THEGAYUK

Author: Thabian Sutherland

  • RESTAURANT REVIEW | Rocket Holborn

    Were there fireworks at Rocket Holborn?

    Holborn is the home to the British Museum, the ancient Guild Church and was once a haunt for Charles Dickens. Back in the early 20s Kingsway’s neoclassical and neo-Baroque streets would have shared the smoggy air with the likes of Virginia Woolf and John Maynard Keynes. Nowadays, the smart architecture of Kingsway is riddled with chain eateries, coffee shops and boozers – there’s no Great Expectations that a current-day Bloomsbury Group aren’t hangin in Holborn, or would even want A Room of One’s Own is this borough. A clear case of Macroeconomics.

    The Gay UK were invited to try the wares of Rocket’s 5th sibling and newest venture on Kingsway, Holborn, to see if their Food, is Glorious Food, with the view that we’d be asking “please sir, can we have some more”.

    We sidled up at 7pm on Friday: it was like a Bleak House that had fallen on Hard Times – empty. Kingsway’s pavements are well trampled during daylight, but it’s like the City at the weekend after dusk. A warm welcome nevertheless. We perched in the bar area and were offered pre-supper cocktails.

    On recommendation, a Summer Tonic: Martin Miller’s Cointreau, elderflower, fresh lime, grapefruit and orange juice topped with tonic. Apparently, this orangy little tinker has a trophy cabinet. The elderflower gave a good measure of tartness and a floral bouquet – it was blooming good.

    Negtroni: Beefeater, Martini Rosso, Campari, orange zest and a dash of angostura bitter. A powerful glass of resonant mouthwash, a high-end one at that – delish.

    A bowl of home-made salty popcorn was constantly replenished while we were serenaded by Boney M and the Bee Gees.

    Rocket’s décor: Eero Aarnio Abstract luminous Dogs, dark wooden walls, tables and chairs, mixed with pink and orange cushions – struggling to find an identity? The lighting was bright enough for makeup reapplication and to notice the imperfections in some of the tired furniture.

    One pre-dinner sharpener is never enough: next up, a Spiced Pear Mojito: Rebellion spiced rum, Xante pear cognac, fresh mint, lime and sugar topped with apple juice. Potent, and rampant with ripe pears – it was like Christmas compressed in a tumbler. The best Mojito ever.

    Tropical Wave: Koko Kanu, Passoâ, fresh watermelon and lemon juice, topped with pressed apple. We had a sudden desire to be horizontal and surrounded by the Indian Ocean. Fresh, and slipped down like a still bottle of San Pellegrino.

    It was as though we were dining on a well-manned ship – the timings were impeccable between courses and we needed for diddly. By now a few other diners had come aboard.

    For the starters we opted for: Panko Crumb and coconut King Prawns with warm green and yellow zucchini ribbons, red chilli and mango dressing. They looked like they’d arrived straight from Thailand, but tasted as though they were bought from Iceland. The coconut seemed to have jumped ship – bland.

    Seared beef fillet “Carpaccio” rolled in cracked black pepper and topped with dressed rocket, shaved parmesan and sun-dried tomatoes. The snappy leaves and pungent cheese elevated the tender, amply-sized cuts of moreish meat.

    To encourage metabolism we lubricated with a bottle of Campo Nuevo Tempranillo 2014. Full-bodied, sturdy structure with a raspberry perfume and a truffle tease.

    For our mains: Rocket’s famous rare beef and chip salad with rocket, green beans, red onion, radishes, crispy garlic, fried chilli, black bean dressing and ginger-mustard mayonnaise. This reads beautifully – if we’d guzzled black Sambuccas until 5am, this dish would be great to soak up the aftermath. The black bean dressing is genius, but the dish as a whole, cumbersome – slight overkill.

    For our mains: Rocket’s famous rare beef and chip salad with rocket, green beans, red onion, radishes, crispy garlic, fried chilli, black bean dressing and ginger-mustard mayonnaise. This reads beautifully – if we’d guzzled black Sambuccas until 5am, this dish would be great to soak up the aftermath. The black bean dressing is genius, but the dish as a whole, cumbersome – slight overkill.

    The Rocket Calzone, filled with chorizo, king prawns, roasted tomato, olives, red onion, jalapeños and mozzarella. A fusion of indigenous Mesoamerican and Italian cooking. Not for the faint-tongued – spicy, porky, hints of paprika – garlicky and smoky. Reminiscent of a stone bake oven.

