THEGAYUK

Category: Column

  • COLUMN | The Fainting Couch

    This week has seen me languishing on my sofa.

    ’ve always been a sickly person from childhood onwards with migraines, infections, joint pains and a general lack of robustness. This has carried on into adulthood along with an unhealthy dose of health anxiety and a bag full of pills for every eventuality. I I can swallow a whole handful of pills in one (is this the meaning of deep throat?). You’d think I’d be better at it by now but I’m absolutely rubbish at being ill.

    I’ve had a rip-roaring kidney infection with associated back pain, nausea, joint aches and high fevers. Nipping to the loo every five minutes is no fun either especially when it entails what I call Cockburn (it’s pronounced Co-burn, so they tell me). Before you start thinking the worst, it’s not an STD, just some hideous bacteria that has sneaked its way in and knocked me off my perch, probably exacerbated by being tired and stressed. Not that I’d be ashamed of an STD. It happens to the best of us.

    I have fond memories of childhood illness: watching ‘Sons and Daughters’, Tomato Soup, Lucozade in crinkly cellophane wrappers and boiled eggs whilst lolling on the sofa with a favourite book. I except these are just skewed memories. Nostalgia often casts a rosy glow on things that weren’t like we remember them at all. We can look back on a tedious holiday full of atmosphere and recrimination and remember it as a jolly time. Festive gatherings are often edited with family rows and disappointments on the cutting room floor. Being ill is rubbish. It’s boring and dull. Just how much ‘Homes Under the Hammer’ can you watch before going out of your mind? When I’m at work, I crave a week off but never in my fantasy does that week off involve frequent G.P. trips and lying in a pool of sweat and shivering.

    I have a romanticised ideal of illness that stems from reading too many Victorian novels where the heroine languishes on her fainting couch, a small dog on her lap and a bottle of Laudanum to sip. In reality those couches were stuffed with horse hair and terribly uncomfortable, I’m sure, and no one really wants the Laudanum as it’s just a historic term for Heroin and that’s a route I’m not planning to go down.

    It was a bad prognostic sign when I had to walk out of a play, as I was feeling so sick and shivering with fever. I never leave a good play and consider it bad manners to walk out. As bad as it’s been for me to feel so rough, my poor partner (who works from home) has suffered more. As Baby Jane to my hollering Blanche he’s had to fetch and carry, listen to my pitiful whine and exhibit a huge amount of patience.

    Luckily for him, I’ve been sleeping about 18 hours a day so he’s had some respite. I may have dreamt that moment where he hovered clutching a pillow menacingly over my face. Maybe I didn’t, though and I wouldn’t blame him.

    I can’t imagine being seriously ill or having some chronic condition as so many people do. I’m not cut out for it. The people who suffer like this have my empathy.

    I try to look for a positive in most things. I can only find two: I’ve spent less money and lost half a stone in weight. Thankfully, I’m starting to feel better and my diseased urinary tract is settling down, thanks to a course of strong antibiotics. I’m actually looking forward to going back to work and having some normality. Stay well, people.

  • COLUMN | Deep Down

    There are lots of things that I really like about myself. I have quite pretty blue eyes (if I do say so myself). I can eat a whole pack of bagels without putting on an ounce, can usually empathise with other people and have my entertaining moments.

    I kind of like my weird double jointed big toes and my ability to see at least a little good in most things. I’m also very good at Cluedo and have read the complete works of Agatha Christie.
    Naturally there’s a balance. I hate the little hairs that grow out of my ears, the way I can be prone to judge people harshly without getting to know them well enough first and my terrible eyesight. My clumsiness is a legendary cross which I bare and I tend to be a quitter with a feeble motto of “If at first you don’t succeed then it’s probably just not for you, love.” a motto that’s seen me unable to drive a car, ride a bike or master the yo-yo.

    I suppose we all possess traits and qualities that we have to learn to accept and I’ve written about mine here before: my dodgy mental health. I’m sorry to recur, to bring it up again and to go on about the same old thing but I’m also afraid that that’s just the nature of the beast. It rears its ugly head. It’s also pretty topical with this week’s amazing Time for Change campaigns’ ‘Time to Talk Day’.

