THEGAYUK

Category: Column

  • COLUMN | We’re here, we’re queer and we might go shopping

    I’m at that age where I’ve become a bit jaded. Let’s just say I’m over 40, A.K.A. dead in gay years. I get the sensation that I’ve seen it all before and done it all; more than once.

    The thought of hanging about in a park all day whilst a lot of drunken people watch the latest celebrity boy bands whilst trying to get Grindr to work and buying cheap tat that’s had the word “gay” added to make it saleable, is my idea of hell.

    Thinking back though, this wasn’t always the case. It was the late 1980s and aged 18, I got on a coach laid on by the local gay bar from the Midlands town where I lived, and came down to London to attend Gay Pride. I was intrigued by what it would be like and had no idea what to expect, media coverage of such events being largely non-existent then. I wasn’t expecting what I saw.

    The huge throng of people was a sight to see. I’d also never seen so many gay people or even had any idea that they’re that many LGBT people in the whole of England. I’d also never seen men kissing in public or holding hands and thought that I’d landed on some strange planet where things were as they should be. There were many other things I hadn’t seen before: two women with their breasts pierced and chained together (Health and Safety hazard: one slip or trip and you’d lose a nipple), 30 men dressed as Wonder Woman charging along to the theme music from the show, drag queens in vertiginous heels and many many other weird and wonderful sights. The appeal wasn’t that alone though. There were also a huge amount of people just like me. Representatives from the emergency services, various social, political and career groups were all out and proud with a rallying cry of “We’re Here, We’re Queer and we’re Not Going Shopping”. I liked the more strident political side to it and the inventive banners as much as the comedic ones and the fripperies of the O.T.T. drag.

    For once, I actually didn’t really want to go shopping. I passed Fortnum and Mason’s without as much as a twitch. I was amazed that we were so public and that we passed so many London landmarks and also staggered that no one was throwing bricks, spouting venom or condemning us to hell-fire.

    The festival on the park afterwards had a drag tent which kept me amused, as well as some bad pop and a wealth of people watching opportunities. I felt strangely empowered as the fireworks went off with a bang (as they do) and the bus set off for home.

    It’s hard to remember our youth and more innocent joy at things we now take for granted so maybe I’ll try again. Well, I may have to pop in Fortnum and Mason’s first. One needs a good picnic and a comfy rug if sitting on a park at my age.

  • EDITOR’S LETTER | June, Pride

    Hello all and thank you so much for your continued support for THEGAYUK. Last month we had a record month with as our reach topped over 150,000 unique readers.

    This month we’re dedicating our pages to Pride. Yes love it or loathe it, Pride season is upon us and this year THEGAYUK is happily media sponsoring a number of Prides around the UK – and we look forward to meeting as many of you as possible – if you see us in our sexy T-Shirts come and say hey!

    Pride, I believe, is an incredibly important event for the gay community, from it’s humble beginnings on the July 1st 1972 in London, with just 700 people marching the streets to the mass lavish parties we’ve come to know and love in many of our cities across the UK – But what’s truly wonderful to witness is the growing number of new Prides and smaller Prides that are really starting to blossom.

    My first Pride experience was a little inauspicious shall we say – years before I was out, I happened upon Pride London quite by mistake – as I sat on the Tube from my home town in the far reaches of North London the Tube carriage began to fill with a number of colourful characters – odd I thought, but wasn’t too alarmed. It was only when masses of men boarded the train, dressed in all kinds of costumes, holding hands and yes, even kissing, I began to think I was no longer Kansa, or indeed Southgate… Dorothy.

    Being young and still at that ‘I’m not gay’ stage, I was genuinely shocked and intrigued, my twinset and pearls were being clutched, but I did want to know more, perhaps that man crush I had on a certain Neighbours character was something after all.

    Years on I relish Pride season – putting the clubbing and parties aside, Pride is an important tool for the LGBT community. It breaks boundaries, it allows our voices to be heard and for us to continue our journey to full societal equality.

    We must never forget who we are and how far we, as a community have come, in a relatively short time.

    To quote the theme from Oxford Pride this year, we’re ‘Not There Yet’ but we are getting closer everyday.

    We’re also launching our brand new Sexual Health campaign along with the Freedoms Shop, we’ve dubbed it the No Excuse Project.

    We’re aiming to deliver free condoms to anyone who doesn’t have access to condoms, to those who are too shy or embarrassed or aren’t able for whatever reason to get hold of condoms.

    With the rise of sexual infections and record new HIV infections amongst men who have sex with men, we’re passionate in making sure there is No Excuse not to have a condom in your house or pocket.

    If you’d like to know more or even help us fund the project visit www.noexcuse.thegayuk.com – Every £1 donated could potentially save 8 people from contracting a sexually transmitted disease in the UK.

     

    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 | The Anti-Social Network

    I have an ambivalent relationship with social networking. I love it and hate it in equal parts. Twitter irritates me. It seems to have a huge element of self promotion and bizarre grandiosity but more importantly, I can’t possibly say what I have to say in that small amount of letters. I’m too verbose to tweet. I need to rant and expound, not chirp a pithy one liner.

