THEGAYUK

Category: Column

  • COMMENT | Everyone in the World is Bent: Just how gay is The Italian Job

    COMMENT | Everyone in the World is Bent: Just how gay is The Italian Job

    There are things you remember from your childhood. Some help makes you who you are while others still bemuse you some 30 plus years later.

    I’m referring to films our parents made us watch. At a young age and very much below the recommended age of 15, my father sat me down to watch Quadrophenia 1979.

    I understood some of it, didn’t really think twice about the sex scene between Phil Daniels and Leslie Ash in an alleyway. I did, however, question why the film ended as it did in what I thought was suicide with the moped going over the edge of Beachy Head with nobody on it.

    And then there was that film that subjected me to gay culture. No, I am not talking about Dorothy and her woodland cruising chums, I am talking about the 1969 film called The Italian Job. The film with the ultimate cliffhanger.

    Forget all that crap about Colin and Barry in Eastenders sharing a kiss or Brookside‘s first lesbian kiss for that matter. That was in the 80s. The Italian Job was a rich celluloid dream of gayness and camp with a car chase at the end. And all just two years after homosexuality had been legalised.

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    In my eyes, Michael Caine is a love. He has been in some dreadful films that I class as camp classics such as The Swarm 1978 and The Hand 1981. Michael Caine, however, is a gent and it was his portrayal as Charlie Croker that made me take note. He was a man at ease with his sexuality and with others around him. In the film’s first 15 minutes or so you knew about his sexuality as Lorna laid on a spread of woman like a running buffet for him to plough through.

    Throughout the film he rubbed shoulders with all kinds of those queer sorts your grandmother would warn you about. Come with me as we take a look.

    You can’t forget Camp Freddie. The pastel pink suited crook in his frilly shirts and a notion for filing his nails. Freddie was also full of marvellous one-liners delivered as only a queen could do so.

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    And who was Freddie’s boss? Mr Bridger played by Noël Coward. Coward is acting royalty in itself. A crook behind bars still pulling the strings and stealing every scene he was in. I often mumble the line “Last night Mr governor somebody broke (rolling the R’s) into my toilet” and then went on to moan about how his motions that evening had been ruined. Again rolling the R’s.

    Mr Bridger also had a liking for her Majesty the Queen. Having her pictures all over the cell walls like a teenager has Beatles posters. Speaking of queens, Simon Dee’s one of only two appearances in a film can’t go unnoticed. Unlike the previous two actors mentioned, Dee himself is straight. His conviction as tailor Adrian was above and beyond brilliant that you questioned if he was indeed gay in real life. Pursed lipped and disgusted at Croker’s shirts. His line delivery was genius.

    Professor Peach played by Benny Hill is another character rich in campness. He has a childlike quality for the matron and the larger lady. The facial expressions are comical.

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    Even the garage manager played by John Clive who fleeced Croker into paying an exaggerated amount of money for car parking was a little bit bent. Now be that as a dodgy crook or not, again it’s the visuals that make you think he’s a bit of a queen.

    While not being that gay or overly camp, two other characters from the film stand out. Both also for their previous acting roles. Admittedly the films I have discovered them both in has been discovered many years later.

    The first is Rossano Brazzi’s portrayal of Rodger Beckerman. His cameo appearance during the opening credits is iconic and memorable for many reasons. His suave sophistication oozed on screen even if it was for just moments. Ultimately it was probably somewhat overshadowed by the destruction of the Lamborghini Miura he was driving. Rossano is also remembered for his part in the musical South Pacific (1958) as Emile De Becque opposite Mitzi Gaynor. You can’t get more camp than that film.

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    The handsomely rugged Raf Vallone presented himself as Altabani, head of the Mafia. Being ferried around in a Fiat Dino coupe was enough for me to cheer the Mafia on.

    I digress a little however he too had a grace about him as he swanned around on screen. His delivery to Caine on the Alps after they had destroyed the two Jaguars and the “pretty car” Aston was both menacing, cutting and a little camp with a nibble on the arm of his glasses. The look he gave when his mansion was plunged into darkness was cinematic gold. He is a beautiful man.

    Raf Vallone is also remembered for a previous role as Eddie Carbone in View from a Bridge (1962). He gave a full on the lips kiss to Rodolpho played by fellow actor Jean Sorel. It wasn’t quite in the guy-on-guy action you’d wish for but Eddie attempting to bring out Rodolpho as a latent homosexual. Quite a visual for 1962 America to take in.

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    And now to the female stars of which there were three. American actress Margaret Blye played dippy Lorna. Looking through Blye’s film credits on www.imds.com sadly she never really had anything I remember.

