I have always done my best to help others when they are experiencing hardship; it is the mark of a civilised society, to be there for those in need. Looking at the scenes from Afghanistan over the last few weeks, has been harrowing. The frustration I feel towards The United States and Britain, in withdrawing troops from the country in such a chaotic, orderless way, is just too emotionally charged to print on here. Safe to say, I am furious and exasperated at the television broadcasts I see daily.

A few days ago, I was contacted by an Afghani, who I will refer to as Insaf, who is in a wretched situation. Having worked for the Americans, his life is now in danger, as The Taliban take over Afghanistan. Living in Kabul, he is now lying low and has asked me to pass on documentation to anyone who can help him exit the city. He has filled in the visa application required to fly to the US, but has not heard back from the immigration authorities. With the window of opportunity closing fast, it looks likely Insaf will be left behind, in a sea of anguish and desperation, like thousands of others, displaced by this dangerous withdrawal of allied troops.

Of course, as a British citizen, there is very little I can do to help, but I am trying my best. Insaf, has sent me important documents, including his National Identity Card, personal details and a 'Statement of Threat,' detailing his precarious circumstances. Reading through this document, I was terrified at what could happen to him and his family. He has had direct threats from the Taliban in person and on his phone, and has been told his life is in danger. I feel particularly helpless and just wish there was more I could do.

Whilst messaging him yesterday, I soon became aware that The Taliban were outside his house, checking his neighbourhood for anyone who had worked with or for the Americans. This poor guy was hiding from view, trying to avoid a group of people, responsible for some truly heinous acts of depravity. All I can do is chat, make sure he is OK and try to offer a semblance of calm and normality. This young man is clearly frightened and fearful, scared for his life; I can only observe from the sidelines, unaware of the dangers Insaf faces every hour. The situation in Kabul  has become increasingly desperate and deeply personal for me; this is a fight I feel involved in, and I just want to help in any way I can.

I have sent all the documentation I have to the American State Department, as well as various people here in The UK, who I believe can help. These include the Defence Secretary, Armed Forces Minister and other Members of Parliament, who can reach out and highlight his case. I have also forwarded all the information to western media outlets, inside and outside of Afghanistan, who may just be able to facilitate safe passage for Insaf and his family. I have heard back from Ben Wallace, the Defence Secretary, who has passed details of his case to the Ministry of Defence, and the hope is, he will speak to his American counterpart.

All of us at Roaming Brit want to wish Insaf well, as he navigates his journey out of Kabul. I hope he can get to safety soon, either as part of the ongoing airlift or via any of the land borders that remain open. In the meantime, I will stay in contact and continue to bring his case to the attention of the British and American Governments. People like Insaf can not be forgotten, we owe them a great deal; they must be rescued and resettled, protected from the Taliban and ensured safe passage out of Afghanistan!

I have been feeling a little under the weather over the past week. Whether because of post-operative blues or a general return to the status quo, I have felt a little sicker than usual. It would seem my IBS is returning and not all the adverse symptoms I suffered with, were because of gallbladder disease. Before the operation, I had concerns about some discomfort I was feeling under my left rib and that seems to have manifested once again, causing more distress than usual. Of course the anxiety I suffer with, doesn't help those pains, but it seems more than that. The only way I can describe it, is like having a crab attached to the side of my ribcage. It is annoying rather than extremely painful, but I am nevertheless concerned.

This gnawing pain seems to get worse throughout the day; almost non-existent in the morning, it's deeply throbbing by dusk, only relieved by sleep. I have tried stopping certain medication; increasing my Lansoprazole, used to control the production of stomach acid, as well as constantly googling symptoms, scaring myself half to death. The more I research what is going on, the worse the discomfort tends to get; it really does feel like a vicious circle.

My biggest concern is that it may have something to do with my pancreas, and naturally my mind thinks the worst. I am keeping a close eye on other indicators and despite believing they are pointing towards a worrying diagnosis, I am having to take a step back and distract myself when I can. I know health anxiety can be a real bitch when it wants, but I just need answers that I don't seem to be getting, no matter how loud I shout.