    The whole concept of social networking, for me, fits in with the whole “Only Connect” concept. Connection with others is what makes life bearable for lots of us. I’ve found out loads of stuff on Facebook which I wouldn’t otherwise have known. People I nod at in the corridor at work and have never managed to get to know, suddenly become more interesting when I find that we have something in common. I like the glimpse behind the curtains of people’s facades when they rant or rave about something.

    The bad things for me on Facebook are the boastfulness, the distasteful over sharing and the pleading attention seeking. You know the kind of thing. Here’s my guide:

    1) “Gail has had enough of it and can’t believe it has happened again.” This is purely meant to elicit curiosity, draw attention and so is best ignored. Do not under any circumstances type back “What’s up babes?” or “((hugs))”. Tough love is the answer. Ignore these people. Knock them off your news feed. Now! You’ll feel better for it.

    2) “Sheila can’t believe the cancer is back and she has to have her womb out tomorrow and may be dead on Thursday.” Really? You want to share that with the 300 people on your friend’s list including the woman from the Post office and that cleaner at work with the dodgy eye who you politely accepted a friend request from for fear of causing offence? Maybe it’s not so bad if you have a select list of close friends on Facebook but who does that? We all have lots of random people we nod to on there but wouldn’t know what to talk about if stuck in a lift together, don’t we? One ex-acquaintance updated her status that her mum had died (which was fine) but the status said “R.I.P. Mum who died at 1230am” and was posted at 12.31am. Phew. Speedy work on the laptop there and a small case of inappropriate priorities. One married couple I knew, publicly split up on Facebook. That was fun for everyone. Seriously, it was fun. I’m not being sarcastic. I love a bit of rancour and airing of dirty laundry. Some of their posts were like lines from “George and Mildred”

    3) Posting pictures of happy toddlers/dogs/husbands/bouquets of flowers or the nice tea you’re having. This is purely meant as an act of spite and is to rub single and miserable, dieting, pet-less people’s faces in your joy. Stop it.

    4) The “everyone” statements: e.g. “Everyone is proud to be British right now!” “Lovely weather for us all” Erm,..maybe but also maybe not. We’re not in a Fascist regime or a nation of Stepford wives. Get over your extremism and drop the generalisations.

    5) The “LOL”, the “ROFL” and the embarrassing “PMSL”.These people generally have bad grammar too. They’re strangers to the apostrophe and as for the their/there thing. They should be made to attend classes and also if they really are PMSLing then they need to get that checked out with their local practice nurse. It can be helped by simple bladder exercises and techniques.

    Trawl through my social networking accounts and I suspect you’ll also find me guilty as charged on a few of the above (but not the LOL, naturally).

    I did go on about my piles once and have often made remarks about my dodgy relationship break-ups too. When I used to drink to excess, I once also woke up on the kitchen floor after a session to find that I’d somehow written a poorly spelled comment to out a closeted ex. Thankfully a lovely friend saved my honour and sent me a text message suggesting it was an error to post that. That was lucky as I had no recollection of doing it, so thankfully it was only there for a few hours. I would have lost even more of the remaining self respect, which was rapidly ebbing away, had it been up longer. I hate that kind of behaviour too, especially in myself.

    I’ll redress the balance now with some truth telling of a different kind:

    Social Networking status: Had an amazing time at the nature reserve and saw herons, a weasel and fed the swans. Lovely day and great lunch.

    The truth: Yes, I did have a great time. My partner was there, we ate a lunch which was well presented on a balcony over-looking a pond and watched lots of interesting birds. To be honest though, there were only two non-meat options and I ended up with egg mayonnaise again which does get to be a bore. The sun was out and we laughed a lot. What I failed to mention is that I saw a weasel and was absolutely terrified and only just managed to contain my panic. It is after all, an elongated rat. I had a nervousness and protective instinct about my ankles the rest of the walk around the reserve. If I’d had some string I would have tied my trousers at the bottoms.

    I saw herons and swans but to be honest the swans were a bit mean faced and all had cuts and scars and were brawling with each other a lot which depressed me slightly. I went in a hut called “The Kingfisher Viewing Area” and saw no f***ing Kingfishers, just a sparrow or two. I wanted kingfishers. I didn’t get them. It was sunny but I was battered and tired after 7 shifts at work and it felt a bit stark at times. I sweated a lot. A man told me off for smoking too near the cafe and I almost pushed him off a bridge in rage and stuck my lighter up his arse (but contained myself). I brooded a little about this but not much. My partner’s back was sore and he was fretful about some work he’s got to do for University. Finally, I was bitten to pieces by insects and now have a swelling on my neck like a goitre. It itches like mad and makes me look like an inbred Derbyshire hill person from the 1700s.

    Happy now?

    I once declared a “truth day” on Facebook and people joined in with gusto, counterbalancing smug posts with reality bites. It’s amazing how many people admitted to being bored at home, having flatulence or sitting around in a baggy old tracksuit watching TV.

    So, next time you see a photo and posting about a loved up couple and their happy toddlers, just remember: one of them may well have cheated, one has a persistent fungal infection and they’re yet to find out where the toddler has hidden the turd. It’ll make you feel much happier.

    Disclaimer: If you’re still on my social networking lists then it’s not you I’m talking about. The above mentioned culprits have been removed and my news feed cleansed.

  • COLUMN: A Fine Vintage

    People get totally the wrong idea if I tell them that I like the feeling of being restrained. I definitely don’t mean bondage. If anyone tied me up I’d be hysterical. I don’t even like someone blocking the doorway. What I’m actually talking about is vintage menswear.