    Statistically we were a mental illness once. Gay people were classified as officially possessing a mental disorder, just because they were gay. Loving or even just lusting after, someone of your own gender was considered to be a form of madness and was only removed from the official USA manual of classified psychiatric disorders in 1973. Unsurprisingly, discrimination, homophobia and prejudice have all been linked to alarmingly high rates of poor mental health with associated high substance abuse and suicide rates in LGBT people.

    I don’t know why I get depressed and anxious. I don’t actually care either. I’ve been down the route of therapy (self-help books, counselling, psychoanalysis, cognitive behavioural therapy, medications). I’ve soul searched, analysed and been analysed and it doesn’t matter to me any more whether it’s my stressful job, my childhood experiences, my abusive past relationships or my dodgy genes. It just matters that I can get by the best I can with whatever resources I can access. I try to spot the triggers and try to engage my relapse survival mechanisms when an episode hits (spoken like someone who’s been through way too much therapy).

    So, a week of feeling desperate, bowling balls nestling in my stomach and a sick sense of dread? It’s not much of a joy feeling so joyless. It’s been hard to keep perspective and think about my good career, my relationships, my friendships and the people who love me. So why am I sharing this with you? Is this entertaining or worth the read? I hope that the latter is true. I’m a normal functional human being who just struggles a bit at times. It’s true of one in three of us apparently.

    So, that’s my purpose. I’m talking about it. I’m human. I work, I eat, I sleep and have a good job that I love. This silly depression of mine should carry no stigma. I’ve been ill. It’s like the flu. I’m ill, not weak or defective. I’ve been having a low period and I’m getting a bit better thanks for asking. I just want you to know what I wish people had sometimes told me: lots of people feel like this. It’s really bloody hard, but we can get by. There are lots of us about and we sometimes just want to talk about it.

  • COLUMN | Super(Gay)Man

    I was watching an interiors program the other night and, unsurprisingly, the majority of male participants were gay.

    This led me to ponder why it is that gay people are so talented in the fields of the arts? We’re prominent in theatre, dance and design. Fashion would be stuck in the doldrums without us. The world of hairstyling would be severely depleted and there’d be a lot less fancy window displays in the big shops. Do we have a special gene? Is it a class we all take at gay school? Are we just born amazing, with an eye for colour and where to put an accented scatter cushion?

    We’ve got comedy cracked with our acerbic wit. We can write, sing and paint with amazing results. We’re even infiltrating sports with our buffed physiques teetering on the edges of diving boards and our good legs managing to kick balls about whilst looking hot in shorts. Is there no limit to our talents?

    If you listen to our detractors; we can topple governments, corrupt children and make whole nations quake with just a click of our delicately manicured fingers. We can have whole countries living in terror of us, leading them to pass laws to suppress us, trying to make us impotent and powerless. Religions pass judgements on us just so that they can try to hide our clearly superior talents.

    Is there nothing we can’t do? Maybe we’re the master race. We’re a force to be reckoned with, strong, talented and amazing with a little bit of fabulousness and good skin to add to the mix.

    ..or maybe we’re just people. Maybe that’s why we terrify some people so much. We’re just a group of people who happen to be gay and are pretty much the same as people who don’t happen to be gay, with a varying range and mix of talents and characteristics.

    Now that must be truly terrifying for some people.

  • COLUMN: Dogging

    The only time I’ve ever contemplated getting myself tattooed was when I owned a dog. I considered having a banner reading: “Never Get Another Dog, Ever”, on my arm. This was in order to remind myself of the total ball ache that pet ownership could bring and stop me in my tracks in moments of temptation.

    (more…)

  • JAMES ARTHUR: ‘I’m Not A Homophobe Anymore’ – Forgive and Forget?

    I think we’ll be the judge of that James Arthur… Are we ready to forgive and forget?

    Disgraced former X Factor Winner James Arthur speaking at a gig, hopes his new single will be picked up by radio after the last single performed terribly, reaching number 19.
    Arthur hit the headlines last year after releasing a ‘diss’ rap containing anti-gay lyrics.
    During an Edinburgh gig, in which he introduced his new single Get Down, it is reported that he said:
    ‘This one will hopefully get played on the radio, cause I’m not a homophobe any more.’
    I mean it must be true, even Rylan Clark has defended the Impossible singer.
    What do you think? Forgive And Forget, or hold a grudge like a dog with a bone?