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    Lelia Goldoni, on the other hand, had a very small part in the film and was there to just deliver film and plans from her now deceased husband Mr Beckerman. It could be that Italian accent of hers or that she was going to bed a balls empty Croker who can say, she did again like many in the film present larger than life and become remembered for it.

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    This brings us to the last woman and an icon who anyone old enough from 1937 to 1988 will remember. Irene Handl played Benny Hill’s sister Miss Peach. You may remember her as granny in Metal Mickey. And if that doesn’t help then there are over 180 other things she had been in.

    Watching her on screen she was quite camp. Her delivery on time and to the point. Again her lines were memorable with a love for cats and hatred of green fly she could well be a lesbian. An ageing lady known as a Miss. This was 60’s England after all. She also had a maid called Annette who would make any lesbian today scared.

    All this good gayness to come out of a film that predated so many and yet it doesn’t so much as get a mention that watching it will turn you into a massive queen, make you into a dyke or other such names we get called.

    And why?

    I don’t know is the answer. Perhaps because it is just really well put together and has an ensemble of actors who outweighed the bigots then and today. Or that its campness was missed for hi-jinks and feel good factor. Sort of what gays are known for today.

     

    BUY THE ITALIAN JOB on Amazon

     

    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.

  • I saved at least £12,000 on alcohol by giving it up

    I saved at least £12,000 on alcohol by giving it up

    I recently celebrated my third Christmas and New Year’s Eve without alcohol and it got me thinking about the money I’ve saved since giving up drinking alcohol.

    I didn’t give up drinking because of money but it certainly hasn’t hurt my bank balance after I discovered that I’ve saved over £12,000 since giving up the alcohol.

    I became a non-drinker in the summer of 2014 after a working out that alcohol was doing nothing for my mental health. After suffering a series of extraordinary panic attackers, leading me to some of the darkest moments of my life, I wondered if drinking had anything to do with it. It turns out that it did.

    Over two years later, my anxiety is manageable and rarely keeps me up at night. It’s the biggest gift I’ve ever given to myself.

    So apart from the biggest gift, what else has no alcohol given me?

    Well, I’ve not spent over £12,000 on alcohol. So how did I come to this staggering number?

    Here’s how: I eat out probably twice a week, and have a glass or two of wine – let’s say £6 per glass (they were always large) that’s £12 per meal twice a week – that’s £24, also ready I’m £1,248 better off.

    Then there was the at home drinking, yep, I think I could easily sink 5 bottles of wine a week. So let’s get those priced up at £6 per bottle that’s £30 per week – that’s £1,560 per year and I’m already at £2,888 per year. That’s not considering birthdays, Christmases, New years and holidays where much more would be consumed.

    So where the rest of the money?

    How much do you spend on a night out? If I went out one night a week (who goes out just once!) there’s no doubt that I’d spend at least £70 on drinks in an evening (London prices). So let’s add that up… that’s a whopping £3640 per year… and don’t forget the cabs homes, at least £360 per year and the dirty kebab, which I’d probably have 20 times a year – £130. This element of my evening just no longer exists. I drive instead of public transport and cabs and because I’m not drunk I don’t crave the dirty kebab.

    Now not spending at least £6448 per year on alcohol. So what am I drinking instead, well some soft drinks when I’m out, which cost a third of the price and I don’t drink nearly many of those as I did glasses of wine, you actually can’t.

    So what am I drinking instead? Well some soft drinks when I’m out, which cost a third of the price and I don’t drink nearly many of those as I did glasses of wine, you actually can’t.

    At home, I drink water – with a squeeze of lemon. The cost of which is pennies per week.

    Then: Glasses of wine with meal £6 x 4 = £24 x 52 weeks = £1248
    Now: £1.50 x 4 x 52 = £312
    Then: Bottles of wine a week £6 x 5 = £30 x 52 weeks = £1560
    Now: Basically free, unless I have soft drinks which never exceeds £10 per week. Let’s say £520 per year.
    Then: Drinks on a night out £70 x 52 = £3640
    Now: £20 x 52 =£1040
    Then: Cabs from a night out: £30 x 12 (at least) = £360
    Now: Nothing
    Then: Dirty Kebabs: £5 x 26 = £130
    Now: Nothing
    Total: £6938 per year take away the differences: £5,066
    Over 28 months that’s £11,820.

    How did I give up? Well, I owe it to this book: Allen Carr’s No More Hangovers, which took me a morning to read. The best £4.99 I’ve ever spent.

  • COLUMN | It’s been 3 years since my last date… but I’ve found love

    A lot of my friends wonder why I don’t really date.

    I recently wrote about how I feel I’ve met my soulmate but it just wasn’t and still isn’t the right time for us. Is my hesitation to date some pathetic attempt to stop time, in hope that he changes into the man I need him to be in order for us to have a successful relationship? Or is there something deeper?