    While we pondered over the pudding menu it was as though we’d been momentarily transported to Monaco during a sluggish Grand Prix, minus the glamour: three wheelie bins were inexplicably wheeled past our table, and we were still nowhere near the finish line.

    Puds: Affogato, Amaretto, espresso & vanilla ice cream with amaretti biscuit. The ice cream was nondescript – pleasant.

    Sticky Toffee Pudding with salted caramel ice cream: much like Channing Tatum in Magic Mike XXL – tacky, but with the right amount of sweet.

    Our digestifs: Espresso Martini’s: Thunder toffee vodka, Khalua, sugar and shot of espresso. Syrupy-coffee with an alcoholic implication – superb. Rocket’s mixologist would fit nicely at the Savoy.

    Should you risk The Voyage Out to Holborn to experience their culinary fare, you can be reassured that they’re not Scrooge when it comes to portion sizes and the service is Oom-Pah-Pah perfect. A meal for two won’t blow the purse strings, even on a Bob Cratchit wage.

     

    REVIEWED BY: Thabian Sutherland

    Rocket Holborn

    36-38 Kingsway, London, WC2B 6EY

    Tel: 0207 242 8070

    Email: holbornbookings@rocketrestaurants.co.uk

    Nearest tube: Holborn

    Star rating; ★★★ (explained)

    Price Rating: ££ (explained)

     

     

     

  • REVIEW | A Naughty Night With Noël Coward at the Old Red Lion Theatre Islington

    Absurdly polite confrontations, beastly upper-class pompousness, all served up with preposterous hilarity.

    Director Jimmy Walters, co-founder of Proud Haddock, has brought to life two works of one of the most famous actor-director-producer-playwrights, Noël Coward. You’ll feel as though you’ve been pulled back to the 1920s for 70mins with two authentic performances of Noël’s short one act plays.

    In the first – We Were Dancing – Louise (Lianne Harvey), a married woman, supposedly falls pinned-curls-over-oxford-heels in love – without so much as a first name exchange – with Karl (James Sindall), a chap she’s just met on the dance floor of a South Pacific country club. Replace the waltz with bare-chested shape-throwing and that’s just another normal night at XXL.

    Once the euphoric bubble bursts and carnal frenzy fades, what’s left? In today’s world, would they even swap digits?

    Brilliantly awkward with a good old-fashioned, British stiff-upper-lip marriage break-up, all executed with high society etiquette.

    In the second – The Better Half – Alice (Tracey Pickup) is bored, and has fallen out of love with her drippy husband David (Stephen Fawkes). Blunt Alice attempts to rile David with confessions of adultery, and tries to push him into the arms of her friend Marion (Beth Eyre) – car-key swapping partiers weren’t around back then. Drippy David accepts the affairs – in his mind, that’s the honourable thing to do – which leads to Alice’s hysterical hysteria.

    In the speakeasy golden 20s it wasn’t so easy to speak of infidelity. Nowadays it’s a lot simpler, a few words on WhatsApp or a quick Snapchat, and out the door one totters.

    Pickup really picks up Alice’s nuances and breathes life into the character – the crowd sympathised with Alice, no contest.

    By the end of the night the 20s weren’t the only thing roaring in the Old Red Lion’s intimate theatre – the humour is as fresh as the performance, and the audience found the both acts jolly agreeable.

    A Naughty Night with Noël Coward: We Were Dancing and The Better Half

    Old Red Lion Theatre, 418 St John Street, London EC1V 4NJ

    www.oldredliontheatre.co.uk

    Tuesday 4th – Saturday 29th August 2015 Tuesday to Saturday, 7.30pm

    Saturday matinees, 2pm – Sunday matinees, 3pm

  • COMMENT | The Fry That Got Away

    Stephen Fry is up there as one of my all-time favourite celebrities.

    We share the exact same view with regard to god – if there was a god how could dreadful creatures like Katie Hopkins exist? I love the fact he’s human with a colourful past. And more recently, Stephen is utterly entertaining, knowledgeable and charming on QI.

    Stephen would be my number one dinner guest if I could choose any well known figure. What I’ve read and seen on-the-box is a patient, distinguished, enchanting man. There is something quite attractive about Fry. We’re not talking physique here – but I understand how Elliot Spencer, a bright 27-year-old comedian, could fall for, in my eyes, such a charismatic and intelligent gent.