    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 | Life before and after ‘My Transsexual Summer’ – LEWIS HANCOX

    So I’m sat here in bed, sore, swollen and slightly nauseous from all the painkillers. I have various tubes coming out of me for various reasons and just thinking about them makes me lose my appetite. I’ll be honest, I’m not always an optimistic person and I often take things in life for granted (who doesn’t?) but as I use my seemingly endless spare time to reflect, I start to think about how fortunate I am… how I’m surrounded by loving people… how I have a whole future of opportunities… and how far I’ve come in the past three years. Three years ago I could only dream of being in the position I am now – and by that I don’t mean bed bound, sporting surgical stockings, willing on the day I can eventually take a shower – I’m talking about the much bigger picture.

    I entered 2011 with no particular expectations or hopes. I wouldn’t say I was content but I’d accepted my life for what it was. I’d already dropped out of uni so I wasn’t destined for greatness. The dreams I had as a kid of working for Disney, making it big in Hollywood – probably not gonna happen without a B.A, right? I was working part-time at an arts and crafts shop so at least it was a vaguely creative area… ish. I loved my co-workers though, they became like family. They were so supporting of my transition from female to male and I owe most of my confidence to them. I needed their support even more so since the local Primary Care Trust turned down my request to fund my chest surgery – the next vital step in my transition.

    I appealed, I spoke with the woman in charge personally, I sent suicide threats, I did everything I could think of. It didn’t matter. They said a double mastectomy was not a part of the gender reassignment process the PCT consider funding. Lower surgery is funded however. Trust St. Helens to be the one town in the whole country who have things totally backwards. Now it wasn’t only my dreams that had come to a standstill… it was my transition. It’s easy to see why I predicted 2011 was going to be a pretty uneventful year… I predicted wrongly.

    It all started with an email around Spring time titled ‘Channel 4’. That sure caught my attention. A TV producer had found my awkward vlogs on YouTube and apparently decided I was fitting for an upcoming reality show all about transgender people. I phoned her and the next thing I knew I had a TV crew in my living room, then I was on route to a huge mill house in Bedford where I met six other trans folk, some of whom became my best friends! I’d never knowingly met another trans person before – partly the reason I wanted to be involved in the show. I also had an urge to prove wrong all the prejudiced people out there and spread awareness of trans issues. I can’t pretend it was solely for unselfish reasons though… I had always been fascinated by the media and I revelled in the opportunity to become a TV personality. Who knew what could come of it? Maybe it wasn’t too late to make something of myself after all.

    ‘My Transsexual Summer’ had much more of an impact than myself and the other contributors could ever imagine. Since it aired in Autumn of that year we were being recognised left, right and centre by people of all ages, backgrounds and identities! Even the most unlikely viewers would come up to me in my small-minded hometown and congratulate me as though they knew me personally. People I’d never met before seemed genuinely touched by how open and honest I’d been on national television. I had a lot of ‘wow, I’d never be able to tell you were born a girl’ and a shed full of beard compliments. Then there were the people that approached me not because of their disbelief that I was trans but because I’d inspired them to live an authentic life, or even just because they liked my personality. Whether I inspired or entertained people, it still meant I affected them one way or another and there’s no better feeling.

    The amazingly generous public contributed towards my chest surgery fund and in only two weeks after the fourth and final episode aired I had a whopping £6000! Stephen Fry and Graham Norton donated online – I love telling people that, it never gets old (to me). I began 2012 with a new chest and a new found self esteem. A UK club tour awaited me… ‘BRING IT ON!’ would sum up my attitude. Let me tell you, having bouncers shuffle you from the club entrance to the VIP section to try avoid fans mobbing you is a very surreal experience. Free drinks, dancing the night away, feeling like you’re somebody… if I could go back and do it all again, I would in a heartbeat.

    Like the domino effect, one good thing led to another and I met my soon-to-be girlfriend in the Summer. Sophie Moore was like no other. It began with a Facebook message – Sophie had watched My Transsexual Summer and wanted to get in touch with a few kind words. A few kind words led to back and forth, essay-style messages and a few months later we met up in London. Despite Sophie living down South while I was all the way up in the North West, I knew from the start this was vastly different to my previous flings. I have many a terrifying tale to tell about ex-girlfriends and if I was still the bitter lemon I once was I’d probably divulge… but a year and a half in with Sophie and I feel like I’ve never known anything but her.