    Since he and I broke up, I have dated. My first date was with a French guy I had met on POF. He seemed nice enough when we chatted. When we met in person he asked if I minded running a few errands with him. It was entirely unromantic but I agreed. I instantly regretted this when we made awkward chat in a line at a Post Office. It was the depths of summer so I was sweating, my feet hurt and I felt instantly unsexy. We went for a coffee where he told me about how he hated most ethnic minorities and felt that most gays were a disgrace. Now, I hadn’t dated in a while so instead of listening to the voice in my head that was screaming “run”, I went back to his apartment.

    Now, I hadn’t dated in a while so instead of listening to the voice in my head that was screaming “run”, I went back to his apartment.

    His apartment was gorgeous with stunning views. We drank champagne and ate strawberries as the sun set. It was romantic and I melted as he told me how he missed home and missed his mother. It deleted all memory of that fact he was a racist, self-loathing homosexual. What can I say? I was fickle and horny.

    What can I say? I was fickle and horny.

    We eventually went to his bedroom where he suggested we shower. I found this sexy until he suggested we shower separately because it was a hot day and we’d been out all afternoon. Despite alarm bells now ringing loudly in my head, I waited my turn (that’s right, he went FIRST) and then came out in a towel only to discover he was fully dressed. I awkwardly went back into the bathroom and dressed also. We sat and watched a film for a while and then he started kissing me. I reached down to unbutton my shirt and he SLAPPED (PHYSICALLY. SLAPPED.) my hand away. “NO NO NO” he growled, “I DO THIS”. Every single time I tried to undress myself, he’d slap my hand away.

    After some very mediocre sex-adjacent acts, I excused myself to the bathroom. In there I noticed, sat on his bathroom shelf, was a tube of cold sore cream. I took a look at myself in the mirror and laughed. I darted out of there without so much as a goodbye. How did I let myself get into that situation?!

    Despite this, a few months later, I allowed my friend to set me up on a blind date. “You’ll love him, you have a lot in common” he smiled. I turned up to the date 15 minutes late due to traffic. I

    “You’ll love him, you have a lot in common” he smiled. I turned up to the date 15 minutes late due to traffic. I apologised a few times to which he yelled, “STOP F*CKING APOLOGISING”. Startled, I simply replied “sorry” which, admittedly, seemed a little sarcastic. Throughout the date, which was in the romantic Manchester hotspot Wetherspoons, he would avert his eyes to other men. A group of lads walked by our table and he checked them out.

    “I would, wouldn’t you?” he smiled.
    “You’re supposed to only be looking at me” I laughed, embarrassed that I had to remind him of that.

    The date continued in that vein. He told me he loved One Direction which wouldn’t have been a problem until he decided to start dancing to “Best Song Ever” which wasn’t even on the radio. “I know all the moves” he grinned.

    Eventually, we got into more serious chat. He told me he had been engaged 3 times (he was 24) and that the longest relationship was 2 years. I told him that I’d been in a serious relationship and was getting ready to date again.

    “HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE FER YER TO CALL SOMEWUN YER BOYFRIEND?” he bellowed, in his loud Yorkshire accent.

    “Um, probably 4 to 6 months” I replied, confused as to why he’d even ask.

    “TWO WEEK FER ME”, he grinned.

    Two weeks. I sighed, this clearly wasn’t going to be the love connection my friend had envisioned and I wondered how he’d got it so wrong. After he told me how he loves to watch his partners sleep, I made an excuse to leave.

    I called my friend in the taxi. “Honestly, I only spoke to him for 30 seconds but he said he likes wrestling and One Direction so…”. I made my unhappiness extremely clear.

    This was three years ago. I haven’t been on a date since. Am I traumatised by my experiences? A little. But the real reason is because, on each of these dates, I allowed it to go a little long. The French guy was an awful human being and the Yorkshireman was way too intense. Yet I stayed with them for hours. Why? I was weirdly grateful they’d even go on a date with me.

    I realised that I felt so bad about myself, about how I look and who I am, I was willing to put up with almost anything. My previous boyfriend always told me I was attractive and smart, beautiful and capable. He made me believe in myself. So without him, I crumbled. I needed to learn to believe in myself what he had believed in me. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I keep working on myself and sometimes it works and other times I have set backs. But until I can truly learn to love myself, I cannot date honestly. I am willing to wait to find somebody who gives me what I deserve and who lifts me up. Because, as the great philosopher RuPaul Charles once said, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else?”

    Now, can I get an Amen?

    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 I don’t FORE-SKIN a future with him…

    I’m writing this column at the risk of being called a shallow, vain poof. I’m even scared that people may start hurling rotten potatoes at me in the street. But oh well, I have been called a gay Joan Rivers many a time so I’ll take the risk.