    The Big Smoke has been my home for sixteen years – I’m well versed at walking past a member of the Spice Girls, dining in the same eatery as the voice behind Murder On The Dance Floor, or having to sit by one of the dragons from Dragons Den at a friend’s birthday party. I’ve even dated a celebrity. No biggie. So-called celebrities are just successful skin-and-bone after all.

    I met a friend recently at the Royal Academy (RA) to sit in their square and enjoy some jazz from a group called Chico Chico.

    Sipsmith Summer Cup in hand, Havies tapping rhythmically to the melody, and my mince-pies catch Mr Stephen Fry promenading through the RA’s court yard.

    I follow Stephen on Twitter, I’m halfway through More Fool Me, Fry’s current autobiography, and I hardly ever miss QI. Of course, I should politely say hello and ask admiringly for a selfie – how could such an adorable man say no to a civil, dapperly-attired, young homo.

    Like this:

    Without a so much as a glimpse at his pearly-whites, “er er, no no, er”, he shook his head as he steamed into the RA.

    I was left crimson-cheeked, extremely disappointed and with a whole new impression of Mr Fry. Disrespectfully rebuffed, in front a small crowd, can make one feel like a muppet – not the look I was going for.

    A simple smile, followed by – I’m sorry I’m in a hurry – would have sufficed.

    Or, a spared 30 seconds, to please a fan who helps support the lifestyle Stephen enjoys today.

    Stephen’s auto has been tucked away in a drawer and QI hasn’t graced the wide screen since our meet. I’m still following Fry on Twitter, but the expiry date is nearing.

    Has Stephen Fry forgotten he’s part of the establishment – and his manners – or was he just having an off day? Either way, Fry has the privilege of being a role model to the gay community and to British people. Manners cost nothing – even Muppets know that.

     

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • RESTAURANT REVIEW | Metropolitan, Moreish Morsels At M Restaurant

    Hanging out with Hugos, Alistairs and Tarquins in the confines of the trader’s square mile doesn’t grab one immediately when choosing a venue for supper.

    (more…)

  • COMMENT: Come On Gays Let’s Play Nicely. Why Is Camp A Problem For Some Gay Men?

    One would automatically assume all gay men blissfully rub their pumped-up deltoids alongside other homosexuals. Coexisting side-by-side in one big pink, glittery rainbow chum-fest. That’s not completely the Louis Vuitton case. Queer men can be just as homophobic as any straight man.

    Some of them have a grievance with those disco-ball-swinging, Kylie-loving, hot-pant donners – in other words, camp men. Graham Norton and Alan Carr have been set-upon via Twitter for being part of the screaming, mincing, flamboyant-clothes-wearing brigade. The verbal attacks have mostly come from the straight-acting, masculine trying-to-conform, anti-camp homos.

    The prejudice isn’t just from nasty little quips on social media but also on gay dating sites. Some sites will specify straight-acting only, while others have profile settings you can categorise yourself as straight-acting.

    Their beef: having stereotypical homos in the limelight gives the perception that all gays are lipstick-wearing fairies.

    I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been sipping a Cinzano in a gay establishment and heard “you’d never know you were gay”.

     

    Depressingly the homosexual recipient usually takes the remark as a massive compliment.

     

    Why is camp a problem to some gay men?

    They want all the joys that come with being a c**ksucker, but without the association or identity.

    Of course not every homo loves shopping, shiny things and Cher. Gays come in all shapes and sizes, have different attributes and mannerisms and come from all walks of life. Gay dating sites never say “effeminate men only” or “no gingham shirt wearers here”.

    With such prejudice against the limp-wristed row-of-tents lot, how is this affecting young camp gay men’s ability to come out, or simply be happy with who they really are, wherever they fit on the campness scale?

    Imagine a camp teenager living outside of London – the Big Smoke isn’t immune from homophobia but is probably the most accepting city. There’s no hiding he’s gay – camp isn’t a quality you switch on or off as you see fit. Yes, it can be accentuated while hamming up an anecdote or prancing around a dance floor with ya mates – but trying to hide the fundamental you 24/7 would be a hard challenge even for the likes of Meryl Streep.

    He would no doubt have come up against plenty of homophobia. Being the Iphone, android internet crazed society we are, this teenager is quickly going to scroll across such bigotry on social media and dating sites. What he should see from other gays is acceptance. Instead he could be pushed to self-loathing and internalise homophobic thoughts – all thanks to other homosexuals.