    With what seemed like pure miracles finding me over the course of two years, I started to believe anything was possible. I started to believe in myself again. I don’t often consider myself a brave person but there are a few plunges I’ve taken in my life that remind me I can be. Deciding to finally leave St. Helens and pursue my dreams is one of them. I applied to university again and got onto a film making course! I left my Mum’s house, quit my job at the art shop and moved in with Sophie in Buckinghamshire. In a year I’ve made films to be proud of and I’m doing well at uni for once – I’m as ambitious as when I was a kid again. I have a passion for story telling and entertaining. I’ve been writing comedy films and pushing my filmmaking to new limits, confidently contacting people within the industry as though I’m worthy of a reply. It’s all about confidence and a positive outlook, believing the universe can be good to you and not spending your time mulling over mishaps and regrets.

    In combining my creativity with my status as a transgender advocate, I teamed up with Raphael Fox (who I met on the set of My Transsexual Summer) and together we have created the ‘My Genderation’ film project that won us a place on the Independent On Sunday’s Pink List. The series of short films explore transgender and gender variant people in a way that the mainstream media has never before – with sensitivity, creativity and most of all, empathy. We’ve had one film endorsed by the BBC and have some upcoming work that will potentially air on Channel 4. See, I could be all ‘woe is me’ about being born transgender, I mean, it certainly isn’t an easy ride… but without having starred in My Transsexual Summer I would have never been given such a platform to showcase my films and get them recognised. Fox and I have received many messages from My Genderation viewers telling us how inspirational and helpful the films have been in one way or another – we couldn’t ask for a better response.

    So there you have it. A summary of the past three years of my life. Three years that shocked and surprised me with every twist and turn. It’s so easy to lose hope when your life appears to be moving backwards, or moving nowhere at all… but I’ve learned that in reality we’re always moving forwards and there’s always the unexpected waiting for you around that next corner. As I type this I’m reminding myself it’s true. I don’t want to be forever knows as ‘that transman from My Transsexual Summer’. I want to be a writer, an actor and a director. I know I’m aiming pretty high, some people tell me too high. However, I think I’ve already proved anything is possible and I’m slowly making a name for myself in the filmmaking world. I was walking down a corridor in uni last month and was greeted with my own face on a massive poster hanging on the wall! I was in the ‘London South Bank spotlight’ for having one of the My Genderation films recognised by the BBC before even entering my second year. It’s moments like that I realise I must be doing something right.

    I’ve not yet explained the reason I’m bed bound and full of tubes… kinda sounds like I’ve been abducted by aliens for experimentation. Well that just isn’t the case, although I have felt pretty spaced out since I went in for my lower surgery seven days ago! That’s right, I’ve done it – I’ve completed my medical transition! I opted for a type of surgery called metoidioplasty. With that I had a full hysterectomy plus removal of the other ‘female’ parts inside me. It feels surreal that those organs are all gone. Then again, it feels surreal that they were even there in the first place. I can’t see the benefits of the surgery just yet because everything is so swollen and painful but I know in a few months time when I’m as right as rain I’ll be so thankful I got it over and done with. There’ll be no more surgery to get in the way of my ambitions. I’m entering 2014 with a lust for life and more determination to achieve my filmmaking dreams than ever before.

    Visit Lewis’s Website: http://www.lewishancox.com

     

    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 | Chris Bridges’ That Was The Year That Was

    It’s that time of year when we all get reflective, and occasionally sentimental and mawkish, thinking about the past year. I’m definitely not going to do that. Instead, I thought I’d share a few cultural highlights of 2013. I’ve waded through some pretty grim stuff and also been lucky enough to witness some totally stunning stuff. Here’s my gay Top 5 of 2013:

    1) Cabaret: The Black Cat Cabaret
    As sleek and slinky as a black cat stalking the back streets of Paris, this is a diverse mix of burlesque, novelty acts, dance, comedy and music. It’s definitely atmospheric and often dark and enticing. Featuring a variety of hosts including the alluring Dusty Limits, this show played to packed houses at the remarkable Café de Paris in Leicester Square. 2014 sees new line-ups and exciting new venues. Check out the itinerary here: http://www.theblackcat.info