    I’m hard. Normally in a gay sauna, I am. Anyway, I’m digressing. I like to think I am but underneath my fake tanned, Botox-ed hard-hearted exterior, I’m a pussy cat.

    As my friends will tell you, I don’t really have a type when it comes to men. My criteria normally just states they must have a cock and a pulse. And sometimes even the pulse isn’t important. No, no, I’m joking, I’m joking. I thought I’d better point that out before I get arrested by the Old Bill for necrophilia. The point is, I’m very open minded when it comes to men, hence why I don’t have a type. There is just one strict criterion my men must adhere to. GOOD TEETH.

    I can’t bear bad teeth. It turns my stomach. The thought that I have to kiss them. Now, I’m not talking wonky wisdoms. That’s fine, it’s just when they’re discoloured and stained. I just think, get yourself down the hygienist.

    Now before you all start lynching me and throwing shallow stones in my direction, let me point me out that I’m not perfect. I have a little gap in my front teeth. But I gargle coconut oil every night to ensure they stay gleaming white. People put sunglasses on when I smile.

    Talking of my gap, it takes me back to a family roast one Sunday. We’d finished eating and my mum looked at me and said, “you’ve got something in your teeth!”

    So there I was having a little pick. I looked back at my mother, waiting for reassurance it was gone. “No, no. It’s still there!” So I picked again. And again. This went on for a full five minutes so I stood up from the table in sheer frustration and walked to the mirror. On further investigation, I realised it was my gap she was referring to and there was absolutely nothing there!

    “30 years you’ve known me and you thought it was food stuck and not my gap!”

    Anyway, I better talk about my dating story seeing as this is my undateable column. I’ve been set up on a date by my friend Inch again. You know the one who works for Mulberry. I thought I’d give her another chance to get it right. Surely, she’ll do better this time. So, off I trot to the restaurant to this lovely bloke called Lee. He looked very handsome as he stood up at the dinner table to greet me with a kiss. What manners.

    We sit down and I order the standard bottle of Sauvignon from New Zealand. My snobby ways never cease to amaze me. The waiter pours it for us and as we lift our glasses to cheers, he shoots me a bloody great smile.

    How sweet.

    Then my jaw drops quicker than a prostitute’s knickers. His smile includes some rather discoloured teeth. I knock back my glass of Sauvignon like an alcoholic at breakfast.

    He’s so handsome, I keep repeating to myself. And then he opens his mouth and it reminds me of my bad teeth phobia. I did spend hours on Google looking for the official name for it, but there isn’t one. Even though there is an ARACHIBUTYROPHOBIA which is the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth, I kid you not. (??!!)

    So lee and I, we do get on really really well and we laugh and we enjoy a beautiful meal together. He’s got the looks, he’s got the personality. I try and remember my Sunday school teaching and vow to overcome my shallow behaviour when it comes to his molars. We get up to leave and he goes to kiss me. I pull away, faster than a rat up a drainpipe.

    I’m not quite ready for that.

    I make my excuses and he asks me back to his. I shock myself and say yes. I tell myself, I can’t kiss him on the lips but maybe I can kiss his…

    We arrive back at his gaff and to avoid the kiss on the lips, I automatically drop to my knees.

    As I perform fellatio, I hear him screaming. I carry on, gloating and smiling to myself. He’s obviously enjoying it. I feel quite smug as I carry on.

    He screams again and I think, God, I’m better at blow jobs than I thought. As he lets out another scream, I think, ooh I better just check he’s alright.

    I pull away and I feel his foreskin come with me! I realise it’s caught in my gap!

    “Be careful!” He screams as he rubs himself better.

    “Oh sorry!” I blush. “It’s my gap!”

     

    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 | A Winter’s Tale

    Winter is definitely looming over us and I’m embracing the fact that the weather is distinctly nippy. I’m trying hard to not spend my life looking forward to the next season.

    I’m not good at living in the moment but instead, long for the next thing on the horizon or hanker after the past. Rather than enjoying the summer, I instead, long to stop sweating, wear my warm clothes and drag out my tweed suits. Instead of savouring the autumn, I dread the dark nights, miss my shorts and long for brighter days. It’s a never-ending cycle for me.

    This year, I’m trying hard to appreciate what I have. Here are my tips for a pleasurable cold snap:

    1) Enjoy the equality of cold weather: Winter clothes are so much more forgiving. You can hide pale and mottled flash, disguise the lumps and bumps and not worry about all those depilatory issues. Just avoid those Christmas jumpers. They may be retro but so was syphilis and no one rejoiced when that came back.

