THEGAYUK

Category: Column

  • COMMENT | I’ve swung… From Conservatives to Labour

    Election 2017 – Good Luck… and Don’t F**k It Up

    This is the biggest election of my generation. We’ve heard this a lot and it’s mostly been attached to the Brexit negotiations coming up but that isn’t the only reason. Truth is, the country has never been more divided than ever.

    In the last election, much the chagrin of my friends, I voted Conservative. I had read every manifesto and watched every interview and debate. Far from feeling “Con-Demed” by the coalition, I was impressed with the Conservatives’ move to the middle. I am a young professional, not earning a massive amount and still renting without hope of getting on the property latter any time soon. It felt like Ed Miliband’s focus was only on those in poverty. It seems selfish, written down but that’s how I voted; on what party I felt would help me but also help the country. I voted believing the Conservatives would represent everybody.

    What ensued was austerity and deep cuts. These cuts have left open wounds for our country that continue to bleed. The Conservative plan to invest in the NHS at the rate of inflation, allowing the NHS to find its own cuts elsewhere, turned out a disaster. The mere £8 billion investment had not been and still hasn’t been enough to keep up with growing demand with the Guardian reporting in March that “the number of patients not receiving treatment within 18 weeks of referral has gone up by 100,000 since January 2016” leading to the NHS scrapping the 18 week target for 92% of all patients in England “who are waiting for a hip or knee replacement, cataract removal, hernia repair or other non-urgent operation.”

    Then there’s the cruelty of Conservative welfare reform. After the May 2015 election, Iain Duncan Smith told a victorious Conservative Party Conference it was time to end the “something for nothing culture” they blamed on Labour. The result? People have died whilst on sanction and 52% of appeals by people who have been declared “fit to work” and had benefits slashed have been approved, proving the unfairness of the system. Now, sanctions were prevalent before the 2015 election and I could be fairly accused of ignorance on the matter but now my eyes are wide open. Let’s not also forget that, due to inflation and poor wage growth, the cost of living has increased leaving us shorter each month. I do not believe that being on benefits should be a way of life. I agree that a Labour Government allowed not working to pay more than working but what we have now is a system that treats all claimant as second-class citizens and, in addition, allows them to go hungry. The Trussell Trust’s recent end of year report was damning “Between 1st April 2016 and 31st March 2017, The Trussell Trust’s Foodbank Network provided 1,182,954 three day emergency food supplies to people in crisis compared to 1,109,309 in 2015-16. Of this number, 436,938 went to children.”

    If the NHS and the Welfare State don’t bother you, just look at the manifestos when it comes to equal/LGBT rights. Labour has an entire section dedicated to LGBT equality. The Conservative Manifesto doesn’t mention it once yet Theresa May felt it important to acknowledge her support of Fox Hunting. Whilst LGBT rights and influence has improved, no thanks to the Prime Minister’s poor voting record, we still have a long, long way to go. The Home Office reported in January of this year that there are 20 reported homophobic hate crimes a day in England and Wales. That’s only the ones that are reported. Yet the Conservatives feel no need to pledge support?

    I could go on and on about failings of our current Government and I am sure you’re saying “but what about Labour?!” The UK political system is sometimes frustrating. We are, realistically, a 2-party nation. I do not, in any way, agree with everything Corbyn believes. His party’s policies, in places, are much too liberal. His lack of charisma frustrating. And trust me, anyone like Diane Abbott (or, indeed, Diane herself if she returns from her period of ill health) as Home Secretary will be devastating to our international reputation. But I believe a Conservative Government will be more damaging. We cannot go on as we are with a Government whose focus is on the people who need them the least, at the expense of those who need them the most.

    Every election I have ever voted in, who/whatever I’ve voted for has won. I back winners because I back what I believe the country I dearly love needs. This Thursday, I back Labour.

    If you don’t agree with me, that’s fine. In this trying times, it is important to show the strength of our democracy. But there is no doubt that this election could be transformative no matter which Party you support. So please get out there, come rain or shine, and vote.

     

    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.

     

  • THE UNDATEABLE GAY | On a detox

    COLUMN | The Undateable Gay

    Now, I’m not talking a man/dating detox. Oh god, no. I couldn’t do that. It’d be like depriving Dot Cotton of her cigarettes. No, I’m talking a lifestyle detox.

    When I stepped on the scales the other morning, they spoke to me, “one at a time please!” For any of you less intellectually-minded people out there, the scales didn’t actually talk. But you get the idea. I’m carrying quite a bit more weight around with me than a few months ago.