    2) Dance: Matthew Bourne’s Sleeping Beauty. If you weren’t fortunate enough to see this in the flesh then the television screening on Christmas day was well worth seeing. Matthew Bourne dazzles as ever with inventive sets, eclectic choreography and clever reworking of classics. Catch up with the latest projects here: http://www.new-adventures.net

    3) Theatre: The Pride. This was an exceptional play with comedy, pathos and a thought provoking message. Justifiably praised by critics, this was a play that cleverly explored the parallels between gay life in the 1950s and the present day. Look out for upcoming shows at the Trafalgar here: http://www.trafalgar-studios.co.uk/

    4) Film: Behind the Candelabra. High camp, pianos, Matt Damon in tight trunks? What more do you need to know? Oh, it was actually quite moving in places too as well as being hilariously funny. Buy it here.

    5) Comedy: Scott Capuro. One of the most naughty and funniest of our openly gay comedians, he’s a pleasure, albeit an uncomfortable pleasure at times, to witness. Check out his next dates here: http://scottcapurro.com/wp28/upcoming-shows

    2014 is definitely going to be an exciting year for culture. I’ll keep you posted with hot tips.

  • Happy New Year from THEGAYUK

    We just want to thank you all for being part of THEGAYUK this year – and look forward to growing further with you in 2014.

    It’s been an amazing journey – and we’re so excited to take TGUK in 2014!

    Lots of love

    Jake + Graham and the entire TGUK Team

  • COLUMN | Sunny With A Chance of Cloud

    I was looking out of my kitchen window the other day and watching the sky. It was a sunny day but with banks of clouding blowing past. I don’t become sentimental or wax lyrical very often but I was taken with how beautiful the clouds were with a range of shapes and colours and an ever-changing view. I’m all for the beauty of a clear blue sky but wouldn’t it be a bit boring to not have the clouds too?

    I progressed even further with my sentimentally and began to think about my friends and how they’re much the same: frequently cloudy. I don’t think that I know anyone whom I call flawless and perfect. If I did, then I probably wouldn’t stay in touch with them for long. I’d be severely tried by their lack of blemishes, whether emotional or physical. What on earth would we have to talk about if everything was fantastic and life hadn’t thrown a few punches, leaving subsequent bruises? The media created automatons that we watch and read about are so dull that we desperately wait to have some dirt on them unearthed so that we can gloat. I don’t just like people in spite of their quirks, anomalies and faults; I frequently like them because of them.

    Wouldn’t it be a boring world if we all had sculpted torsos and unblemished skin? The cult of hard bodied youth has its merits but, personally, I’m more intrigued by a bit of imperfection. My eyes will scan over a perfume advertisement model’s bronzed flesh with a barely recognised acknowledgment. Show me a perma-tanned youthful pop singer with airbrushed skin and I’ll show you a thousand others. However, show me a slightly battered and craggy older man and I’ll be much more likely to feel a tug of attraction and curiosity. In a Photoshopped world it’s good to reality check.

    Wouldn’t it be good if we could be less influenced by what we see and weren’t so likely to translate it into what we want to be? It’s a very hard state to achieve. Who doesn’t want to a bit thinner/more bulky/less or more hairy and older/younger/better looking etc. etc.?

    As New Year’s Eve approaches, if you must make resolutions (they’re a bit passé aren’t they, though, really?), then make them about being what you want to be and not what you think you the world wants you to be. Your flaws are so often what makes you fantastic and I for one, love you for them.

  • COLUMN | Very Superstitious

    People talk about spirituality and faith and I’m always left puzzled. Talk to me about organised religion and my eyes glaze over as I reach for my Richard Dawkins books. Lecture me on Eastern mysticism and I shudder and look away. If you want to tell me about astrology, cosmic ordering or the time your deceased neighbour communicated with you from the spirit world then I’m anything but fascinated.

    I escaped my religious upbringing as soon as I was able and I avoid anything with chanting or incense. I suspect that my chakras are more than out of alignment but are actually non-existent. A woman at a party once told me that a dead woman called Marjory was wanting to talk to me and I politely told her to go away and take Marjory with her.

