Passing ships in the Bay. (Apologies for the poor quality - I got my Kodak back but it seems to be having problems focusing!)

I'm finding that I'm enjoying the view from my balcony even more than I expected. For one thing, I get to watch the shipping passing through the bay on its way to and from the ports to the South.

And I'm so close to the Bay, that when I go running, I can run through the real Fisherman's Wharf - the commercial fishing wharf behind all the tourist restaurants. I took a walk there yesterday. The sights and smells of the fishing boats and all their gear reminded me so strongly of my childhood.

The real Fisherman's Wharf

All this talk about ships may not seem particularly exciting to most of you. But I grew up in a ship-building and fishing town called South Shields (near Newcastle upon Tyne), and my family lived so close to the sea that it filled the horizon as I walked down the hill from school each day, and its roar drenched my dreams at night, when I lay in bed during the Winters.

On weekends, my Dad would get me up early out of bed. Sheba, our collie dog, would be already up, panting for our attention, and together the thee of us would walk through the empty, chilly streets, streets which echoed only to my Dad's incessant whistling, towards the sea. We'd walk for ours, along the beach, and then inland along the banks of the Tyne.

On a walk, with my Dad, 30 years ago

On a grey day, the impression you'd get looking along the river was of some enormous factory dominated by ship-building cranes. Even when I was a "wee chap", though, those cranes were rarely moving. The great Swan-Hunter's shipyard, was failing even then, presumably due to competition from foreign yards that weren't saddled with frequent crippling union actions. This shrinkage was perhaps a foreshadowing of the effects of the "global economy" we're all talking about now.

The British are a race of seafarers, unquestionably. It's no accident that our greatest national hero is Lord Nelson. You'd understand this even more clearly if you knew how popular the Shipping Forecast is on Radio Four. The forecast is broadcast in the early hours of the morning. I used to occasionally catch it myself, while lying in late at night with my "tranny" (transistor radio) glued to my ears so as not to wake my brother. A quiet, immeasurably British voice would list the conditions at a series of outlandish shipping points around the British Isles. The static on the radio would make it seem even more cold and distant, as the announcer would slowly ennunciate:

FORTH TYNE DOGGER
NORTHWESTERLY 3 OR 4 OCCASIONALLY 5 AT FIRST. SHOWERS. GOOD

The plunge into nostalgia in this journal entry was not only prompted by the ships in the Bay, but also by the stack of photos I unearthed when I was going through my old apartment throwing things out left right and center in preparation for moving.

Of course, these days the gym has become important to me, and I spend something like seven hours there a week. On a good week, that is. This was not a good week. I think it's allergies that have been making me feel so tired. At any event, I've been feeling weak all week. This coincided with Cecilia, my trainer, being away at a conference, which meant I had to motivate myself to get to the gym despite feeling so weak. I managed to put in about forty five minutes on Wednesday and Friday. For Saturday's workout, I'd arranged for a new trainer. It's a guy called Andrew who I've chatted with on and off for a year or two. He's a sexy, guy-next-door type who, I admit, I have a tiny little crush on.

It's always good to change your routine, I guess. Although Cecilia is a great trainer, you learn something new with another trainer, because every trainer has their own unique approach. So put it down to either the new approach, or to the vibe from working out with a sexy guy with a ready smile, but I had a great workout yesterday!

It was only slightly marred by the presence in the gym of my ex. I've always dreaded that he would choose to work out here, and so far, I've been lucky. But there he was for the first time. You'd think that after five years, it would be no big deal. And I wish it was like that. Yet, I just can't relax around him. I went through so much torture in that relationship (I'm not saying it was all his fault). I don't hate him any more, yet I can't be myself around him. Oh well, I'll just have to hope he doesn't work out the same hours as me.

Does anybody remember that a few weeks ago I described how there was someone at the customer's site (where I'm working right now) who seemed to be pointedly ignoring me, and I guessed that it was because he was gay. Well, I'm increasingly convinced of it, and one day, I managed to maneouver him into conversation. His eyes just lit up and I felt myself almost swooning as I realized how goodlooking he is. He has a beautiful, golden quality to his skin. On Friday he was wearing an open-necked shirt and I would have just ripped it off him - if I hadn't been a guest in this company's office, that is :) I think I'm going to ask him out for lunch. Of course, my ulterior motive is to end up in bed with him, but first things first :)