    So I decided it was time to take action before I become any more undateable than I already appear to be. My lifestyle detox consists of making sure I get eight hours sleep a night, protein shakes, a healthy meal a day, no alcohol (God help me) and definitely no cakes or crap! Wish me luck.

    DAY ONE: I strongly advise anyone partaking in a protein shake diet to carry a packet of extra strong mints with you at all times. Oh my god. The breath. I could have woken the dead with my breath today. The hardest part of my day was on my way home from work. I was filled with sheer excitement at the prospect of a glass of wine and Holby City. And then the reality of my detox hit me like a double decker bus. No wine! I could have cried. So, I got into bed with the hump. Oh well, at least that’s my eight hours sorted.

    DAY TWO: I decided I should go for a little swim today. I thought perving on the men in speedos might cheer me up and take my mind off my wine withdrawal. My god, I went dizzier than a fat chav whose been plonked smack bang in the middle of a circular McDonald’s. Note to self; avoid exercise until the lifestyle detox is over.

    DAY THREE: I feel an over share coming on. My stomach is more blown up than a balloon arch. I am more constipated than a person whose taken an overdose of Imodium. But on the plus side, I have been waking up with a much clearer head. It must be the enormous amount of sleep I’m getting and the lack of wine consumption.

    DAY FOUR: It’s only been three days I know but this morning, I decided to weigh myself. I was feeling that I surely must have shed a few pounds. As I stepped on, the scales told me I was exactly the same weight. Not a single bloody ounce had shed from my body. Oh well, I guess it was a bit soon to be expecting any weight loss. But it didn’t stop me wanting to lob the scales out of the bathroom window. Not that I’m an aggressive gay, you understand.

    DAY FIVE: I kid you not, I am actually feeling so much purer inside. (My body, not my mind.) I doubt that’ll ever be pure. Especially after my visit to the sauna. But I feel I may need some anger management sessions soon. You see, Saturday’s are normally my cake and wine day. (Well, that has actually been most days recently but Saturday’s especially.) so there I was getting really excited about the Belgian bun and bottle of Sauvignon I was going to consume when it hit me. Like a ruddy great lightning bolt. I’m on a detox.

    DAY SIX: After an awfully stressful day at work, I made a conscious decision. I need a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. No, not a glass. A whole bottle. So I popped into my little Tesco Express and picked up a bottle. I lashed myself on my faux leather sofa, put on my Prisoner: Cell Block H DVD (so gay, I know) and drank the whole bottle. I’m clearly as successful with detoxing and as I am dating.

     

    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.

  • COLUMN | Why a transgender woman wants to be MP

    Why the time is right for me to stand for parliament.

    Sophie Cook and labour supporters

    In the 1980s at the height of the Cold War, I was stationed in West Germany with an RAF Tornado squadron.

    Suffering from Post Traumatic Stress having saved the life of a colleague following an explosion, I was filled with an acute sense of injustice at the way the world operated.

    This was Thatcher’s Britain, the miner’s strike, rioting on the streets, section 28 and a war in Northern Ireland.

    I would lose myself in political books trying to discover a more caring model of society, one in which people were treated with respect no matter who they were.

    I already knew that I was transgender, even if I didn’t have a name for it at that point. I know that there was something about my identity that just didn’t feel right.

    The mental anguish of my gender dysphoria coupled with the post-traumatic stress led to depression, and then self-harming and suicide attempts.

    As I became more aware of what my trans identity meant I realised that any political ambitions that I might have had, were out of the question, with politicians being outed for their sexuality what chance did a bisexual transgender person have.

    Even when I came out in 2015 I was still terrified that by being true to myself that I would lose everything, my career in football, my family and most of all, my children.

    By being true to myself I’ve lost a lot, my entire family turned their backs on me at the very moment that I needed them most, but my children have been amazing and I regularly see my two youngest kids.

    When I came out I faced a choice, to either hide or to stand up and try to make a difference.

    I began speaking about my journey and very soon found myself speaking at venues like Wembley Stadium and the TUC.

    My story moved people, not because it was unusual but because it included universal messages of fear, loss and redemption.

    I was offered a job in television and I saw this as an opportunity to continue the work that I’d done years before with my newspaper, to educate and inspire people to change the world around them.

    In 2016 I was approached to stand for local political office but was barred from this opportunity unless I gave up the TV work and so, reluctantly, I had to decline.

    And then Theresa May called a snap general election, the plans that I’d had to potentially stand in 2020 were thrown into overdrive and I declared an interest in becoming a candidate.

    The country needs a change, years of austerity have left whole communities desperate and lost.