    (more…)

  • COLUMN | I Told You I Was Ill

    My hypochondria is legendary. Actually, I don’t call it hypochondria. I call it being ill but you can make up your own mind on that one.

    have a different ailment for each day of the week and am never too far from a packet of over the counter pain killers, anti-sickness drugs or non-prescription sleeping pills. Nothing herbal though. I prefer a chemical. You know where you are with a chemical. Pills are so pretty at times. They come in such lovely colour palettes. My migraine pills are lilac and pink, which is inspired. I like the names too, such poetry; Tramadol, Temazepam andTrimethoprim sound like strange and lovely holiday resorts to me.

    I have pills in all my bags, my desk drawer, my bedside drawer and in the overflow pill drawer. Not to mention my TENs machine, heat pack and various lotions which I keep a good supply of. I take an extra toilet bag on holiday, just for pills. I never leave the supermarket without 32 Paracetamol. Why only this week I’ve had a small melanoma, a pleural fluid collection and a nasty bout of spondylosis. They’ve cleared up now, luckily but I had the right pills to hand in case they turned nasty.

    I was always a delicate, sickly child, prone to headaches and abdominal pain, plagued by hay fever and recurrent temperatures and a bit of mild asthma. I was fantastic at car sickness and could hurl for England too. I was also rather good at the accidental injury, being a clumsy boy; the fall downstairs, the crash landing on the t.v. after slipping on a discarded novel and famously the swallowed rosary beads and the fishing hook in the back of my head which necessitated trips to Accident and Emergency.

    My mum always seemed to notice us more when we were ill and to give her credit, would have made a superb nurse. She believed in the school of a pill for every ill and would hand out Junior Disprins like they were Smarties. She always had some Buttercup Cough Syrup handy and was a dab hand with a cold compress for the fevered brow. My mum also set a fine example by never leaving the house without a handbag stuffed with prescription drugs. She was generous and shared her stash with me too and doled out vitamins and herbal remedies by the handful. I may not be able to ride a bicycle or drive a car but I can swallow two Paracetamol dry. It’s a handy skill.

    One of my favourite games was playing grownups, with a glass of Dandelion and Burdock as my sherry, a few sweets as my pills and a candy cigarette clamped in the corner of my mouth. I was learning well.

    I have happy memories of the 1970s, propped up on the brown settee, in the brown and orange living room, under a brown and orange duvet. I’d lay down, happy to be off school, with an Enid Blyton, a glass of Lucozade and a single boiled egg for lunch. Lucozade was considered expensive and only allowed to be drunk as medicine during a bad feverish bout. I loved its sickly taste and sugar overload and the crinkle of the orange cellophane coming off would rouse me to prop my pitiful form up on my elbows and let a few drops be placed on my tongue.

    There were down sides to being sickly too, of course. I was often unpopular when a nasty headache meant an abortive day trip or my poor mum had to take time off yet again. The painful headaches weren’t fun and although I got used to vomiting and sweating out fevers, I never really liked it. Who would? I must confess that I did have a toy hospital, though. It had little doctors and nurses and pallid patients in their beds with the alpine temperature charts on the ends. Endless fun.

    During my teenage years I progressed to hideous migraines, vertigo, nervous tension and a lingering bout of glandular fever which left me weak and watery for months on end. I’ve managed to get both Salmonella and Campylobactor and more Norovirus than I care to mention.

    I’ve managed to have most of my organs imaged and investigated, though not through choice really. It just seems to happen. No one would choose the camera up the bladder, believe me. I’ve had MRI scans, ultrasounds, endoscopes and enough blood taken to transfuse a small elderly lady. Naturally, I’m always mostly normal.

    I’ve managed to go temporarily blind for a month, be crippled by a slipped disc, laid up in hospital with a testicle the size of a hearty jacket spud and develop a sinister limp. I’ve been prodded and poked by urologists, ophthalmologists, neurologists and gastroenterologists. I’ve paid good money to physiotherapists, osteopaths and hypnotherapists. Let’s not even mention the mental health professionals’ input. They’re too numerous to list.

    I very briefly had a fling with a G.P. which was terrible for me. Any foreplay always set me wondering. I’d be lying there thinking “Is he caressing my side or palpating my spleen? Why is he looking into my eyes? Has he seen a cataract?” He didn’t help matters by once breaking off during a session to comment on an irregular mole on my abdomen. I finished it not long after that.

    Maybe I’m what they used to call “the creaking gate”. I hope so, as my rusty old hinges have a lot more noise to make yet.

    Visit Chris’s blog at www.ramblingsofagayman.com

  • COLUMN | Smoking Is A Problem For Me

    I have an addictive personality, and smoking is the “in” thing at the moment.

    That being said, it’s not something I’m overly keen to stop. Whenever the graphic quit smoking ads appear on television, I will do everything in my power to try and ignore them; ironically I usually do this by getting a cigarette.

    I enjoy smoking. It satisfies me, relaxes me and allows me to think straight. Also it could kill me. Yet I tend to conveniently that aspect every time I fiddle around in my pocket, looking for a Zippo.

