LOL! I'm actually laughing, thank God. And what did it? An old friend of mine that I occasionally get in touch with. He's in his mid-thirties, and he's finally so desperate to find a boyfriend that he's just found a counsellor. At £50 for fifty minutes. And this counsellor sounds to be of the NLP (neuro-linguistic programming) school, because on the first session she emphasised how she would focus on his coping mechanisms. No, she's not even going to go anywhere near the root of the problem, which is the fairly common one you find in gay circles - he had a very negligent and in fact a wife-abusing father. Oh man, I am so gunning for the entire counselling and psychotherapy professions. £50 an hour to talk about how he might find love. That's more than many people in London earn in a day. Oh it might seem cheap if you've already moved on to an ecstasy or cocaine habit, but it really pisses me off that the counselling profession is effectively in collusion with "the gay scene". Let them squander their youth on drink, sex, substances, and superficial relationships. When they realise that age is descending upon them, they'll need counselling, and so long as they have £50 an hour to pay out, they'll be ok.
Fuck London. Love is not a marketable commodity here, so they ignore it. And even when you've learned to love yourself, someone will try to take that away from you and make you think there's something wrong with you.
Ok, so here you are on a blog called Love and the City. Do you know what Love is? Can you distinguish between the kind of Love that a baby feels for its mother, and the kind of Love that a mother feels for its baby, and the kind of Love that a couple feel for each other? Do you know that Love is not just about a feeling, but about being able to care for somebody in a physical and pragmatic way? To care for their survival, and to care for their future?
I'm not even going to go into the answers here. I drafted them up back in March when it all became deadly clear to me, as I walked home from Hospital after visiting my Dad the first time he got close to dying. I never published it on this blog. It was too close, and too powerful. And now, I myself need to focus on surviving. Because loving yourself costs a lot less money. And London and Britain today has little love to spare except for cats and dogs and horses and cars.