    I’ve been out on the streets of Brighton, speaking to voters and they feel isolated and unrepresented by the Tory government.

    The reception to me, as a trans woman, has been positive with many declaring that it’s time for greater diversity in parliament.

    The time is right, the time is now and we must all work together to achieve a more caring, more diverse society where everyone can live free from fear and where no one suffers from prejudice regardless of their gender, sexuality, gender identity, race, religion, disability or wealth.

    And that is why I am standing to be a Labour Party candidate.

     

    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.

  • Dear Unloved Me … What Advice Would You Give The Pre-First-Love You?

    If you could go back before you fell in love for the first time, what would you tell yourself?

    Dear Unloved Me,

    This is a difficult one to cover. Ideally, I want to reveal what I wish I’d known before I fell in love for the very first time. I guess if that love had have lasted this wouldn’t be difficult to write at all. We’ve all heard it before; it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. You might not believe this yet, but it is true – well kind of, at least.

    You’re going to learn a lot from that first love, kiddo. First of all, you’re going to realise quite suddenly how quickly you can fall, and it’s a hard fall. (The landing isn’t what we’re concentrating on here – that’s a letter all of its own, unfortunately.) But the fall, oh the fall, it’s terrifying and exciting all at once. Prepare yourself to feel an entire rollercoaster of emotions on an almost daily basis.

    This love itself isn’t going to start in the traditional fairy tale manner you’re expecting, so there will be little warning before it hits you like a wall. Really, my only advice for you while you’re at this stage, is to enjoy it. Go with the flow and roll with the punches. It’s the first time so it’s not going to be the smoothest for you, but that’s okay because you’re learning.

    Another thing you’ll learn over time is that the amount of love you give out isn’t always the same as the amount you receive back. It’s not got its own patented return system, sadly. This is made all the worse due to the amount of time you considered yourself unworthy of love. It was a ridiculous belief – of course – but it still plagued you for a solid twenty years of your life, so you’re going to have to expect some repercussions from that. You’re going to lose it a little bit, terrified that if you don’t convince someone you love them just enough they’ll turn and leave with no warning.

    Because of this, you’re also going to lose a little self-worth. Far too quickly your own happiness will rely on the actions of another. Here’s some advice on that matter – and I mean this with the most sincerity – stop. You can’t place all of your chips on one bet – well you can, but it’s a foolish decision with so many variables. What I mean is that it’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair to him to expect him alone to make you happy. You can’t fall for someone and live as though they’re the only thing in the world – or even the only thing in your world – that really matters. Don’t lose yourself for someone else, because that isn’t love at all. Love would never require you to do such a thing – it makes you more of a person, not less.

    You’ve spent a solid chunk of your life watching romantic comedies that have convinced you that a mid-story struggle is to be expected. This is the part where you have to prove your love with a ten-minute monologue, a bare-knuckle fight, or perhaps a church hall dance off. In your own version of events, this is going to be a prolonged up and down of emotions, a hell of a lot of radio silence, and a handful of broken promises. It’s not romantic. It’s not sweet. It’s not fair. Erase these movie scenes from your mind, and ignore every Taylor Swift lyric that works to convince you that anything worthwhile is worth a fight. While my advice for the first stage of this love was to go with the flow, this is where you really need to wake up and pay attention.

    This love is going to royally throw you in the deep end. As I mentioned, you’ll fall fast and hard, and hopefully, that will never be a part of how you love that changes. It’s the middle and the end of this love that you really have to learn from. Giving someone your everything doesn’t guarantee that you’ll receive this back. You don’t have to fight to feel worthy of someone’s love. And perhaps most importantly, a love should never destroy you more than it can rebuild you.

    Don’t lose yourself in love – not in this one, or any other – so much that you’ll struggle to find yourself again. It’s an interesting one that’s coming up, so enjoy the ride for as long as you can, but make sure you know when to get off.

    Kind Regards,

    The Loved, Unloved, and Loved Again You

     

    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.

  • THE UNDATEABLE GAY | Can you find love in a gay sauna?

    SPA a thought for me…

    As my quest for Mr right continues, I’m keeping an open mind when it comes to ways of discovering just where the bloody hell he is. Because right now, he is completely UTL. Does Mr right even exist? Is there really such a thing? Bugger me, I’m procrastinating and counselling myself as I write this column.

    CREDIT: © Artmim Depositphotos

    So, as I sip on an ice cold glass of Sauvignon in an empty gay pub in the heart of Uxbridge, (no wonder it’s empty, it’s Uxbridge!) I overhear some rather slutty looking queens talking about a sauna in Soho. And they say it’s such a great place to meet men. My ears prick up like a cat’s tail when they’re after a mouse.