    Ask any gay man, outside the Big Smoke there isn’t such a high tolerance to homosexuality – especially in less privileged areas. Is it any wonder young gays still find it hard to come to terms with their sexuality. According to Youth Chances (YC), an organisation that helps young lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) people: 42% of young LGBTs have sought medical help for anxiety or depression; 52% report self-harm; 44% have considered suicide.

    Overtly queer young people suffer enough abuse and bullying from ignorant others. Do we really need to add more fuel to that homophobic fire?

    With so many in today’s society being derogatory towards stereotypical screaming queens, our own kind should be more accepting.

    Whether you’re a raving homo with a penchant for Gaga, a leather-clad bear or straight-acting lumberjack – let’s drop the prejudice and raise our tolerance levels. We’ve enough battles to fight without starting on one another.

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

     

  • REVIEW: Diamond White Home Teeth Whitening Kit

    Being a black coffee drinker and red wine guzzler, one’s smile isn’t always as sparkly white as a Royal Doulton china dinner set. Over the years I’ve tried various different ways to keep my gnashers looking as close to Simon Cowell’s as possible.

    I’ve given every brand of whitening toothpaste a bash but with no noticeable results.

    For an instant result, laser whitening works. I went through this process about four years ago. The dentist covers your gums and lips to protect them. Then applies Zoom whitening gel to your fangs and sticks a laser in your gob. The Zoom whitening laser light and gel work together to penetrate the surface layers of your teeth to remove stains and discolouration, it should last a year.

    If you have sensitive teeth like I do it’s not the most comfortable way to spend 45mins. Sporadically it felt as though someone was sticking a pin into one of my teeth and piercing through to the nerve. My teeth did look about three to four shades lighter afterwards. But at £495 a pop, laser isn’t for every bank balance.

    My dentist also made moulds of my ivories to make whitening trays, so I could continue using the Zoom whitening gel and maintain my youthful smile. But the hydrogen peroxide contained in the gel gave me electric-like-shocks, even hours after using them. All for the bargain price of £250 for the trays and three syringes of gel.

    Not having used the Zoom gel for over two years, I jumped at the opportunity to test Diamond Whites (DW) home whitening kit. I was introduced to Charlotte from DW and my first question to her: ‘is the process painful?’. Charlotte assured me DW’s kit is pain-free.

    The Home Whitening Kit comes with two whitening syringes, 1 mouth tray, 1 activator spray, 1 whitening pen and toothpaste – all of which costs under £40. I was also given an LED light which are sold separately.

    The instructions tell you to keep to a white diet while you’re whitening, which I did as much as possible.

    First up on DW’s instructions: mould the mouth tray to your teeth by placing the trays in hot water for 20 seconds to soften. Then place the softened trays around your not-so-pearly-whites and bite for a further 20 secs to create a mould of your teeth. Great idea but about as effective as Labour’s last manifesto. I was left with a slight bite mark at the bottom of both trays. I used the trays my dentist made.

    Next, spray the activator spray on a dry toothbrush and brush your dentures for 30 secs.

    Step three, similarly to the Zoom, syringe about 1-2ml of the DW gel into the trays then place in your north-and-south for 20-30 mins with the LED light. The light is supposed to accelerate the whitening process. It looks and feels like you’ve an oversized dummy wedged in ya chops, but on the plus side no pain.

    After said time you remove all the mouth-clutter a brush with DW toothpaste. I put this into practice for one week. I’m not blinding people with my smile, but there is a noticeable difference. Some of that difference does seem to wear off by the end of the day. My teeth are shinier and a tad whiter.

    The Whitening Pen is for touch ups and is about as useful as the DW mouth trays.

    The moral of this story: no pain, no gain.

  • BAR REVIEW | W Hotel Bar Leicester Square Review

    ★★ | W Hotel Bar Leicester Square Review

    Waspish Welcome, What’s Wong With W?

    Before jumping Prada antiqued-calf-leather laced-derby shoes first into your eatery of choice on a Saturday night, it’s best to lift spirits with a couple of pre-supper sharpeners. Central London is chokka with slinky cocktail bars, trendy boozers and popular pop-ups. THEGAYUK’s finely-tuned ear caught wind of the W Hotel Lounge Leicester Square donkey’s ago. It was time to see what all the flap was about.