    2) Make like Mrs Beeton: Ditch the diet and reach for the stovetop. Winter is all about gaining weight. It’s genetic, forgivable and indeed, sensible. It’s getting bloody cold; you need an extra layer of blubber to keep you warm. It’s all about soup and cakes for me this year (served separately of course). I’ll be swimming in broth come January but may have to have a layer of butter scraped out of my arteries.

    3) Curl up with a good book: What finer winter activity than being stuck inside with a comfortable sofa and a pile of books (or DVDs/Netflix/C.D.s; if you’re so inclined)? It’s the perfect excuse for it. We’re practically captives of the weather. Who are we to argue with nature? Go with the flow and ditch the jogging. It’s all about lolling. Lolling won’t give you chapped lips. Lounging around feels so much less decadent when you can blame it on inclement conditions.

    4) Enjoy nature: I suppose we must leave the house at some point and when we do, what better sight than the natural world. Forget summer with its parched showy finery. Winter has many charms too. The foliage is sparser but the wildlife is more visible and bolder. A bracing stroll is good to clear the sinuses. Just make sure you have a good mobile phone signal and a Kendall Mint Cake and forget al-fresco romps unless you want frostbitten nipples.

    5) Seek good company: Whether you’re single, coupled or polygamous: the long dark nights can become oppressive and if you’re feeling it, then it’s more than likely that so are your friends. Connecting with people is a good thing. Seek out friends and make an effort to enjoy the oppressive nights together (but only if your book is dull). Whether that’s hanging out in a warm sitting room with friends and Cluedo, snuggling in the snug of a bar or sweating in a sauna: it’s good to share (as long as it’s not body fluids).

    Whatever you’re doing this winter, stay safe and warm and if it gets too harsh then there’s always the traditional Russian remedy to winter: a thick eiderdown and vodka.

  • MOTORING | My Oliver

    MOTORING | My Oliver

    Have you every had a half-arsed idea that suddenly cropped into your head and you think “Oh yes, what a good idea”? That exact thing happened to me the other day.

    CREDIT: Stuart M Bird

    In a sober moment, I decided that with some of the scrap at work I was going to ‘create’ something for the garden. I already have a VW Beetle deck lid as a planter and a bonnet hanging up from the fence. The neighbours think I am a little strange in a good way.

    I’ve been single for so long now. I don’t want sympathy, that you can keep. The trouble is finding a man who both likes the garden, cars and a bit of DIY. Like Paula Cole sang, “I’ve not found my Marlboro man either. So I set about making a little man for the garden. I called him Oliver. It sort of stands for ‘left OVER parts’ that would have otherwise ended up in the recycling heap.

    So what makes Oliver? He has a Citroën face, a Peugeot left arm and a Fiat right arm all attached to a Toyota Hilux body. His legs are fast and jazzy made from Porsche shocks and Honda disc feet. To top it all off he has hair by Fiat and wears a flower made by Volkswagen.

    All this does sound like I have lost the plot. Well, to add to the enjoyment I had forgotten one vital important detail. I need to weld him together. I like power tools. I’ve made all sorts of things in the past for the home, garage and camper van. I have the ideas but there is a problem. That problem being I have never really welded before. It’s easier than you think yet difficult.

     

    CREDIT: Stuart M Bird

    OK, I lied a little there. I tried welding back in 1996 when I tried to repair my Citroën Visa. I made it worse. Much worse. So I filled the hole with filler.

    The trouble with Oliver is that he has thick grade steel and really thin stuff that just melted. His head fell off on the first attempt. Sorry Oliver. Tack welding is difficult to do. Seam welding just as difficult. I need more practice and that for sure I will do. I own old cars, I want to be able to weld. I need to be able to weld.

    So more on this later in the year to come when Oliver gets a dog. In the meantime, if you want to have a go at something, just do it. Give it a go, you never know where it might end up.

     

  • Dear Closeted-Me… What would you tell your closeted self before you came out?

    What would you tell your closeted self before you came out if you had the chance?

    However you decided to come out… “It will all be okay in the end”

    Dear Closeted-Me,

    This is a difficult letter to write; not because I don’t know what to say – future you always knows what to say – rather because I know how scared and lost you are feeling right now. At the moment you’re at the very end of a long and dark tunnel, the light is just ahead of you, tauntingly close, yet terrifyingly far. Yet, I’m here, surrounded by many LGBT brothers and sisters who have been exactly where you are right now, and Neil Patrick Harris, Ellen DeGeneres, and I, would like to chorus you with another message of “It will all be okay in the end”.

    The fact of the matter is that you’ve already been through the hardest part of this journey. You’ve done all the leg-work – figuring out who you are, hiding who you are, and accepting who you are, all being key steps along the way. Now you’re finding yourself at the final step, and it’s potentially the biggest, the Neil Armstrong of steps if you will.