    Wonderful, I think to myself, that’s where I can meet the man of my dreams, m Mr right, the man I’m meant to share my living days with; in a sauna.

    As I walk into the entrance of this sauna, I find it’s very dark. Cor, my old apple pies ain’t the best in daylight, let alone in this dimly lit setting.

    Luckily I’ve got my contact lenses in so it’s only the darkness I have to contend with. I’m so excited for my sauna experience. I think to myself, even if I don’t meet a man, it’s still going to be a relaxing and rejuvenating evening.

    I enter the locker rooms and see men walking around in their birthday suits. I go into a sheer panic.

    I don’t think I can walk around in mine. I grab a rescue remedy pastille from my Superdry bag and suck on it. I need it to calm my nerves. I’ve always got pills in my bag for any eventuality. My friends call me a walking pharmacy. If you’ve got the sh*ts, a bad head, feeling sick or you just need a vitamin boost, I’ve got the solution.

    After sucking on my pastille for a few moments and giving myself a good old slap round my Botox-ed boat race, I decide that I’m a young, attractive gay boy and I can walk around naked! And I thank god I stuck to my New Year’s resolution of swimming. I’ve got biceps that would make Tom Daley swoon. So I whip off my clothes and open the door.

    Once in the sauna, I see a man’s genitalia, practically starring me in the eye. He is naked with a boner, in this sauna. What a saucy minx, I think.

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    We are practically eye to eye and I’m talking the eye on my face and his special downstairs eye. Cor, I bet that hurts, I find myself thinking. He winks at me. With the eye on his face, I’d just like to point out. I shyly say hello. He just shakes his head to the left and walks off into a locker. Well, it looks like a locker. It’s got a black bench in it that looks like a bed.

    Maybe he’s feeling sleepy. F*cking rude, though, I think. What was the point of winking at me? And then just walking off. I shouldn’t be too judgemental, though, maybe he’s got a nervous twitch.

    I decide that I should find the jacuzzi. Oh yes, that’d be bloody lovely. A warm bubbly bath to soothe my achy muscles after a 70 length breaststroke marathon in the pool. I see two old men sitting in the jacuzzi, I mean they must be at least 75. I see a walking stick hanging from one of the hooks. Bless them, I find myself thinking. At least they still get out the house and look after themselves. I smile at them as I get in, which as you will discover, was my downfall.

    As I sit my naked body down in the jacuzzi, the two geriatrics grin at me with their false gnashers. I mean, I don’t know that they’ve got false ones, I’m just being ageist. I lay back and close my eyes, enjoying the bubbles fizzing around me. Cor, I suddenly feel bubbles bubbling quite ferociously around my man bits. As I start to feel slightly aroused from jacuzzi fizz, I put my hand down to check it’s not being fizzed away from my pubic bone. And my lord, I get a shock.

    My hand bumps into another hand and as I look up, I see the geriatric grinning at me, a full display of false Steradent cleaned gnashers glistening in my apple pies. At least his false teeth aren’t stained, I think to myself. So it could be worse.

    He has got his bloody hand on my penis. The dirty old perve. I’m old enough to be his great grandson. I protest and start to pull away but he grabs my leg and pulls me towards him. Cor, he’s strong for an old bugger.

    “Now, I’m not really interested!” I start to protest.
    “Oh come on! Make an old man happy!” He seedily says.
    “No, I will not!”

    Well, as I went to get up from the jacuzzi, he pulled me towards him so fast that I slip off the seat, screaming as I go and my head slips under the water. And I can still feel the bloody old bugger’s hand on my manhood. But right now, I’m more annoyed that my whole head and hair are under the water and wet. I finally manage to pull myself from his grip and I storm out the jacuzzi. And out of the sauna. I don’t think this is the right place to look for love…

     

    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.

  • Five totally rubbish ways to end things with your boyfriend

    Exit Strategies (…or rubbish my ex-partners have told me)

    Extricating yourself from a relationship isn’t easy. We’ve all been there; watching a once-promising union limping sadly towards the end, trying to fan the fire of a lukewarm love life or just living through that daily battle of trying not to slip a pinch of Arsenic into his latte. I’ve been through a few relationship breakdowns and my behaviour can be charted somewhere on a continuum that ranges from psychopathic maniac to saintly martyr. One thing I wish though is that my ex-partners had sometimes been more truthful.