    Smoking has always been glamorous. I remember vividly watching Sunset Boulevard as a child and watching Gloria Swanson chicly draw back on her cigarette, held tightly between the most fantastic cigarette holder I had ever seen. To this day, I scroll through the wasteland of the internet, desperately trying to find one. I’m yet to find ‘the one’. (It’s the one in the picture above, should any of you find one and let me know. I’d be forever in your debt.)

    My fellow TGUK columnist Chris Bridges wrote a column a few weeks ago, which summed up my exact feeling toward cigarettes perfectly.

    “I fetishize cigarettes. I love the smell of fresh tobacco, the blueness of the smoke in sunlight and the look and feel of them. I love antique smoking paraphernalia. I had hypnotherapy and lit up as I left the office. I can tell you exactly what each nicotine replacement product on the market tastes and feels like. I start to fret if I have less than 60 cigarettes in the house and used to keep a backup pack in my locker at work. I’ve smoked in lots of places I shouldn’t have and braved wind, rain and ice storms to go outside at work for one. I think I may be a hopeless case.”

    If memory serves me correctly, a few months ago Chris and I actually vowed to quit and perhaps document our progress and help each other out. As of yet, silence has ensued from the both of us.

    Smoking is terribly anti-social. Having to awkwardly excuse yourself from a party or bar then meandering outside into the cold just to get one’s fix, is dreadfully monotonous Although I have come to find a sense of community with fellow smokers, we’re a dying breed… (Literally)

    I have tried various alternatives. I find all of them insufferable. The gum is essentially regular, less minty gum with a different packet. The patches make me twitchy and the new kid on the block “E-Cigarettes are utterly vile. They taste as if you’re licking a well-used ashtray and made me cough and splutter like somebody who just realised they ate a cheesecake made of asbestos.

    I hate smoking yet I have no desire to quit. I know that eventually I will have to, either because of a demanding boyfriend, an intervention or through the eventual exile of all smokers, an exile being led by a growing army of self-righteous past smokers who have recently quit and feel it’s their duty to preach about the benefits of being clean-lunged. Preach all you want, just don’t ram it down my throat, I need my throat clear for all the smoke. *Complete bastard smirk*

  • OP ED | Vice Of Reason

    Vices, innately immoral or simply unaccepted activities, can range greatly from the outright degrading to the purely inconvenient. The difference? How it impacts us personally as well as the perception of others. But when does a vice become more than just ‘naughty’ and turns into something actually detrimental and destructive?

    In collaboration with PACE, a London-based charity that promotes the health and wellbeing of LGBT people, I will be looking at common vices and the negative impact these can have (if unregulated) on us all.

    Gambling, overuse of profanity, habitual lateness or the ‘picking’ of various orifices are all common vices; so too is noisy chewing (especially tobacco or gum), staring at desirable people and over-splurging on shopping, just to name a few. So what is your vice? Smoking? Drinking? Drugs? Excessive dieting, gyming or kinky sex?

    Research highlights that there is a disproportionality of alcohol abuse amongst lesbian and bisexual women and body dysmorphia amongst gay and bisexual men. As a community, we are seen as especially prone to these and other vices. One argument is that legislation and policy can impact on LGBT (Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender) mental health associated with a dependency on certain activities or habits.

    One study found a higher incidence of mental health problems among LGB populations who lived in the American States whose policies discriminated based on sexual orientation (1). Despite UK policies which seek to address the inequalities which LGBT people continue to experience, on-going discrimination and prejudice is bound to have a negative impact, manifested through health implications, or a reliance on certain vices.

    Research has suggested that there seems to be a higher risk of substance use dependency associated with minority sexual orientation, but especially among homosexually experienced heterosexuals and bisexual women(2). Research using large population-based samples has indeed consistently demonstrated a higher frequency and intensity of alcohol use amongst lesbian and bisexual women in ‘western’ industrialised societies (3).

    It is important to recognise that some factors that may appear to bolster resilience, like socialising with other lesbians in gay venues, therefore enhancing a sense of belonging and integration, may also act as a risk, as it exposes individuals to the temptation to drink (4) .

    Looking at any gay magazine or scanning TheGayUK website it is clear to see that beauty and physical beauty is important, valued. Body image is widely agreed as especially pertinent to the gay male community. Muscle dysmorphia (MD) or ‘a preoccupation with a misperception that muscles in general are small despite sufficient muscularity (5) can lead to people engaging in body change behaviours, such as dieting, binging and purging, excessive exercise and the use of performance and body enhancing drugs including anabolic androgenic steroids (AAS) (6) Prolonged use of AAS in particular can pose potentially serious mental and physical health risks (7). One study has found that compared to their heterosexual counterparts, gay men reported dieting more, being more fearful of becoming obese, and were more dissatisfied with their bodies generally as well as with their muscularity (8). They were also more likely to hold distorted beliefs about the importance of having an ideal physique.

    These are two examples whereby the LGB community is affected by drinking and excessive dieting. There are several reasons why LGB people may employ these – and other – vices:

    •Defiance – to overcome a sense of shame caused by homophobia (9); however, it has also been described as possibly creating vulnerability thus increasing risk of self-destructive behaviours (10).

    •Need for acceptance and connection with others – socialising and wider support for sexuality related issues is important in promoting mental health among LGB youth.

    •Personality factors – self-criticising tendencies, personal insecurity, perfectionism and obsessive compulsive disorders (11).