    Coming Out can feel terrifying. It’s like there’s a bomb formed of glitter, and rainbows, and pride waiting to go off inside of you. As fun as that bomb might sound, you’re probably going to struggle to get past the fact that it’s still a bomb in its truest form – and bombs have a fairly sturdy reputation of ruining things. You’re going to be scared that this truth is going to destroy well-formed friendships and tear apart your family, I mean, we’ve all heard the unfortunate stories, after all.

    Thankfully those stories seem fewer and further between one another nowadays, it is 2016 after all, so anyone who does have an issue with absolutely anyone coming out can jump right back up into their own arsehole where that opinion belongs – and you can feel free to send them my way if you want me to tell them that myself.

    Still, it’s a worrisome, tiring, and anxiety-filled time for you so let’s get right back to the point that there is nothing to be afraid of. A big point of advice, stop fretting so much about how you do it. Trust me, you’re the only one who thinks it will matter if people get the News through a letter, an open status, or a big gay rainbow cake. Just find a way that enables you to remain comfortable and in control, and go for it.

    Sure, you might not want to take advice from someone who came out via a very subtle post-it note, but that’s your decision.

    I found the least scary way to do it for myself and I did it because that is exactly where I was at that point. Also, never forget that this is all for you. This is your truth, and your life, so it is up to you entirely how you do it, when you do it, and how many people you do it to (pun intended).

    You might come out to everyone at once, or a few people at a time, hell, there might even be some people you never come out to.

    Remember, however, you want to do it, it’s fine – and it really will all be okay in the end.

    Welcome to the team, kid.

    Sincerely,

    Twenty-Five Year Old You, Ellen, and Neil
    (But really just you.)

  • EDITOR’S LETTER: Issue 24

    EDITOR’S LETTER: Issue 24

    Welcome to Issue 24…

    This month’s issue was edited by our very own Christmas elf…

    CREDIT: DotComGiftShop
    CREDIT: DotComGiftShop

    My doesn’t 12 months fly by. It seems only yesterday I was unleashed from the tinsel box to edit last year’s festive issue, and now here I am again listening to Radio Christmas for 16 hours a day while it’s still 15 degrees outside, and wondering if I’ll ever see another Christmas in London, post-Brexit, when I’m deported back up north to the Wirral where it’s traditional on a Christmas Eve to get lashed in the local till “lasties” then head to church for the midnight carol service, because that’s the only place still serving sweet wine. I still ponder to this day where they buy it from as I’ve searched supermarkets and websites alike for ‘Blood O’ Christ’ Malbec with little success.

    But panic not, we’re still part of the European Union (for two years), Obama is still President of the United States (for two months), and I’ve been sober whilst cobbling this rosie nosed Rudolph of an issue together (for two minutes). We took X Factor’s Danyl Johnson down to the woods for our winter shoot, which he totally sleighed… Michelle Visage popped in for a mince pie and to show off her Christmas Puddings… Gogglebox’s Chris Steed wrote us a letter to tell us he’s been a good boy this year and for Christmas, he wants to lick Theresa May. Oh, and we get deep into the stockings of Big Brother’s Sam Giffen to find his nuts but instead get a handful of Tina Turner, Whitney Houston and ten burgers.

    If you’ve been wondering, “just what on Earth do I buy those lovely boys at THEGAYUK this Christmas, to thank them for all their hard work this year in providing such a fab mag and website that’s free to read (and doesn’t cost you the same as a Christmas Lunch, like some other publications do…)” Well, if you were thinking that, then the team have searched the nation’s high streets, sat on every Santa’s lap (in fact some didn’t come back for weeks) and called every elf hotline to bring you the biggest and brightest 2016 TGUK Gift Guide to suit every budget.

    We’ve some winter treats from Jordan’s new book, Food For Friends, and a scrummy eggnog recipe from one of London’s hottest mixologists Alex Fakinos. As well as our usual favs the dilemma page – Am I good enough for my two boyfriends, sex health – Am I big enough? and Aunty’s in a rather festive mood… or pissed more likely!

    So from myself and all the team at THEGAYUK including our fabulous contributors from all over the UK and Monty our photographer who gives so much… (If you believe his Growlr profile!) We wish you all a very fabulous festive season and may 2017 be positive, considerate, funny, enjoyable, emotional, warming… and not be the complete political and social f*** up being forecast!

    Love, Graham. xx

  • COLUMN | Gay fashion… Trying too hard or Too hard to Try?

    Fashion & the modern man: Working hard or hardly working?

    Let me start by saying that until about 4 years ago my dress sense was at best, questionable. So what I say now is everything I’ve learnt from then and from my modern day dress sense (which I’m informed I do have some dress sense – hurrah!).