    We arrived at the entrance 8.25pm Saturday 16th May and were acknowledged by two towering, dapper burly bouncers. One-half of the brothers-grim asked if we were staying at the hotel, or there for drinks, without so much as a glimpse at his gnashers. We informed moody-chops we were planning to have a drink. We were then ordered to stand behind a roped-off area and queue. We were the only people there.

    Eventually, a guy that had to be RuPaul’s not-so-friendly brother minced towards us. His foul mood could only be explained by the fact that his dry cleaner must have shrunk the jacket he was squeezed into.

    The hotel’s door staff have mastered the art of not revealing their ivories. They’re wasted working in a hotel – they should step in where Keith Harris left off, god rest his soul.

    He scanned us with his mince-pies as if we were tinned pilchards at a Waitrose checkout, then directed us to the lifts. Entering the W hotel was about as pleasurable as spending an afternoon in Clacton.

    The lounge’s décor looks like it’s been pulled from the 70s but with a modern edge. A porn-star, low-black-leather-style sofa in a horseshoe shape swamps the main section of the room. Two large glass pillars with dancing flames, and a Tron-style, yellow-lit sunken ceiling gives the feel you’re in a Bond villain’s den.

    Hurrah, not all the employees were fit for stuffing their hand up a puppet’s arse. Our waiter beamed at us from ear to ear before taking our order.

    W’s cocktail menu has its own take on some classics, and a few signatures.

    We started with a Secret Garden and a Godfather / W Twist.

    The Secret Garden: Tanqueray, Crème de Fraise & honey syrup, fresh strawberries, lemon juice and cucumber topped with champagne. Reminiscent of a not so heavy, more sophisticated strawberry daiquiri. Pleasant.

    The Godfather / W Twist: Johnnie Walker Black Label stirred with Amaretto and Creme de Cerise, finished with fresh cherry, sprayed with Laphroaig. Over complicated. It was as though the bartender had exhaled his cigar into the glass while enthusiastically pouring in the Creme de Cerise.

    W’s website is welcoming, unlike the door staff, and encourages you to join their glamorous crowd for divine -people-watching in their lounge.

    The other punters clearly flew in from Marbella that morning or had travelled on a South West train. Manmade fibres and Burton whistle-and-flutes were much in evidence.

    Ru and another member of staff, sporting a cowboy hat and denim jacket, paraded around the lounge looking as busy as Matt Lucas’s hairdresser.

    Our second round: a Cool Britannia and W’s take on an Old Fashioned: W Fashioned.

    The Britannia: Tanqueray, cucumber, lemongrass and grapes, Pomme Vert apple liqueur, topped up with Viognier. Packing an intense apple punch to the nose and tastebuds with a cheeky zesty tickle from the lemongrass, with lush aromatic notes produced from the Viognier. Winner.

    W Fashioned: Zacapa 23yr Antica Formula infused with pomegranate, cherry sugar and a slash of chocolate bitters. This is a prime example of: if it’s not broken… It was like sucking on a boiled-cherry sweet soaked in whisky.

    The bill came to £57.60 including service charge.

    Our visit was much like Taylor Swift’s performance at this year Brits. But at least we’ve found a new home for Orville.

    REVIEWED BY: Thabian Sutherland
    ADDRESS: W London Leicester Square, 10 Wardour Street, London W1D 6QF
    WEBSITE: http://www.wlondon.co.uk
    Phone: 020 7758 1000
    STAR RATING: ★★ (explained)
    PRICE: ££££ (explained)
    TIPPING POLICY: Service charge

  • RESTAURANT REVIEW | Ember Yard Soho

    Ember Yard Soho is Timeout’s number two destination restaurant at the moment. Chiltern Firehouse is their top-of-the-pops. Leaving the reservation arrangements to the last minute meant THEGAYUK had more chance of interviewing Banksy than securing a table a Chiltern. Ember Yard could squeeze, literally, a table for two in at 9.45pm. Leaving plenty of time for pre-dinner sharpeners.

    A busy gentleman greeted us with beaming pearly whites and led us to the table. It’s a good job neither party was of a large persuasion. We were wedged into a corner table, thus making lav trips a bit like putting ya fave skinnies on after they’ve been washed.

    Our waitress Gabriella appeared at all the appropriate moments, guided us through the menu and suggested all our tapas. Gabriella had an air of landlady about her, she was natural and knowledgeable.

    The venue has a cosy, contemporary loft-apartment feel with dark wooden floors, pillars, beams and grey walls. There’s a mixture of seating, from high stalls and counters to tables, chairs and banquettes. All warmly lit by bulbous exposed light bulbs dangling from pipes on the ceiling.