    •Heightened aesthetic sensitivity and over-valuation of physical appearance – individuals with Body Dysmorphia Disorder (BDD) have been reported to have a more critical eye and greater appreciation of aesthetics especially when evaluating their own appearance (12).

    •Dealing with loneliness and poor self-esteem (13).

    •A fear of rejection – excessive body image concerns are associated with fear of rejection for one’s appearance(14).

    •Challenge experiences of bullying – experiencing negative comments in childhood is also a predictor of poor self esteem in adulthood (15).

    •Shame, internalised homophobia and the need for validation (16).

    •Overcoming pressure to conform to culturally constructed ideals (17) .

    Do you know why you have your vices? Does the above resonate with you? These theories hopefully provide food for thought and highlight some reasons as to why we, as a community, are disproportionately engaged in a variety of vices, some of which can have lasting, negative effects on us mentally and physically. Although it is generally now regarded that same sex attraction is compatible with psychological good health (18) . LGB people have been found to be at higher risk of mental disorders, suicidal ideation, substance misuse, and deliberate self-harm when compared to heterosexual people(19).

    However, research also indicates that being LGB (or having a transgender identity) is not in itself associated with mental distress and increased rates of mental illness. Indeed it is the negative impact of transphobic, homophobic and heterosexist cultural norms which can spur the discrimination, bullying, marginalisation and stigmatisation of LGBT people, causing ‘minority stress’ (20). So, are your vices an escape? Are you trying to compensate for societal or other rejections? Are these vices simply a bit naughty or something more?
    For more information visithttp://www.pacehealth.org.uk/services
    1) Hatzenbuehler et al, 2010

    2) Cochran and Mays, 2009

    3) King et al., 2008; Rosario, 2008

    4) Gruskin, 2006

    5) Pope et al., 1997, cited in Maida and Armstrong, 2005, p.75

    6) Grieve, 2009 citing Olivardia 2001

    7) Thiblin and Petersson, 2005

    8) Kaminski et al., 2005

    9) McDermott et al., 2008

    10) Amadio, 2006

    11) Pavan et al., 2008, p.4741

    12) Lambrou et al., 2011

    13) Chaney, 2008

    14) Calogero et al., 2010

    15) Wolke and Sapouna, 2008

    16) Downs, 2005

    17) Blond, 2008; Grieve, 2007 cited by Grieve 2009

    18) King, 2004; McFarlane, 1998

    19) King et al., 2008

    20) Eisenberg and Wechsler, 2003; Meyer, 2003

  • COLUMN | Meat (and Two Veg) is Murder

    The modern world is all about the ‘foodie’. We’re all supposed to be happily salivating over organic cuts of meat, freshly baked soda bread and imported delicacies. I’m a little out of kilter with this trend.

    I’m actually not very interested in food. It bores me. Eating can be a pain. It interrupts what you’re doing and means you have to cook which in turn means that your nice clean kitchen gets all grubby which is no good at all. Ovens are great places to keep books. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a nice meal out (mainly for the people watching) and if you want to cook for me then that’s fine and dandy but if it was a choice between food or books or cigarettes then the food would always lose. I tend to watch TV whilst I eat. I turn on the TV, start to eat and the minute the meal ends, I turn it back off. It stops me having to think about it. I can happily eat the same food every day without getting too bored. It’s like scratching an itch.

    A friend once told me that she lay in bed and dreamt of food. She said that her first thought on waking was “What can I eat today?” I find this hard to understand. I hate the feeling when you over eat. That sluggish torpor and the feeling of being full to the neck is not my idea of fun. It’s a torture.

    I don’t really like cooking much. It’s tedious. As for baking, they sell cakes in shops. Why waste your time? You could be reading a good book.

    As a child I hated to eat. I hated meat, salad and vegetables. Unluckily for me, I had parents who were as snobbish as Margot and Jerry Leadbetter but with the horticultural skills of Tom and Barbara Good (from the 1970’s sitcom “The Good Life”, if you don’t recognise the allusion). My parents had a huge allotment and grew huge quantities of fresh vegetables which we would have to eat all year round. They sowed, picked, blanched and froze and we had to help. They also loved to cook much more than I hated to eat. I compromised a little and would eat peas and carrots and the occasional runner bean. This wasn’t enough of a compromise and I spent many hours sitting in a chair, not allowed to leave the table or lay down my cutlery until I ate one Brussel sprout or a sprig of broccoli. I was stubborn enough but my mum was the grand mistress of stubborn. Meal times were a tense battle which I usually lost.

    I devised a few tricks. Firstly: the dog-friend. He was my food ally and was a canine dustbin. He’d eat anything. I’d try and lure him into position under the table and artfully flick half my dinner into his waiting jaw. He suffered a lot of wind due to his varied diet. Secondly: the swallowing trick. With enough gravy or sauce applied liberally I soon mastered the technique of swallowing most foods. I worked up from peas and eventually was at the point where I could swallow a sprout without it touching my tongue. I still hate sprouts. They were invented by Satan but I do suspect that this technique may have come in handy in other ways too in later life. Thirdly: the pocket game. With a tissue laid on my lap, I would secrete food under the table and stuff it into my pocket, consigning it to a watery grave down the toilet as soon as the meal ended.