    We are told via various media that we need to be fashionable. Buy this season’s trends, keep up with the ‘new black’ and only buy labels that mean something. But is this high of fashionista hard to achieve? Well to those on the outside looking in, like me once upon a time, yes it probably is. Such high fashion seems an expensive waste of money when there are far more practical things you could be spending your money on. (For example, Gin…!).

    But perhaps you can have your gin and drink it! (See what I did there?).

    I recently frequented a trip to a local ‘cheap’ fashion retailer and went to see if they had a new suit (I had an interview, it didn’t go well, but that’s another story). I ended up wandering around their men’s section just having a peruse of what I could find. I ended up buying a few things that I didn’t expect.

    So right now as I type this very column entry I am wearing one of these said purchases. My outfit consists of Black jeans, White Adidas trainers, a white t-shirt and a light grey ‘mandigan’ (male cardigan). All day I’ve had compliments on how great my outfit looks. Personally, I thought I was slumming it but apparently not.

    Now that either means that my normal standard of dress for the office is so bad that people spot when I actually get it right (a possibility) or actually it was exceptionally good and worked very well for ‘dress down Friday’ in the office.

    Now in total, including the trainers, I’d say this outfit cost less than £30 (and yes I bought the Adidas in the sale – I do loves me a bargain) so it is possible to get an outfit that is ‘socially on point’ for under £50.

    So while yes the lovely branded stuff is fabulous (and I’ll always buy stuff immediately after watching Devil Wears Prada) actually achieving a fashionable look without breaking the bank is indeed possible.

    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 | What if you’re gay and conservative with a small c

    Politics is Gay – Why Being Gay Makes Voting Impossible

    As I have gotten older and educated myself, my politics has changed dramatically. When I was 19, I wrote an article arguing that gay marriages should not be allowed in churches because it wasn’t fair to the religious beliefs of others. I was, quite rightly, schooled by my peers on how ridiculous that was. I also received an email from a gay couple who, as Catholics, always felt marginalised by their faith and that they hoped to get married in a Church one day. So my viewpoint evolved.

    The recent US Election has led to pro-Trump people arguing that Trump is better for LGBT people because he’s always been pro-marriage and correctly pointed out that President Obama and Secretary Clinton were against gay marriage for some time. That got me thinking about how my politics has changed and how it’s difficult to always get it right. I wondered then, is politics lose-lose for gay people?

    I would describe my politics as ‘warped’. I don’t believe that immigration should be uncapped, I don’t believe in free movement of people and I believe the welfare state should be reformed. However, I also don’t believe in allowing people to suffer, I do believe in skilled workers emigrating to the UK and I also don’t believe that those in need should be left below the poverty line. A friend of mine annoyed at my viewpoint, told me that ‘liberalism isn’t pick and mix. You must pick a side’.

    Many would agree with him, argue that I’m wishy-washy but it’s hard for me.

    I wrote recently about my Diabetes diagnosis in March 2016. I was sick for six weeks prior to diagnosis and struggled to get a doctor’s appointment. I had a meeting with the lead GP who told me that the surgery was struggling due to an influx of Eastern European patients moving in the area. It was argued to me by some friends that the result of this influx should be more money into the NHS rather than blaming those who come here. However, I come from a small Cheshire town which is equal distance to Liverpool and Manchester that, due to a housing crisis in cities, has had most of its green belt land sold for housing to be build. There has been zero infrastructural investment in assisting with the influx of people to the town so now there are issues with traffic and public transport. For me, something has to give.

    But then there’s the gay problem. LGBT people tend to be liberal and progressive. We have fought for years for equality, fairness and respect. We tend to align ourselves with other marginalised groups that are also currently facing prejudice, hate and violence. It is, therefore, for me, a strong consideration in my politics. I am not middle class yet I am not working class. According to the BBC Great British Class Calculator, I am part of the ‘Emergent Services Workers’ class. I do, however, do better financially under a Conservative Government’s policy than a Labour Government’s policy. I live from wage to wage with little savings, little hope of owning my own house and a high rent bill. Yet, I also know that the Conservative Party has a sketchy history with LGBT rights. They are known as the party that brought in Marriage Equality but, actually, it was the work of the Lib Dems that helped usher that in.

    Interestingly, 126 Conservatives voted for marriage equality yet a total 134 voted against it.

    There were 35 Conservatives including current Chancellor of the Exchequer Philip Hammond who didn’t vote at all. However, it was recently revealed Justine Greening, Education Secretary, may be considering teaching inclusive sex and relationship education in schools which would, of course, be a major step after the dark days of Section 28.