    Here are my top 5 pieces of crap which have been uttered to me over the past 20 years:

    1) It’s not you, it’s me: This one is a total classic and is invariably nonsense. Of course, it was me too. I made that remark about your mother, didn’t put out as often as you wanted and was often snippy and critical. Yes, you were pretty dire at times and those nasty clothes and the penchant for 80s soft rock was hard to tolerate but let’s be honest. We both played a part in causing this once quite promising future to turn post-apocalyptic.

    2) I need to find myself: Seriously? How careless to mislay something so important. In my experience, this one always means ‘I need to spend time on Grindr and see what I can find within a 3-mile radius that is willing to take his pants down and lube up for me.”

    3) I want an open relationship: See above. This is also often the cowardly way of saying: “I want an affair or ten and you to stay at home, ask no questions but remain totally faithful to me. If you so much as brush up against another man on the tube I’ll get all psycho on you but please don’t complain when I bring home pubic lice and my phone buzzes with texts from morning till night.”

    4) I’m not sure that I’m really gay: This one was uttered by a very plausible and slightly mixed up man and got my sympathy (albeit in a puzzled way). I felt sorry for his messed up emotions. This sympathy lasted until I spotted his new Gaydar profile two weeks later in which he was seeking: ‘Young good looking versatile men who want to be pounded and give some cock back”. That’s not normally the request of someone who is feeling all hetero all of a sudden. Don’t they like fishing, football and tits? I’m not sure they’re always so keen on hard anal with another man. That desire implies leanings, to me.

    5) I love you but you’re impossible to be around: If you love someone then surely being around him or her is easy or something you’ll work to be able to do. You love them and that involves you wanting to be with them however difficult they can be. This actually translates as: “I’ve finally woken up to what a nightmare you can be and realised we’re not compatible. Don’t feel bad but I now regard you in the same light as an episode of Friends. It was once endearing, funny and I kind of liked it but now it makes me wince and wonder what the hell I was thinking.”

    I accept that honesty isn’t always good. We all need some sugaring of the pills from time to time but there’s dishonesty and there’s downright ridiculousness. Sometimes a pinch of honesty peppered with a smidgeon of tact is really the best policy of all.

    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.

  • JOURNEY TO FATHERHOOD 6: Back on the straight and narrow road to fatherhood

    My hiatus is over and having wondered into the foothills near the road to becoming a father, I have now returned to the straight and narrow. Recently three things have happened which have had a profound effect on my journey to becoming a father:

    It has now been 13 months since the last embryo transfer with my (now ex-) surrogate failed. I am pleased to be able to report that finally, I have a new surrogate, the paperwork is signed, and we will try for an embryo transfer in March 2017. If successful, it will have been 25 months since I signed the original surrogacy paperwork.

    Secondly, not one but two of my close friends have died, literally a week apart. I went to the first funeral a week ago and will attend the second funeral in two weeks’ time. In my third column, I spoke about the reaction by close family and friends. Well, one of the friends who has now died, was one of the original three who was virulently against my becoming a father. I hadn’t spoken to him for just over a year because of this. I was hoping to re-ignite our friendship (17 years to that time) once a baby was born. I can’t tell you how sad I was and how regretful I am that I had not had the opportunity to make up with him before he died. I sit here now as I write with a heavy heart.

    To balance this, the other friend who has died was very much for me becoming a father. He had a large party when he knew he had a week or two to live, there were over 50 people and it meant that I saw him five days before he died. Again, our friendship had lasted 15 years and I was able to say thank you for the loyalty and happiness that he had brought to my life.

    Following these two deaths, I’ve recently been reflecting on what’s important to me and what sort of person I am. Without the news of the new surrogate signing contracts, I had become very depressed. I still have a good job, a now older BMW, and live in a new house which I have bought (still dreaming of two children). But, my friends’ deaths really made me reflect on what I think is important in life, which remains: family and friends, the people that we surround ourselves with. For me, this continues to justify my reasoning for starting a family.

    Speaking of family and friends, my third profound effect is that having spent Sunday afternoon walking with my mother, as we got to the car, she said to me “and now if you can provide me with a grandson, I will be very happy”. Back in column three, I wrote how my mother reacted one afternoon and ever since it’s been a tricky balancing act to keep mum onside. Gone are the hysterics management and my mother has taken time, but now seems to be coming around to the idea of me having a child. I am very thankful for this.