Currently, I am self-isolating for the next three days, before I have an Oesophago-gastro duodenoscopy on Friday. I have been waiting for this procedure for quite a while due to the ongoing pandemic. This morning I had to have a COVID pcr test at St Mary's Hospital in Portsmouth, in readiness for the investigations at the end of the week. I am hopeful I will begin to get some answers, about what is causing my distress, but I am also realistic. I know I have a large hiatal hernia, which could be the source of the pain, but the gnawing annoyance, could also point towards an ulcer. Whatever the prognosis, the hope is, I can finally lay this period to rest and start living life once again. If I am honest, the anxiety I feel on a daily basis is getting me down; it's finally time to get to the bottom of exactly what's going on!

A very mixed bag of views and opinions today, discussing the highs and lows of the week. For the most part I have been occupied with work, more than ever, as I get back to reality after my operation. I have also been happy to undertake some overtime, preparing for Darrell's return from Australia, a welcome piece of good news. After nearly two years apart, Darrell has booked his flight to leave Australia on 16th of September, just three weeks away now. Despite the fears we both still have about him flying during a pandemic, we are just both relieved he has set a date and is on his way home.

Darrell is luckier than most, granted permission to travel relatively quickly, but leaving Mum behind, as she continues her treatment for cancer is a wrench, hard to comprehend. He has assured the Australian government, that he will not return to the continent for at least three months. This is a difficult choice for Darrell to have to make, but given Australia's strict COVID regulations, he has no choice but to adhere to their conditions. Our hope is Mum stays well, and both of us can return to spend time with her each year. Her illness seems to be under control for now and there is a treatment plan in place to make sure she has the best care in future.

Darrell and I have discussed the future, as one would expect, but once again, due to our difficult circumstances, we are still unsure, where our heart really lies. It is hard being torn between two countries, unable to decide where to settle. We want to be around family, but the cost of staying in Portsmouth is prohibitive. The price of housing is just out of our price range, so we will have to come up with an alternative. In the interim, we would like to purchase a property up north, near to where we lived before and rent it out, while we continue to stay with family down south. In that way we would at least have a bolthole, offering us a place to escape to, should we need to relocate in the future.

Darrell has been making the most of his time left in Australia with Mum, and today they have spent time together at Caversham Wildlife Park in Western Australia. It must be so hard for Darrell having to move to the other side of the World of the World once again, leaving his family, friends, and most importantly, his Mother behind. We have really been left to the mercy of events; Coronavirus has dictated  when Darrell can and can't come home and this looks like becoming a regular feature of travel, for the foreseeable future. This isn't an ideal situation for us, just as it isn't for others, so for now we just have to comply with the law and conduct our relationship in the best way we can.

Despite being preoccupied with work and health concerns, I have been able to spend some time keeping up with events around the World. In the news this week, the allies retreat from Afghanistan. What a bloody mess we have created, leaving thousands upon thousands of people to their fate, as the Taliban take over the country.

I think I am as shocked as most people at how fast the Taliban swept through this broken state, stamping their authority over the country. As a spectator looking in, I am appalled by the way America has acted as a nation. The deadline, Joe Biden has given for palling out of the country, is 31st of August. Between now and then, the allies, that helped to build modern Afghanistan, will have to get its citizens and Afghani comrades out. These people include charity and aid workers, interpreters, officials and military personnel. Thousands of innocent people and refugees will have to be airlifted out of the region in a little over a week.

The anger and frustration I feel towards President Biden and other World leaders for washing their hands of Afghanistan and its population is immeasurable. These people gave their lives in the service of America, Britain, and others, and we have left them to die; what a disgusting way to treat them and what a terrible failure of judgement on our part.

The thousands of refugees heading towards the airport, the chaotic scenes of desperation as people beg to be put on a flight out of the country, is heartbreaking. The lives of women, children, minority groups including the LGBTQ+ community will change forever. The stoning of women, murder of gay people and assassinations of dissidents will once again become common place. Listening to these hopeless human beings speak about their fears for the future was distressing and painful, as I realised just what my Government has done to them. Western nations went into Afghanistan after 9/11 and protected them from the Taliban for twenty years. During this period they rebuilt and adopted western habits and ways, became a part of the wider World and embraced their future fully. Today, they face a desperate destiny, with many of those who helped us left behind; I shudder at what will happen to them!