    I ate so little that eventually I was allowed to have a side plate instead of a dinner plate and no one worried about it. I wasn’t anorexic. I just didn’t like eating much. I expect if it had been any later in time than the 70s and 80s I’d have been admitted to a clinic and tube fed whilst being made to talk about my fear of sexual intimacy. Luckily, I evaded that.

    I did like sweets. I’d line up a pile of dolly mixtures and play my favourite game. This was called “Mummy” and involved scoffing a load of sweets which represented my pills. I’d pop them one by one as I held aloft a little glass of dandelion and burdock and a candy cigarette and feel grown up. I would inhale deeply and sigh and pop another “pill” with a swig of my “sherry”.

    It wasn’t too much of a leap for a teenage food hater to become a vegetarian. A love of “The Smiths” gave me a fantastic idea. Not eating meat was cool and trendy and would annoy my parents to the highest degree. Every teenager’s dream, I think. I recall a Christmas dinner as I smugly nibbled a cheese and onion quiche, aged 14, whilst my parents looked on and frowned. I soon got bored of it, though and was back eating meat.

    As I got older, I started to enjoy food a bit more but on leaving home and moving in with my first partner, I experienced real poverty for a time. We often had no money at all. I had a priority list: cigarettes came top. As long as I had cigarettes I could happily live on Happy Shopper biscuits and bread.

    I made a terrible mistake in 2004. I was watching TV and flicked through the channels onto a program on BBC2 about abattoirs. It was repulsive. I cringed as I watched but couldn’t turn it off. The next few days I found eating meat a weird experience. I couldn’t get it out of my mind that it was a corpse I was eating. I felt sick. It rolled around my mouth, sticking there and I couldn’t swallow. I gave up meat. It wasn’t high moral principles that stopped me eating meat but pure over thinking and subsequent disgust.

    I’m still a vegetarian now although I had a brief lapse in 2007. It was alcohol related and involved a plate of chicken nuggets which I fell face first into. There’s no meat in a chicken nugget though, really, so it’s all OK.

    Want some Vegetarian Recipe ideas? Check out www.thegayuk.com/food

  • OP ED | Is Prostitution The Last Taboo?

    This month’s issue is the Vice Issue and, if I appear to have been quiet for a while, it’s because I’ve been away indulging my passion for sunbathing in Cape Town (probably a vice) and my addiction to chocolate over Easter (definitely a vice).

    I was also taking a holiday from my main job, which some would no doubt claim is the biggest vice of all. I work as a tantric masseur, which could well be considered the more legitimate end of prostitution (certainly there are many sites which will not accept a massage ad, which gives any indication that the massage might be sexually pleasurable), and before that, I worked as an escort.

    It seems to me that, even in our more sexually charged world, a world that increasingly accepts sex as a part of life, prostitution is one of the last, great taboos. There are people out there selling all sorts of services, from cleaning to baby-sitting to dog walking, so, if you happen to be good at sex, then why not offer that as a service?

    Presumably the reason prostitution is frowned on goes back to most religions viewing sex as a sin, but though more and more people would no longer subscribe to that opinion, prostitution, or selling sexual services, is still frowned upon. Are there double standards going on here? For instance, society still seems to have problems with women who view themselves as sexual beings. Why is it, for instance, that a man who has multiple sexual partners is considered a stud, but a woman a slut? Feminists, too, often have problems with women who admit to a high sex drive, and often refuse to believe that there are women who choose to work in the sex industry, even when confronted by someone like Dr Brooke Magnanti, the woman who created the blog Belle De Jour, which was, in turn, based on her experiences as a high-class call girl. Believe me, there are plenty of others out there, but they go unnoticed, whilst the media concentrates on the problems of trafficking, coercion and drugs.

    This dichotomy exists in the gay world too. There are plenty of gay men out there, who spend their lives frequenting sex clubs and bars, having anonymous sex with multiple partners, often more than one in a single night, and that is accepted as just part of the gay scene. Many of these men are completely indiscriminate as to whom they end up having sex with, and yet they will look down their noses at anyone who chooses to accept payment for sex. “How can you have sex with someone you don’t fancy?” they will say, though they’d be perfectly happy to join in with a group session in a sex club, with scant regard as to who else was in the group. You can’t tell me they went through a strict vetting process beforehand.

    When I first started escorting, it kept me very busy, and I might easily have had sex with 15 to 20 men in a single week. Yet a friend who once told me that I was the least promiscuous gay man he knew. He had a point. If I wasn’t working, I was, and still am, extremely choosy. Maybe it’s because it can too easily just seem like work, but I digress.

    Now I know of many gay men, who have, at one time or another, worked as an escort. These men have perfectly normal day jobs, whether it be in IT, law or whatever, but of course they keep it completely secret. When asked, you would never be likely to hear them say, “Oh I work in IT, but I also do a bit of prostitution on the side.” Aside from the fact they’d likely get sacked, working as a prostitute or an escort still isn’t acceptable. Mind you, in the straight world, nor is sex outside of a stable relationship, which, come to think of it, could be one of the problems some heterosexual men still have with gay men.