    I certainly feel that I am ‘paying my dues’. I have kept hold of my job in some tricky situations, started to build a home ready for a child, and am now making financial sacrifices as I start to save £1000 a month, in order to meet the increased costs of the new surrogate. For example, this year I will be 40. When I was 35 I rented a house in Torre Del Lago in Italy and for two weeks friends flew in and out. On my 35th birthday, we ate by the lakeside, followed by open-air opera. Saving a £1000 a month means that I won’t be hiring a house in Italy this year. Instead, I am now on the path laid out by my life coach, £1000 a month for the next year covering surrogacy costs and once a child is born, child care for three or four years.

    I look forward with hope to sharing with you the success of an embryo transfer at the start of April 2017.

     

  • COLUMN | Okay, basically I want a VW Beetle

    COLUMN | Okay, basically I want a VW Beetle

    Everywhere around Bird towers, you will spot something relating to Volkswagen.

    More-so relating to the old school ways of the Beetle and bus. Most things during my school days related to the little VW even down to my GCSE art project. Outside of school I could always be found with my head in a VW book or making models of Beetles. I even made a radio controlled Beetle similar to the one Barbra Streisand was in from the film What’s Up Doc? I suppose it isn’t surprising then that there is a 70’s camper van in the garage and a Mk2 Golf on the driveway.

    Indoors, I am strict and have nothing car related in the lounge or my bedroom. A petrol head needs a place or two to get away from the motor vehicle. That said, the man lab has plenty of Beetle based memorabilia on the shelves and there is even an engine deck lid stuck to the shed disguising the pots my creepers grow from. There is also a Beetle bonnet behind the garage that I’ll make into something for the garden.

    So it might come as a surprise to you that I find the Beetle an absolutely awful car.

    Anyone who has owned one will be getting ready to scratch my eyes out with that above statement but I stand by it. Anyone who has just driven one may actually agree with me. They are an acquired taste and are like nothing else out there, from way back in 1948 to the day in 1978 when it was discontinued in Europe, although the convertible did continue until 1980.

    The driving position was cramped. The doors were just millimetres from your elbows. The pedals mounted from the floor giving an unusual feel. The extremities of the vehicle were impossible to see and there were no parking sensors in the 70s. The steering wheel almost horizontal and there wasn’t really any kind of dashboard until the arrival of the 1303 with its panoramic windscreen. Come to think of it the passenger compartment was cramped.

    One thing I will say is that the heating was good. It’s a complicated system full of levers by the handbrake and relies on engine speed. Badly maintained it is also prone to haemorrhaging vital air reducing the output to the breath of half a dozen kittens. Citroën’s 2CV wasn’t this bad and that relied on little heat exchangers and two cylinders.

    Considering its overall length of over 13 ft, it also lacked luggage space of anything reasonable. The bulletproof engine took up the boot area leaving the front compartment under the bonnet to resemble what should have been a spacious area for luggage. Though it was essential in propelling the Beetle forward, the fuel tank sat in the boot area along with the spare wheel. It left you with 4.9 cu.ft of space. despite it not being the easiest car to clamber into, there was some extra space behind the rear seat. The rear seat did fold down but it never turned it into an estate.

    The ride could best be described as entertaining and bouncy made even worse when lowered. The 1302 and 1303 models with McPherson struts was better. The swing axle rear end was lively.

    After the second world war, AC cars, Ford and Rootes group performed a vehicle analysis on the Beetle. None found the Beetle particularly good. It’s interesting that Baron William Rootes of the Rootes Group who owned Humber taking a dislike to the vehicle. During their testing using a Mk2 Hillman Mink, Rootes were quite keen to penalise the Beetle for the smallest indifferences. Ironic then that the flawed Beetle would go on to become a market leader, world conqueror and champion of the people’s car while his company failed and in 1979 was bought by Peugeot.

    Looking at two group tests from 1968 and 1976 one thing remains: the Beetle. In ’68 the Beetle was pitted against the Austin 1100, Ford Escort and Vauxhall Viva. In ’76 it was relegated to the cheap end of motoring with the Citroën Dyane, Honda Civic and Reliant Kitten. The Beetle was consistent in two areas. It was expensive. It was well made. It was also not the best in many areas where others were doing it so much better. FYI in ’76, the Beetle was more expensive than the better packaged VW Polo.

    Today the Beetle is still regarded by many as a wonderful car. I’m sure in some ways Disney are responsible for a generation who love the little bug. It’s true that after the first feature film, sales grew in the US.

    The Beetle had its heydey in the UK in the 80s when the Cal-look became popular. It continued to grow into the 90s. The scene for the Beetle shows no signs of slowing down. It’s true that the club scene has changed over the last 10 years. The bus that could once be bought really cheaply took over but looking around, there is a resurgence for the Beetle once-more. Probably in some part due to the bus being so expensive and the Beetle being so cheap. The trend at the moment does look set to change. The bus will never be cheap and the Beetle isn’t looking that cheap now either.