It has been another soul-searching week for me, full of mixed feelings and emotions. It is lovely to have Darrell returning home after such a long time, but with my health unlike it was, I have changed dramatically since I saw him last. The pandemic has aged me out of all proportion, I have grown old beyond my years and feel every inch of my fifty years. As I view the scenes from Afghanistan, I am however reminded how lucky I am to be living in a civilised nation, with access to health care and support. This is in stark contrast to those poor people trying to escape the ravages of war in Afghanistan. Darrell and I can restart our life, these people don't have that option. The World has indeed changed and continues to evolve, beyond all comprehension, as all of us seek to find a way through the muddle and confusion, that echoes louder than ever before!

We all have those times when we are feeling low and just don't want to communicate with the World. These are the difficult periods that we would rather forget, the days we lock ourselves away from everyone and the times we can't cope any more. I am a strong advocate of solitude and spending time on my own. For me, it is a great healer and allows me a valuable breathing space. Able to finally relax, I can ponder issues and problems I have been wrestling with for some time.

As a child, I spent more time on my own than not; the truth is, I preferred my own company and my overactive imagination, that ran riot in the privacy of my own room. One has to remember, I have always written, since I was a young boy, so sitting quietly on one's own was part of the course. Whether keeping a journal or composing a short story, I was happy to remain cut off, aloof from everyone, writing my thoughts down on paper. I suppose I was one of the lucky ones, who enjoyed my own company, never getting bored and always actively writing or productively procrastinating in some form.

For a long time, I forgot how to express myself through words; after University, I became absorbed in the local gay scene and lived life to the full. I partied every night, was always out and about, visiting this person or that, and never had the time to articulate my feelings as I would have liked. There was a huge period, where I didn't document my life, as I do now, and that angers me. At a time when I should have expressed how I felt, whilst growing up gay, I was too busy getting drunk and hiding who I really was.

Coming out of one's shell and becoming the person I was meant to be, isn't necessarily a bad thing. Surrounded by like-minded individuals, who had the same outlook on life, facing the same challenges and problems, was a liberating experience. It felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and the new me was out and proud for all the World to see. However, it wasn't quite that simple. I turned into a person I didn't really recognise; the quiet, studious, methodical and yes at times melancholy teenager had turned into a full on, in your face, camp, bitchy, sarcastic 'Queen,' who only cared about himself. If I look back to my life nearly thirty years ago, this is a period of great regret; I lost touch with the person I was and the dreams and aspirations I had!

Despite the hedonistic life I was leading, I did find some time to lock myself away and reflect on the 'madness.' My concentration span was practically non-existent back then, so I couldn't have written an extensive blog of my life, like today, I just didn't have it in me. I would often write poetry, expressing how I felt. The words were often difficult to decipher, incoherent and rambling; it was clear I was suffering from depression and anxiety, despite my new-found freedoms. As I became engrossed in the scene, I became more uptight and embittered  and the frustration I felt surfaced at the most inopportune moments. Arguing more, I pushed others away, and fell out with people almost on a daily basis. I had become a nasty individual, selfish, bombastic and unrecognisable. I needed time to myself more than ever, yet never seemed to get it. Able to look back subjectively today, I am able to see just what went wrong and more importantly why.

Without those reflective periods of solitude, I changed dramatically as a person. I, no longer, had space; there was so much inner conflict between the real me and the fake, false caricature I often portrayed, that my mental health was suffering as a result. If I had taken even a brief moment to step away, I could have seen just what was going wrong, but I barely had time to think, let alone concentrate on the bigger picture. The seclusion I craved then, is no different to the 'me time' I demand now; in contrast, I have it in spades today, as much as I want. I've learnt lessons and changed as a result; I no longer ignore what my head is telling me. Blogging has allowed me to pick up where I left off and once again do what I love most.