    Actually, rather than society becoming more comfortable with prostitution, the reverse is happening. At present there is a Bill before the Scottish Parliament, (brought by MSP Rhoda Grant) that would seek to follow the Swedish model by making it illegal to purchase sex. I believe they are also considering this model for the rest of the UK. This law seeks to make the client into a criminal. Rhoda Grant recently stated in the Glasgow Evening Times, “People that use prostitutes are people who would rape and abuse,” a statement that is utterly false and completely inflammatory. An article by sex worker, Laura Lee, in Independent Voices on Friday April 5th, seeks to refute these myths, but is anyone listening?

    Closer to home, one will typically find, when talking about sex, that a gay man will say something along the lines of, “I’d never use an escort. I don’t have to.” The inference being, that they are too sexy, good looking, young or whatever for them to even consider the services of a sex worker. Well, let me tell you, there are many reasons a guy might choose to see an escort, and usually, it has very little to do with the way they look. Most are just average guys, the kind of guy you might have winked at in a bar, and some of the ones I’ve seen have been downright gorgeous. Admittedly, there are a few who look better with the lights out, but for the most part, they are just ordinary guys.

    In Linda’s article, cited above, she gives a few examples of the kind of client she might see. Let me add a few more.

     

    1. He’s in a long-term relationship. He still loves his partner, but his partner doesn’t enjoy the same sort of sex he does. Seeing an escort is far safer than picking someone up on the internet or in a bar. His partner is far less likely to find out about it, and the escort is far less likely to turn into a bunny boiler.

    2. Maybe he’s disabled in some way. We do tend to forget the physical needs of the disabled, as if a disability should condemn someone to a life time of celibacy. One of my clients, a sweet and gentle man, had lost both his legs in an accident. Sex wasn’t easy for him, but it was possible and he still had needs. Much better to use the service of a professional.

    3. This is one of the most surprising, but it happens. A young guy, who wants someone with a bit of experience to each them a few things. I wrote an article about one such experience for my blog. Take a look

    4. The businessman in town for a couple of nights. He has a limited amount of time and doesn’t want to waste it hanging around in bars or trying to find someone on Grindr or Scruff (you know how time-consuming that can be). Answer, call an escort. Even better, make the booking before you arrive in town. You may be surprised to hear that many book in advance.

    5. Those who want to have sex with that particular escort; probably because they’ve seen him in a movie (escorting and porn often go together).

    6. Someone who wants to explore and indulge a particular fetish. Believe it or not, it can be safer to explore this with an escort, someone who has a website and umpteen ads on various sites, than someone who is a complete unknown.

    Do we really wish to criminalise these men? Absolutely not, nor should the State be interfering in what is, after all, a transaction between two consenting adults. It’s my contention that the problems of trafficking, drugs and coercion could be more easily be dealt with by decriminalising and regulating the industry, rather than creating more bands of legislation and driving the industry further underground. It’s called the oldest profession in the world for a reason, and it’s time that our attitudes to both sex and the sex industry became more grown up.

     

    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.

     

  • OP ED | When A Vice Becomes Something More Sinister

    I imagine that we all have vices. In fact I wouldn’t believe someone if they told me that they didn’t have any. For some people smoking could be a vice. For others it could be the twenty cups of coffee they drink each day. As for me… well I’ve had many vices over the years and still do. On occasion those vices have developed into something more and this is what happened when one of them did.

    On discovering alcohol at age fourteen I soon began drinking regularly as many teenagers do. I was a drunken state most weekends and by the age of eighteen I was consuming about ten triple vodka and Red Bulls each Friday and Saturday night. I would end up not being able to walk and getting into some serious scrapes. At the same time I was also going out during the week with ‘friends’ and drinking about ten pints of lager each night. It was those people who introduced me to a little pill called Ecstasy.

    I was seventeen years old at the time and had a weekend job as well as going to school during the week. I wasn’t very popular due to being perceived to be gay. My only friends were other ‘freaks’ and I felt lost. I was desperate to be liked and to be popular. All I wanted in life was to be part of a cool crowd. One day that happened. A couple of lads I worked with, and looked up to, invited me out one evening. They said that I seemed alright and they wanted to show me what they get up to at night. The young homosexual in me was hoping that I would be getting some action as they were pretty hot, but actually it was all about drinking beer and shagging women. I wasn’t out to many people at that point and being desperate to fit in with people I thought were cool, I joined in with their nightly drinking sessions.

    One night we went to a dodgy pub which is well known for drug dealing and taking. My friends went to speak to a guy who looked like a dealer and I guessed what was going on. I come from a council estate which is straight out of Shameless so deem myself to be quite clued up. It didn’t stop me saying no when a pill was offered to me though. I declined at first, but when one of my friends said “go on, be one of the lads”, that was it. All I had wanted was to be one of the lads and fit in. So I took it. The next night I took another. The night after that I took another one. And it went on like that. I knew that I was doing something wrong, but I thought that it was what I needed to do to have some cool friends.

    As the months went by I was consuming an increasing amount of alcohol, taking a growing amount of pills, yet still going to school and my weekend job. It was beginning to take a toll on me though. I wasn’t doing as well as I had been at school and was making mistakes at work. I was beginning to look rougher and my personality was deteriorating. I had started to become reliant on Ecstasy because I felt it helped me get through life. It was no longer just about fitting in.

    One night it all came to a head and it would turn out to be the last time I ever took a drug. I was at a club with my so called friends and I remember dancing to Missy Elliot. When the song finished I walked off the dance floor and the next thing I remember is being woken up in my friend’s garden. It wasn’t a simple waking up though; I was face down in a bag of chips and being kicked as I wasn’t waking up. I came around, got up and was helped into bed.