    The Brexit vote was also difficult. As a gay man who was concerned about the economic implications of our future in the EU as well as the UK Sovereignty issue, I was also well aware of the EU’s role (especially in regards to Human Rights) in enshrining gay rights in the UK. So the real question here is how far do you let your gayness eschew your political view?

    Should it be the leading factor in making your mind up?

    I am not affiliated with any political party but, as I get older, I become increasingly political. The election of Donald Trump worries me less than the ascension of Vice President-elect Mike Pence. Pence is staunchly anti-Gay and believes in gay conversion therapy. He also thinks LGBT people should be allowed to be discriminated against based on people’s religions. So, you can imagine my horror when Boris Johnson recently doubled down on how much he’s looking forward to working with him.

    The future of LGBT rights in the UK is also something little discussed as we head further to the March deadline for triggering Article 50. Whilst it’s comforting having an LGBT person as Equality Minister (Justine Greening, who is also Education Secretary as noted above) it is vitally important that the UK continues to ensure LGBT rights are protected and make a commitment to that prior to us leaving the EU.

    I am a man divided. I am conservative (with a small ‘c’) when it comes to many things (I am even for the Buckingham Palace refurb!) but I’m also widely liberal. I am concerned by levels of immigration but even more concerned for those who are persecuted in their own countries to the point of violence.

    I stare in abject horror of images of gay men being thrown from buildings. My heart breaks to hear of disabled people dying due to poverty caused by welfare cuts. I feel unrepresented by modern politics and every election seems to offer me a rock and a hard place.

    Do I vote as a citizen or do I vote as a gay man? Either way, to me, it’s always lose-lose.

     

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

  • Dear 13-year-old me… What would you say to your 13-year-old self?

    What would you say to your 13-year-old self if you had the chance?

    CREDIT: bigstock-soupstock
    CREDIT: bigstock-soupstock

    Dear Thirteen-Year-Old Me,

    There is potentially never a more shaping time in ones life than the torturous years of teenagehood. If 80’s movies have taught me anything it’s that everyone deserves their very own coming of age story. Ideally we’d all get our own Molly Ringwald moments as a teenager – we’d kiss over cake, or bond through detention, or maybe we’d own our very own collection of questionably embellished bowler hats. However, being Molly Ringwald isn’t as easy as it seems, in fact for most of us – especially when we identify as part of the LGBT community – we rarely happen to get the teenage coming of age story we truly deserve.

    I understand you are currently struggling through your very own version of hell on earth – minus all of the actual flames, of course. You’re struggling with your sexuality like so many have before you, and I am writing to warn you of what is to come. You’ll soon be entering the second stage of your senior school career. The first stage was realising that you might, actually, possibly, be kind of gay. Next you are going to spend a long time hoping – and literally praying – that you aren’t, a fairly wasted effort when everyone else already seems so certain that you are. Then, for an even longer time, you are going to play one of the least convincing roles ever, the role of a straight boy. Seriously, the time that you played Mayor’s Assistant #1 in your year six production of Rocky Horror was more convincing – and that wasn’t even a real role.

    Throughout all of these stages one thing will remain present and consistent all the way, and that is how alone and isolated you will feel. You’ll believe that no one else has ever felt, or worried, or been bullied the same way ever before, and this is most definitely not the case.

    Hindsight is honestly 20/20, much like it’s a cold-hearted bitch, but I’ve learnt a lot since my teenage years, so allow me to bestow some wisdom onto you – you awkward and quiet baby gay.

    Firstly, It gets better, you’ll no doubt hear this a million times throughout your life, but that makes it no less true. Year on year since coming out I have personally found life has kept getting better for me, so by no means assume that where you are now is where you’ll be forever. I don’t want to fall into the rhythm of a long-winded and overtly rambled speech on the importance of being oneself – especially when it can all too often feel like the entire world is pushing against you to be someone else. However, please try to be you. Closed-minded people will always find issues with change and difference – and while we may know that whom we love makes absolutely no difference to who we are as people, those kinds of bigots will always struggle to understand that. Trust me, in the long run you’re going to regret pretending to be someone else much more than you could ever regret being true to yourself.

    When it comes to the actual bullies I’m going to borrow a few words from the founder of TheGayUK, Jake Hook, have “the bravery to confront them,” know “that when you push back that bullies rarely know how to respond and once you’ve taken away the power of their words they get bored and move on.”

    I think he, like many other members of the LGBT community, would agree with me when I say, “Screw the haters, be proud and be brave”.

    One final thing, remember you’re not alone. You are a part of a huge, loud and supportive community that all know exactly what you’re going through because most of them have already been there themselves.

    You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine. You’ll be grand. You’ll be gay.

    Sincerely,

    Twenty-Five Year Old You