In 2021, I spend most of my days off on my own, writing, recording and  reflecting on each week, discussing events and circumstances that have played a role over the last seven days. After surviving difficult times in my life and realising just how much time I need for myself, I have been able to work alongside my commitments and produce writing I am proud of. Presently, I write at any given opportunity, it gives me the focus I need to get through each day and reminds me to recall events that resonate with my sense of well-being. Finding an equilibrium between writing and working has been important in my quest for balance, and I like to think I have finally achieved it. Only time will tell whether it works long term, or once again I will have to rethink the direction I am travelling in, in order to navigate this crazy word successfully. Cautious optimism, a return to solitude when necessary, and the ability to say 'NO' is my key to success in an unforgiving World.

As the day Darrell returns from Australia draws ever closer, there will inevitably be more focus on family. Both of us are happy to be living in Portsmouth for the foreseeable future, so we are already working out the logistics of such a permanent move. Long term we will buy our own property, when time, finances, and circumstances allow. For now, we are both happy enough to live with my Aunt, until the time is right. 

Darrell has also discussed getting a large seven seater car and/or motorhome. This would allow both of us, to pay a bigger role in our cousin's lives. Family holidays, days out, shopping trips, all occasions where we can be there helping out whenever we can.

With our focus firmly shifting from a life in Spain, we are mindful of the challenges we face settling down here indefinitely. From the cost of living and property, to the lack of suitable housing and employment prospects, this is a path we have trodden before. We have relocated all over the World, on numerous occasions, and I think we have both realised it is time to finally put down roots and where better than with family, in the place of my birth.  The biggest hurdle is indeed the cost of housing, which is extremely expensive in this city. We are both unsure as to just how to afford somewhere suitable, but there are options, and we just have to work through the difficulties we will undoubtably encounter.

I have grown closer to my cousins over the last few years and enjoy spending time with them. As Godfather to Eli, I want to be here as he grows up. At 50 years old, I am certainly not getting any younger, so this is an opportunity to be around those closest, rather than moving abroad and not being a part of their life. This is a complicated path to navigate; Darrell and I have always been travellers and had our sights set on living abroad. However, it is time to accept what is important and where we will fit in at our time of life.

I think if you said to us, we could return to Gran Alacant tomorrow and pick up where we left off, we would both have to think twice about staying. We did have a fantastic life there, with great friends and the lifestyle we both desired, but the lack of close family always pulled at my heart strings. It was difficult being separated from our relatives, and my time spent in the UK, has just emphasised that major source of angst and disappointment.

Both of us are really travellers at heart, and we could quite easily just keep on going, advancing into the sunset. With half a century under my belt, rational thinking is required, my health isn't what it used to be, and it looks likely I will need the NHS more now than ever. Brexit has closed many doors for Darrell and I, and we would no longer have access to the health service in Spain, nor any other European nation we decided to settle in. We need to start thinking with a level head, wisely, sensibly; my pragmatic head says stay, and that is likely what we will do.
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Yesterday I went to see my Father in Titchfield; I haven't seen him for a few months now, and it is always lovely to catch up and have a chat. Since Mum passed away, several years ago, Dad has concentrated on his garden, spending all his time doing what he loves most, and you can see his efforts everywhere you look. His large garden looks fantastic, full of colour and immaculately, lovingly looked after. I am certainly not a chip off the old block and really don't know a weed from a flower, but I can tell just how much effort Dad has put into it, he really should be proud.
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After a chat in the conservatory, Dad took me to the 'Titchfield Mill,' a local restaurant, just round the corner from his bungalow. This was the first time I have been out since my operation, and I decided to go the whole hog and order all the things I haven't been able to eat for so long. A couple of pints of beer, Banoffee pie covered in fresh cream and chocolate and a main course of Boeuf Bourguignon, all things I would have avoided before my operation. To be honest, I wasn't too sure how my body would react anyway, so was rather hesitant initially. I need not have worried, I was able to digest the meal better than I would have expected. This is good news, it possibly means the IBS I have suffered with, might well be in retreat and could have just been a symptom of gallbladder disease. It is however early days and only time will tell if that's entirely true. On the negative side, I also have to keep reminding myself that this is not the start of a slippery slope, where I eat everything that's bad for me again, putting on even more weight; I have to practice restraint and be constantly mindful of my health!

