wasn’t feeling too great perhaps due to the dinner party we went to last night and the liberal amount of booze we quaffed. Must learn my limits, I said to myself for the umpteenth time as I popped one of the 175mg Milk Thistle capsules that I keep incase I fall off the wagon again. On the fridge door Imelda the housekeeper had left me a post-it note, Tamaku, make sure you eat the salad I made. Remember your cholesterol, no red meat today (this last instruction underlined twice). Awww Imelda what a sweetie, my heart and I both love you. And I’m full of admiration too because she doesn’t have the benefit of a spell-checker. She spends today and every Sunday with her son Paul and mother in Kawangware.

Then I made my signature dish of Spanish omelette Kenyan-style without the milk but with hot green chilies, accompanied by farmer’s choice sausages (let’s all pretend I saw Imelda’s note after breakfast) and four slices of toast. I also put a flask of sasini gold tea ‘packed with passion’ and a jug of carrot juice on the tray to take upstairs to the bedroom.

So George and I sat up in bed eating, both blissfully quiet. Sometimes you don’t even need to say a word; the silence says it all.