    Here then is my dilemma. Despite its flawed ways I still want one. I almost bought one 3 years ago. I want to make a Herbie replica and the one I found was perfect. I just wasn’t the highest drunken bidder on a Saturday night.

    And why do I want one? There hasn’t been a car made since the Beetle that has so much character. The sound of that engine talks to you. You can’t help to smile when you see one. It’s classless, that can cause great envy. A vehicle designed to move people from A to B and yet it moves them in other ways too.

    Watch this space.

     

    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.

  • 5 things that are actually the worst about shopping

    Last week I experienced something horrific: shopping on Oxford Street.

    I avoid clothes shopping until my wardrobe is decimated. I wait until I’m down to a few pairs of socks and my underwear is looking like the type of thing your parents warned you not to wear in case of being run over before I venture out to rectify the situation. I try to ignore the dwindling collection of shirts and trousers that have been ravaged by over washing, deodorant marks and time until I can do it no more.

    Last week was the turning point and I had to face the ugly truth: I needed to go clothes shopping. It was my bi-annual clothes procurement mission and I gritted my teeth, revved myself up on caffeine and went for it.

    ALSO READ: 17 you only know if you’ve worked as a go go boy in a gay bar

    Maybe Oxford Street on a Sunday wasn’t the best choice for a pathological shopping hater but needs must. I needed new basic items and chain stores are the place to go. I just needed to suck up a whole world of pain.

    I won’t go into all the messy details. I won’t describe the moment (fifteen minutes in) when my partner offered to go home and leave, as he couldn’t take my mood any more. I won’t describe the inner demon that emerged and the childish tantrums, rages and traumas (for everyone else, not me). I’ll just tell you why it was so bloody awful.

    1) Un-priced garments:

    It’s a shop. You sell things. If there’s no price on it then you can keep it. I’m not asking around or waiting for some glassy eyed teenager to go and check. I’ve got a life to live. I also hate that concealed price/size thing. A whole stack of shirts, neatly folded, with every one having a tag tucked discretely away so that you have to wade through each one and extricate the size label only to find after 10 minutes that they only have extra small and XXL. Strangely a lot of shops seem to cater solely for the very burly or the painfully thin.

    2) Changing rooms:

    Bright lights and mirrors at all angles are not something most of us need. I know I’ve got a bald spot. I know that years of smoking have ravaged my skin. I really don’t want this hammering home in an overheated cupboard as I puff and pant and try to ram myself into the sizes I wore 20 years ago.

    3) Vacant automaton shop assistants:

    Working in retail is tough, I’m sure, especially with people like me about. Being British, I kind of expect you to show that to me though. I don’t mind surly, truculent and disinterested. What displeases me is the false, robotic eagerness to please. It’s terrifying and disingenuous. I don’t trust the fakery, especially when it’s clearly being delivered through a world of pain and has been taught by a smiley man called Bob on an away day in Milton Keynes.

    4) Other shoppers:

    Faster, quicker and out of my way. They’re the only words I need to say. Unfortunately, shouting them out loud only gets you into trouble so I keep them in and just get angrier and my ulcer grows deeper by the moment. People also seem to be having a good time, lingering over the whole experience, which of course, makes me even angrier.

    5) It’s illegal to carry a Taser:

    I don’t need to explain that one

     

    The ordeal is over. I have clothes. Project forward in time to six months down the line: that’ll be my next foray into the world of retail. I’d mark it in your diary and avoid the day.

  • Dear Innocent-Me… What warnings, or advice, would you give your past self on the delightful world of gay dating apps?

    Dear Innocent-Me… What warnings, or advice, would you give your past self on the delightful world of gay dating apps?

    Embed from Getty Images

    Dear Innocent Me,

    I’m going to jump right into this one, partly because I have a word-count to stick to, but also because it’s a pretty important point that I need to discuss with you this time. One of the best parts of having a big gay time machine to contact my younger self through is knowing that I can potentially stop you from making some big mistakes. One way you’re going to make mistakes in the near future is through the fabulous world of mobile dating apps, so listen up, kiddo – it’s about to get real.