​So with an emphasis on family, I look forward to welcoming Darrell home once again. I am certainly in a more positive frame of mind and things are looking up. It felt like the beginning of yet another new chapter this week, and that can only be a good thing. As the clock counts down to my husband's return, for the first time in eighteen months the pandemic isn't on my mind. It's time to look forward to the future and restart our lives once again, like we have done, so many times before!

Today has been one of those good days; the sun in shining outside and Darrell was finally given permission to leave Australia. He has been resident in Perth, WA, for the duration of the pandemic, looking after Mum, as she battles cancer. It has been nearly two years since I last saw him and both of us were apprehensive, about whether he would even be given permission to leave Australia in the first place.

I have read much about the trials and tribulations of couples, parents, and grandparents in similar positions to us, over the last eighteen months. Many families have had to observe from afar, as relatives reached important milestones in their lives, on the other side of the World or sadly passed away without those closest by their side. It has been heartbreaking to read the terrible circumstances that surround each story, making me realise the importance of family life. Today I appreciate the people I live and work with and more importantly, recognise just how divisive and wrong Australia's policy of separating families is.

Watching the news last night, I was able to see the first relatives reunited from America and Europe. As the first flights of fully vaccinated passengers arrived in the UK, there would be no need for quarantining. Similar emotional scenes were being played out across the country, as relatives hugged each other for the first time in nearly two years.

Darrell only applied for the 'Exemption to Travel' yesterday, so it was a shock for both of us, that he was given permission to leave Australia less than 24 hours later. This was the best news both of us could have expected, and he has now been given permission to relocate to the UK within the next three months. Of course, there is much to do over the next few weeks. Darrell has arranged a suitable care package for Mum and has a series of appointments to attend, ensuring she is well enough to be left. Darrell had to sign a statutory declaration, stating he will not return to Australia for at least three months. Being denied entry during this period, even if his Mother's health deteriorates, is a huge burden to carry. He will have to be sure, in his own mind, that Mum will be well looked after and medically fit, while he remains out of the country!

Despite the now favourable circumstances, we still have many hurdles to cross. Neither of us are happy that Darrell is having to fly during a pandemic, and he is taking ever precaution to ensure a safe flight home. In order to keep within the terms of his Indefinite Leave to Remain visa, he has no option but to return to the UK by November. There are very few flights leaving for Europe at the moment, consequently there is restricted choice. There will be no cheap flights to choose from, and just limited options, avoiding the worst pandemic ridden countries, travelling only through those on the green or amber lists. Even though Darrell has been double jabbed, his vaccines have not been recognised by the British Government. We hope this will change soon, and he will be allowed straight  through immigration, without the need for quarantining. It is of course important that he doesn't fly through any red list countries, and he has enough protective clothing to keep himself safe during the flight.

After nearly two years of waiting, writing to MP's, speaking to The Home Office and legal representatives, it really does feel like we are on the home straight. The worrying and stress doesn't end now, far from it, it has only just begun. So much can still go wrong; booking flights isn't easy any more, cancellations are commonplace, and prices are volatile. Knowing some people have been charged thousands of dollars to return, just makes the anxiety even worse. There is also Mum to consider; she has started a different treatment plan and stopped chemotherapy, and it looks likely she will require a biopsy at the beginning of September; providing all the results are positive, Darrell should be on his way soon after.

For now, it's a huge sigh of relief and a period of positive thinking, as we plan for Darrell's return. We both have far more support than we could have ever wished for, so with a strong network of friends and family, all being well, we should finally see each other again in just over a month. This is the start of yet another new life together, this time back home in Portsmouth. Yes, we both look forward to the challenges ahead, because you can bet your bottom dollar, there will be plenty of them, as there always have been!