    If I think about it, though, I do have a religion of sorts: superstition. I can’t pass a single magpie without saluting it. If I see a shiny penny on the floor then I have to pick it up and I touch wooden things with alarming regularity. This can prove very awkward. Saluting a magpie during a driving lesson will guarantee that a frantic instructor will shout at you in alarm and grab for the dual controls as you allow the car to veer across lanes of traffic. Ducking down whilst on a date to snatch a coin from the street whilst drunkenly shouting: “A lucky penny!” will almost certainly ensure that date number two will not be forthcoming. Grabbing a penny from a colleague’s desk will get you odd looks too. Reaching for tree trunks in the street to touch wood will perhaps risk arrest, if done too conspicuously.

    My superstition is as sound as anything and no less valid. It’s based on centuries of tradition. I know it’s not true and that it’s a mad way to run my life but what’s not to like about not opening an umbrella indoors or keeping new shoes off the table? It’s hardly a hardship.

    For me, it’s more a way of keeping anxiety at bay, like a very mild strain of O.C.D. I see a black cat and I feel instantly calmer. It has a flip side too, of course. Seeing one magpie can leave me lurching with angst. Its mild angst though and it passes. The major bonus for me is that my religion has no dietary restrictions, no observances and no tricky festivals to navigate. It also doesn’t disapprove of me being gay.

    Maybe I’ll start a festival though. If anyone wants to come round to mine dressed as a magpie whilst bearing wood then I’ll gladly let you pick up all the pennies you like from my carpet. Tempted?

  • COLUMN | A Message From The Bunker

    As an atheist, vegetarian, teetotal, chocolate hating, childless man with very little family and a job which requires me to work over Christmas often, I don’t really see a lot in it for me to enjoy. I ‘came out’ as a festive hater a few years back and have suffered all the usual labels of Grinch and Scrooge and the tedious Bah Humbug comments.

    Over the course of several years, I gradually sloughed off the habits expected of me. I just didn’t enjoy them and despite what everyone seems to say, none of it is compulsory. Stopping sending cards celebrating something I don’t celebrate, not attending the tense family meal, avoiding the dreary works’ do: all of these actions felt increasingly liberating. I also discovered that amongst my friends there were a huge number of secret Christmas haters.

    Maybe you love it (and good luck to you if you do) but for those who feel like I do, here are my top five tips for avoiding the Yuletide hassle.

    1) Avoid Social Media: Unless you want to see endless ‘selfies’ of sweaty people in too much make-up at works’ parties, photos of uncomfortable looking people at dinner tables, over-dressed trees and endless Instagrammed food pictures, then stay clear. You’ll also avoid the smug updates and the plethora of posts where people complain about how much they have to do.

    2) Avoid the shops: They’ll be packed with amateurs. People who don’t enter a shop from one month to the next descend on the high streets in December and they just don’t understand the etiquette and tend to get underfoot. Shop rage can soon ensue. Plus: all those delightful little things you want to buy are all wedged in a back stockroom to make way for nasty little novelty gifts.

    3) Invest in good headphones: You’ll need these if you have to make a foray into a shop to buy food or more importantly some kind of substance such as nicotine or alcohol to get you through. Unless you really do love Aled Jones and Shakin’ Stevens then your own music is essential to keep you sane whilst you stagger round the booze aisle.

    4) Utilise technology: Unless you want bombarding with tacky perfume ads, images of plastic families eating mountains of food and various mythical weird Utopian delights dreamt up by advertisers then you need to avoid live television. Skipping adverts is what the DVD recorder/box type thing and internet were made for

    5) If it gets too much hide: There’s still a few bunkers left from the last war. Maybe hiding in one of these might help you avoid the yuletide horrors. I have a perfectly lovely one where I’ve draped a few Liberty fabrics and have a delightful Chaise Longue. If you fancy joining me: I have enough dried food to get me through till January. I also have a collection of music that doesn’t include anything by Slade and a pile of books. Just don’t mention the C word to me.

    If you are religious and Christmas is your festival then I really hope you enjoy it. As for the rest of you: whatever it is you think you might be celebrating, I hope you enjoy it too.