    The next morning I realised that four hours were missing from the previous night. Between walking off the dance floor and being woken up in the garden, I had no idea what I did. To this day I still have no recollection of those four hours. My friends said that they had been looking for me and were worried as I had been “caning it”. I had consumed a lot of alcohol that night and I am unsure what else I took. I looked at my work shirt that I had worn that night and it had sick on it. I had to go to work that morning and buy a new shirt when I arrived. My manager looked at me with disgust and I felt disgusted in myself. It transpired that 23rd March 2002 would be my rock bottom date. I haven’t taken any drug since.

    After that I stopped associating with the people I thought were friends. They weren’t cool and I didn’t belong to that kind of crowd. I reconnected with my ‘freak’ friends and I am still connected to them now. I am also comfortable with being an outcast and a freak myself. It took a long time to get there, but it all turned out alright in the end. As for vices, my main ones are chocolate and Haribo Tangfastics. Not good for the waistline, but better than other stuff I used to consume.

    I’m not going to preach about how drugs are bad and you should just say no. As an adult you can make your own mind up. But if your vice is taking drugs, just keep a check on it. Don’t let it get out of control and ask yourself why you are doing it. I did it for all the wrong reasons and it really messed me up. Don’t let the same thing happen to you.

    If you are concerned about your drug taking or the habits of someone else, you can find support by clicking on the following link to the Antidote website. They are the UK’s only LGBT targeted drug and alcohol service. If you’re outside London, click on the Talk To Frank link.

    www.antidote-lgbt.com

    www.talktofrank.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 | Sorry, Did You Really Mean To Say That?

    I was talking with a friend the other day, and something smacked me in the face that, in some ways, caught me off guard. (And no, it wasn’t anything rude – mores the pity).

    She said that comments were being made about her through social media by an ex who was, by all account, saying things that were untrue and generally being a nasty piece of work (that was me being polite). However, it got me thinking about why someone, anyone, would say such things when they hadn’t be hurt or attacked, and I doubt very much that they would repeat the comments in the “real world”.

    Every day, both via that lovely medium of social media, and in the real world we say things that, quite often, we don’t actually mean or truly understand what they mean.

    In the online world (or t’intenet as I call it) for example, “trolls” stalk the social media lands, looking for innocent (or not so) recipients to throw flippant comments at. Why would anyone do that? In the real world you don’t do that. (Or maybe that’s a sport I didn’t do when I skipped sports at school?). Anyone deliberately looking for someone to hurl abuse at would, (I hope) quickly find themselves in trouble with either the police or decent human beings. But online, that doesn’t seem to happen. People of all walks of life seem to produce comments and statements that they often don’t truly understand or even acknowledge the impact of.

    Remember when Justin Bieber was being a little princess (I would say that to his face) and all of a sudden death threats were being posted online and all sorts of really nasty comments. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not his biggest fan, but really? Death threats? He’s a pop star not a mass murderer or war criminal… and besides, if he dies that hot body dies with him (my mind wonders far too much).

    Is “trolling”, as its known, something new? Or is this just another way for people to make themselves seem big, make big statements then walk away from their responsibilities as if it means nothing. In the real world we see this sort of thing it all the time. Parents abandoning kids; drivers leaving the scene of a car accident; teenagers not admitting to smoking to their parents when they stink of it; dating someone and dropping them via text, the list goes on and on.

    If you’re a teenager and rebelling against your mum for smoking then stand up and be counted. Yeah I smoked, yeah it was horrible, no I won’t be doing it again. I did it with my parents, got shouted at but got respected for taking ownership of my “behaviour” and choices. Just as today, If I do something wrong I’ll say that I have. Just as if I make a decision, I won’t hide from it; I’ll stand up and be counted for it. But then, I’m always being told that I’m a little bit weird
    In the gay community especially trolls will sit online in the chat rooms and spout their poison for any and all reasons that happen to come up that day. I remember being on one particular chat room and watching a “troll fight” unravel on my screen between 2 ‘users’ that by all accounts should have better things to do with their time. To this day I have no idea what started the ‘fight’ and I don’t think even they know. Again, would they do it in real life? Maybe they would, I’ve seen a fair few ‘cat fights’ start in exactly that way.

    But what would happen if we all really did understand and truly mean what we say and do? What would the world be like if every word or action produced by us was meant to be and understood by us? Would the world be a better place? Would trolling still go on online? Or would any form of online trolling simply be seen as the effect of being annoying or controversial? Defending as opposed to attacking.

    Or would the world just be filled with walking dictionaries where everything is “acceptable in accordance with an agreed parameter” and everyone simply didn’t say anything to each other as it’s much simpler to just keep shtum. Or would it be the nicer place that we all aspire for? Would arguments about gay rights actually have counter arguments that state the truth and not some deep repressed fear or misunderstanding? Would dating on the scene actually go back to the good old days of dating when a date was exactly that, and not a “let’s be Bfs right away” which it seems to be at the moment.

    Who knows, I suspect that if we want the ability to say what we want, when we want it and to whomever we want we have to take the bad with the good. And again, if we want to be “free” people then we have to allow the people to say what they feel, not what they mean.