So much is spoken about the lack of community spirit in 2021 and as someone born in the 1970s, I can't disagree. My experiences, growing up in the small market town of Fareham, are very different to that of children in the 2020s. For the most part, I had an idyllic childhood, despite wrestling with my sexuality. My earliest memories are overflowing with recollections of fun filled days, surrounded by friends and family, in an environment I can only dream of today.

I grew up at number 6 Nashe House, in a small suburb of Fareham, called Hill Park. My family all lived within spitting distance, just five or ten minutes away, and we were the first tenants of a new modest two-bedroom flat, one of sixteen, on a small social housing estate on the outskirts of town. Whenever I look back to my childhood, this was the period that resonates with me most. This was a happy, nurturing and cultivating time, the age before life suddenly got hard and the anxiety and stress I still suffer with set in. If the last fifty years of my life was to have a backbone, my early upbringing in Hill Park would be it. This was the best start any young boy could have in life!

As a child I knew all my neighbours, always in and out of each other's houses.  Dancing around Mia's lounge, at five years old, to the sound of classical music, in the flat above; play fighting with Lee in the front garden next door or hiding in the bushes of Mrs Pinks flat on the corner of the block. These were carefree, robust, strength building years, encompassing friends I still speak to today. I never had much as a child; hand me down clothes from extended family and presents bought from a catalogue at Christmas and paid off throughout the year. Occasionally I would get fifty pence pocket money at the end of the week and sweets from Nan on a Saturday afternoon. I did however have a wholesome, healthy, well conditioned upbringing in the safety of a community that always did their best to help!

Looking from my bedroom window, over the communal washing area and resident outbuildings, you could see the local infants school, where I started in the mid 70s. The distant murmur of children skylarking in the extensive green playing fields at lunchtime, especially during that hot summer of 1976, was a familiar sound; almost comforting in nature. Knowing that school was just around the corner, put parents minds at rest, allowing us to walk home for lunch, or freshly made sandwiches to be passed over the fence at midday. Mothers often gossiped together as they walked their brood to school, passing the time of day. Sat in their front gardens with a cup of tea in hand, while hanging out the washing or mowing the lawn, conversing with neighbours was part of the course. Fathers playing a game of football where 'No Ball Games' were allowed; familiar cries of 'dinner's ready, come inside' and all the time, doors unlocked, open to all. Inviting and welcoming, it was all part of the small neighbourhood  in which we lived, an unforgettable period of growth and curiosity.

Walking home with friends and neighbours, or waiting for Mum as she did her hours cleaning at the school, was a reminder of how lucky I was. I wasn't a 'latch key kid,' or left to fend for myself; importantly, Mother was always there. When she was at home, I could see her in the kitchen as I skipped up the meandering path towards number six, waving vigorously, beaming smile on her face. Steam would drift out of the opening at the top of the window, as Mum drained the vegetables for dinner. Once again, always ajar, I would gently push the door, running inside. Dropping my coat and bag in the hallway, darting immediately left, home cooked meals would always be on the table; piping hot, aromatic, hearty and nutritious, they always smelt great and tasted even better.

After dinner, I was allowed to play outside, just for an hour or two. Most of the children who lived in the block were of the same age and attended school together, so playing in the early evening was just part of our day. From the front garden, I would ride my bicycle up and down the pavement outside the flat, around the washing lines and down to the boundary of the school. Feeling venturous, I would often navigate the short distance to the open fields or along the side of the flats, picking blackberries from the bushes. When the street lights began to dim, you could hear Mothers and Fathers calling from the steps of their front door, all of us duly running home.

My childhood, at Nashe House, was not unlike any other of the 70s. Life was far more relaxed back then, there was less traffic on the roads and the streets felt safer. Neighbours were friendlier and happy to communicate. We were well looked after by parents, but also by the community in which we lived. I often reminisce about my early years spent in Fareham, a place I no longer know. As I get older I reflect on the most contented and optimistic days, spent with those closest at a time of innocence and simplicity. I am indeed a product of the 70s, but I am also a small town boy from Fareham, my childhood home, born at a time of upheaval, hope for the future, with my whole life ahead. Things never turned out the way I would have wished, but I have never forgotten my roots and will always be thankful for the auspicious start I had in life!