    The place was full of diners that could no doubt walk, or jump in a rickshaw home.

    We went straight in with vino and opted for the Mas Macia Blanc Catalunya 2014. One word in the description pulled us towards this minerally, ripe-apple-enriched number: honeyed. We should have been shooing bees away once the cork was popped.

    Ember’s cuisine is inspired by Spanish and Italian chargrill methods of cooking. The menu is broken up into bar snacks, tapas and a couple of larger dishes to share.

    Each plate arrived as soon as it was ready.

    First up, burrata with chargrilled ciabatta, heritage tomatoes and wild garlic pesto. Gabriella’s favourite. It was like cutting into a chocolate fondant with a melted centre. The mozzarella outer layer hides a buttery smooth core. A great balance of crunch and creaminess all elevated by a right hook from the pesto.

    Next to appear, applewood-smoked bream carpaccio with pomegranate, coriander and bottarga. The sea bream was slightly overpowered by the salty fish roe and coriander. Zesty, delicate and enjoyable.

    To follow, courgette flower stuffed with goat’s cheese and drizzled with honey. If you’re going to clog your arteries with fried food this is the way to do it. The strong flavour from the cheese lifts the courgette while the honey brings a floral element to the dish. The three amalgamate like a pair of Grenson brogues, a crisp-white Burberry shirt and slim-fit Nudie indigo jeans.

    And then, roasted and chargrilled Ibérico pork ribs with quince glaze and celeriac purée. Once we’d tackled the charcoal, fig-like-flavoured crispy shell the meat slid off of the bone. The textures worked. TGI’s should come and take notes.

    The last dish, smoked and grilled beef burger with pickled courgette, chilli jam and scamorza. Perfectly formed. The chilli jam, or chelly, left a sweet but fiery undertone.

    If you need an excuse not to don ya frilly apron and turn the oven on, Ember’s burrata will suffice. We ordered a second.

    Pud came in liquid form.

    One glass of Finca Antigua Moscatel. The first sip unravels a silky layer over the tongue, followed by a sweet frill.

    And a glass of Lazio Shiraz. A peppery and berry perfumed little tinker. Reminiscent of those cherry-liqueured chocolates you get from M&S at Christmas. But much more palatable.

    The bill was a reasonable £106.16. Chiltern Smiltern. We still had enough in the kitty to swing around a pole at The Village, hit the Shadow Lounge and spill into an Uber home.

    Reviewed by Thabian Sutherland
    Ember Yard
    60 Berwick Street
    London
    W1F 8SU
    Tel: 0207 439 8057
    info@emberyard.co.uk
    http://emberyard.co.uk
    STAR RATING: ★★★★ (explained)
    PRICE: £££ (explained)

  • COMMENT | Pinks For The Blues Or Reds?

    There are only two real players that could be Top-of-the-Pops in this years General Election come May 7th. Let’s not beat around the Mulberry, burnt orange soft grain leather weekend bag, Ed Miliband or David Cameron will be residing at number ten whatever the result.

    The chart-topper will probably have to share a piece of the action with a lesser party, embarking on yet another coalition. Either way, Ed or David will hold the majority of clout.

    The UK would obviously be a more harmonious, Telly-Tubby-like place to live if the Green Party were elected. Everyone would do away with cars and annual travel cards and walk, cycle or skip to work come blustery showers and cheek-freezing winters. Plus we’d purr like kittens in our boudoirs at night, safe in the knowledge if we were threatened by a nuclear attack the country could do sod all in defence. Not practical, unless the Greens send the other countries with nukes seductive sonnets, on recycled paper of course, convincing them to disarm their missiles as well.

    Nigel Farage – what a guy. Spitting Image would have gone to town, three major cities and punched not only the air but a couple of Boeing 747s to make a latex puppet of him. Although, he’s doing the muppet thing quite well on his own. This is the chap, back in December last year, that defended comments made by former UKIP activist Kerry Smith. Kerry called gay party members “disgusting poofters”.

    Nick Clegg should be aware that liberal, open-minded and generous-hearted Carol Vorderman was out the Countdown door when her time was up.

    Attitude Magazine’s May issue asked Farage, “Where do you think we should be turning our attention next in terms of LGBT rights?”. Nigel poetically answered: “Is there anything? You tell me”. Clearly Farage, and matters relating to the LGBT community spend as much time together as Sam-Cam and Justine Thornton (Miliband’s trouble-and-strife).