    Firstly, even at the age of 25 I’m still somehow

    the naive gay who sees them as Dating Apps – maybe it’s all the musicals, or Julia Roberts movies I’ve seen, that have convinced me love comes first and always wins in the end. However, here’s the truth, a lot of -and perhaps most – guys don’t view or use these apps in this way. For a lot of guys these apps are more about hooking up than they are about dating, and they’re more about sex than they are about love. This will cause some confusion, and a fair bit of wasted time, in conversations you have with guys you envisage as possible suiters. Yes, there will be those guys who are upfront about it from the get go; they’ll ask for pics, or they’ll send pics, or you’ll be greeted with the stunningly eloquent opening question that is, “top or bttm?” You’ll get used to these guys, and you will even get used to explaining that you’re after a little more than they are. It’s the others that really breed confusion – the ones who talk like they want more, staying full Dr Jeckyll until the night hits and Mr Hyde emerges. Let’s cut to the chase, don’t fall for these guys.

    Secondly, remember to always put safety first. Of course, this comes into play just as much in the bedroom as it does on the apps, but I’m referring to the latter now. Avoid being too open and vulnerable on these Apps, maybe even to the extent of not showing your face in your profile picture – it will definitely help to avoid unplanned chance meetings, after all. Other than that it’s all the usual points, no addresses, of course no banking information, and no deep dark confessions to that faceless torso with glistening abs.

    When it gets to the real world part, which it will on more than a few occasions, listen to what your parents have always told you. Strangers = Dangers. Meet in a public, well lit place – and make sure there are people who know your exact plans, that you keep them updated on all the while, of course. There are going to be couple times you don’t follow these rules and you’re pretty lucky nothing bad actually happens, but just FYI they’re super awkward encounters and not worth all of the risk and worry at all.

    Finally, don’t fall for anyone before actually meeting them – this even goes for the good ones you might find. You’re going to do it, and you’re going to feel stupid. At the end of the day dating apps are like Facebook or any other kind of social media, people show what they want you to see, and hide what they don’t. You can’t fall for a concept of a man.

    Yours sincerely,

    Twenty-Five Year Old (Somewhat Regretful) You

     

    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.

  • 5 really annoying things about going to a wedding

    Now, I’m not one to rain on anyone’s parade and I’m the first to shout out a resounding YES to the fact that we have marriage equality. I’m stunned that I’ve seen so many changes in societal attitudes since my teenage years 20 plus years ago. I’m all for liberty, equality and freedom of expression. Except when it comes to bad taste.

    There’s just one issue in this whole thing. I may now get more wedding invites and I bloody hate weddings. I dodge, feign illness and fake deaths (including my own): just to avoid these often-horrible things. They’re just not my thing at all. One sniff of a fat uncle dancing with a small child to ‘Come on Eileen’ or the oily drip of a 99% oil chocolate fountain and I’m running for cover.

    Here’s my top five wedding don’ts for those planning to tie the knot:

    1) Eskimo/Native American/Self-penned love poems.

    OK. We get it. We know you’re quite fond of each other but we do not want to regurgitate our lunch. If you need to recite little poems to each other then there’s a time and a place…maybe just before you are both put to death by lethal injection for mawkish bad taste? Is that a crime punishable by death? I hope so.

    2) Bizarre Outfits.

    OK, so your mother’s cousin’s milkman’s best friend was Scottish or at least he once shared a lift with someone from Perth, but this is no reason to wear a kilt, especially if you haven’t got good knees. Cummerbunds, tuxedos, matching suits, pastel shades: they’re fine as an ironic statement but not to have in photographs that we’re quite frankly all going to be wincing at before we’ve even recovered from our hangovers.

    3) The Chocolate Fountain

    Unless this is a euphemism for some nefarious sexual practice that you and your guests will all enjoy then no. Just no. OK? It’s dirty, unhygienic and just plain oily.

    4) Wedding lists.

    Save up for it like the rest of us. The world doesn’t owe you a living. Have you not heard of payday lending and credit cards or just getting a job? Maybe you could sell a kidney or take to the streets with a bowl? It’s a more honest form of begging. I recently went to a wedding where the list contains items such as wide screen TVs, washing machines and a shed. I kid you not.

    5) Bankrupt your guests.

    OK, You’re getting married. That’s lovely. We’d love to come. Oh, the wedding is in Lapland? We have to attend a weeklong stag do in Borneo? We need a minimum £50 gift spend, not to mention the new outfits and the stint in rehab after that stag do? That’s fine. We’ll shelve those plans to move out of our hovel/ever own a home/ have a decent holiday. It’s not like the divorce stats are 50/50 is it? We’ll play along and don’t worry about that new hip we were planning on buying.

    Apart from all that. Have a great day, whatever your wedding.

     

    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.