Wild about the boys.

Having found out that the illustrious wordplay artist Stephen Fry would be in town soon, I thought back to that film of his (Wilde) which I had been meaning to watch for years, and finally got around to doing so- quite happily, I might add, as it brought back many memories and dreams which I have had or held (and somehow either misplaced, or put on hold, or mis-shelved over the years), and it was like meeting an old friend (actually, two, if one were to include Mr. Fry who I have known of and admired since watching him in various skits, interviews, seeing his Jeeves and reading some of his work).  How far and away the time when in secondary school I was enraptured by the witty and clever work of Oscar Wilde, and my heart skipped a beat when I heard the lines from his "Ballad of Reading Gaol"- lines, which I had in fact read many a time, memorized, and after almost twenty years, coming back to haunt me in many ways.

For, you see, the time that I read it- that was when I was oh so very very young.

Oscar Wilde on trial, defending "the love that dare not speak its name"