    So, is it the Reds or the Blues who will win the pink votes?

    The Same-Sex-Marriage Act was passed during the Conservatives reign. But the Blues didn’t give same-sex couples the same inheritance and pension rights as heterosexual couples.

    The gay marriage act didn’t stand a hope in Heaven without the Liberal Democrats help, or Labour MPs like Ray Collins and Waheed Ali. They propelled the Same-Sex-Marriage Act through the House of Lords. 128 Tory MPs voted against gay wedlock, only 117 voted for rainbow confetti affairs.

    David Cameron gives the perception he’d be happy to hang out with lesbians and have a cheeky wiggle down at XXL. The Cams would no doubt be scintillating company on your table at a homo wedding – they’ve probably been to loads. Is it a case of wolf in wool tailor-made suit worth £3500? How genuine are the Conservatives as a whole for gay rights?

    The Reds passed the Civil Partnership Bill and scrapped Section 28, and in doing so equalised the age of consent, fertility treatments, adoption rights and allowed gays in the armed services to come out.

    Let’s not brush under the silk Isfahan rug that Cameron voted against the annulment of Section 28 in 2003. Furthermore, the Tories were the only major party in the last game of ‘I Want To Be Prime Minister’ with the same amount of gay policies as UKIP in this year’s election. Zero.

    Ed Miliband told Attitude, “I’m determined to be a warrior against injustice and for great equality”. Ed just might be able to pull-off chest armour, a leather skirt and a plumed helmet. Labour hasn’t had the reluctance over the year for flying the rainbow flag like the blues.

    Michael Cashman has been appointed the rainbow superhero on LGBT issues worldwide for Labour. Where’s the Tories’ pink MP?

    Who’s most likely to support gay Soho, fight for equality around the globe and perhaps lower the cost of Hermès? One of these parliamentary-plonkers will be chief. I’m voting for the reds in my constituency.
    Advert

    Vote clever team.

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • ART REVIEW: Alexander McQueen God Of The Runway: Savage Beauty

    When the retrospective work of British fashion designer Alexander McQueen was exhibited at Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 2011, tickets moved quicker than Naomi Campbell’s mobile during a hissy-fit.

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  • REVIEW | Simon Amstell Takes The P

    If you’ve a penchant for vulnerable, neurotic funny men – Simon Amstell’s current standup tour ‘to be free’ should be on your to-do list. You hardcore Beliebers out there might take offence by Simon implying he wants to make Justin cry by penetrating his bottom. Mr Amstell did harp on about his new-ish boyf so of course, he’s only kidding

    Simon’s tour pitched up in Bath last Friday (13th March). The City of Bath perfectly characterises Englishness, much like Simon Amstell’s awkward and clumsy persona. Bath’s Komedia is caked in the traditional theatre covings and mouldings. It’s intimate and foolproof venue for a standup with a nervous disposition.

    A dorky Norwegian chap called Daniel Simonsen kick started the diaphragm contractions and respiratory howls. Daniel belittles himself and frets his way through observational comedy poker-faced with a Norwegian accent. It works.

    The same sharp wit as Never Mind the Buzzcocks and self-deprecated style as Grandma’s House is rife throughout Mr Amstell’s performance. He’s like watching a humorous, nervy overgrown-chihuahua with a tight perm.

    The timid pooch eased into the act nervously laughing at his own jokes. Closely followed by roars from the audience. The art of timing is apparent unlike Elton brandishing a Dolce and Gabbana shopping bag in LA. The crowd’s laughter-pipes were put through a gruelling workout.

    Amstell twitched through an array of subjects – love, sex, anguish. One of the best lines of the night, “If I was autistic I could lick the world”. Controversy and Amstell go together like Romans and hot-tubs.

    The quips trickled from him seamlessly apart from when a member of the audience needed a tinkle. They then became his prey. Funny at first, but painful after the fifth attack.

    On stage Amstell looks uncomfortable in his own flesh, he relentlessly fiddled with his granddad-shirt and elasticated trousers. His anxious high-pitched guffaws are adorable tho. Perhaps all these are the traits of a teetotal comedian.

    You can’t help but love this eccentric word-wizard. You’ll no doubt be posting your application for the Simon Amstell fan club special delivery after seeing the show.

    Four stars for Simon.

    You can still catch ‘to be free’ 28th June Regents Park Open Air Theatre – tickets on sale now.