THEGAYUK

Category: Column

  • COLUMN | I Don’t Want To Ride My Bicycle

    I have an oddity to confess. No, not that one. This one is quite sanitary. I can’t ride a bike. If I tell people this they look at me gone out like I’ve just said I’m a hermaphrodite or I can’t write my own name.

    It’s considered, by most people, to be decidedly odd. I personally think that riding a bike is even odder. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I think its witchcraft.

    I’ve always been a bit clumsy. I trip over a lot, am prone to bumping into things and am generally uncoordinated. I have mismatched eyes. Not like David Bowie, a green and a brown one, but I have one very long sighted one and one almost normal eye. The first time an optician noted this when I went for an eye test aged 12, he asked me if I was especially clumsy and accident prone. My mother nodded eagerly, finally latching onto to a diagnosis to explain my bizarre mishaps. Recently an optician asked me if I wore my glasses to drive. When I told her I didn’t drive, I’m sure it wasn’t just my imagination that made me see a look of relief wash over her.

    I also have terrible balance. I’m rubbish at standing on one leg (I practice often), could never master stilt walking or roller skating as a child and the very thought of ice skating or skiing gives me an icy chill and a vision of plaster of Paris and traction. I get terrible travel sickness and have been known to run out of films with wobbly camcorder type shots, green faced. If I try to send text messages in a moving car I start to feel dizzy and throw up. I have to look away when a fast moving train goes by or I start to spin and I never liked roundabouts or fairground rides that spin round. I once spent a whole evening in bed with a bucket beside me after an ill advised go on the Waltzers aged 7.

    These are my excuses for not mastering the art of staying upright on a bicycle. I had the usual sit in and push along cars as a toddler, progressed to the tricycle then onto the little bike with stabilisers. Then the problems began. My father developed a permanent frown and a mouth full of tightly gritted teeth as we repeatedly tried to get me to stay aloft a bike without 4 wheels. He’d push me along, let go and I’d fall off. This went on ad-nauseum, usually until I trooped off home in a strop, abandoning the bicycle with a wobbly bottom lip and a lot of bruises.

    I’m not one for perseverance. “I’ve tried it once and didn’t like it” or “If at first you don’t succeed then give the thing up as a bad job and avoid ever trying again” could well be ideal mottos for me. The shiny bicycle which my dad had bought second hand and lovingly restored stayed in the shed until we sold it and I spent the money on books. You know where you are with books (just don’t ask me to balance one on my head).

    To be honest, I don’t feel the need to justify my inability to balance on a bike. I look at people going past on them and am startled by what a weird thing it is to do. Surely it’s some kind of sorcery? These people must have magic powers. Balancing on two wheels is nonsensical.

    I knew I was on to a loser when attempting to learn to drive my instructor said to me on my first lesson: “It’s much like riding a bike” followed not long after by “You can’t ride a bike? What! How strange”

    I’m happy to walk, thanks.

  • COMMENT | Thatcher’s Legacy: The 28ers: The Silent Generation

    As a child of the eighties, I thought Maggie cut a rather marvellous figure, sailing through the decade with her shoulder power-pads, furs and that bulletproof hair – lacquered to within an inch of its existence.

    I was far too young to understand the political ramifications of her tenure: the hardship that fell upon millions in towns where industry was decimated, the rights to buy, or the silencing of a generation’s gays – instead as I played, building my own Lego empire in front of the Beeb’s 6 o’clock news I saw this rather robust and resilient red-lipped woman disembark the steps of yet another 747, shake the hands of craggy leaders around the world and uttering the iconic words ‘Vanity, vanity vanity. ‘ I thought, looking up from my empire construction, ‘this is a woman I should take note of.’

    When Section 28 was introduced I was a pre-teen. What could it possible mean to an eight year old boy, who preferred theatre and designing clothes for Barbie?

    In fact if asked what Section 28 was, I’m sure I would have pointed at the largely ignored volumes of red ultra-bound Britannica Children’s Encyclopaedias my mother had purchased, ‘at great expense’ she constantly reminds us, for the education of her offspring.

    However Section 28 lived on much longer than Thatcher’s premiership. In fact it wouldn’t be repealed until I was 21 – out of school and out of the closet.

    I was unaware that in the mid nineties sitting in a classroom at my north London comprehensive for a PSR lesson (yes that’s Personal Social Responsibility) I would be made to feel dirty, embarrassed and illegal.

    It was 1995. Six years away from the repeal of Section 28. Section 28 of the Local Government Act, prohibited the promotion of homosexuality in schools. It was enacted in 1988.

    Somewhere in among ‘Energy Saving’ and ‘Litter Picking’, Homosexuality was brought up by the teacher, who promptly said: “We can’t talk about this – but one in ten people are gay, that means at least two people in this class room will be gay’ and with that sword-swipe of a statement turned his back on the room as hands started to raise and a united ‘eurgggh’ sound resounded. All eyes it felt, fell on me.

    Turning a shade of Maggie’s Lips, I felt strangled. The teacher refused to say anymore in fear of having a legal case brought against him.

    Where was the explanation of homosexuality?

    Where were the ‘It’s Ok To Be Gay’ badges?

    The Tote Bags of Equality?

    The “So You Think You’re Gay” pamphlets?

    In that moment I became the love that dare not speak it’s name, too risky and illicit to talk about. Now that I write that down, it feels sexy and very Jilly Cooper, but at the time my head was exploding with questions, with the need to be reassured, to be rescued from the looming, baying mob, who were suspiciously eyeing up their classmates to see which one was the homo. I had my mark. My path was set.

    So what are the long-term effects of Maggie’s rule to my illicit generation?

    It’s hard to say.

    Had the children of the 80s and 90s been able to talk more freely of their sexuality would we be more politically focussed rather than a numbed number? Aren’t we a little guilty for using Pride as an excuse to drink and meet with friends to commiserate times past? Rather than the political statement it was intended? Aren’t we guilty of being a little bit apathetic when it comes to rallies and demonstrations?

    Do we feel stymied by our formative years? We are proud, but not with a capital P.

    I recently attended an Anti-Gay Marriage rally in Trafalgar Square. The ‘Pro’s’ far outweighed by the ‘Anti’s’ – but as I glanced around my fellow queers and allies, I wondered where were my generation?

    It felt all these people were 5 to 10 years older or younger than me. They were far more politically charged.

    Why is it that the 80’s babies aren’t fighting as hard as those born in the 70s or 60s? Maybe it’s because our predecessors had their milk taken away by mother Maggie. Is their political protesting born out of some sort of fight for survival?

    Maybe they are the generation that could actually understand the implications of Section 28 and remember the times where homosexuality was still illegal.

    I sit and talk to my peers about the passing of the Iron Lady and we shrug. Muted. Nonplussed by it all, but feel nostalgic as we watch our childhood play out in the nightly news – reruns of Maggie – once again, dressed in cobalt blue power suits, surrounded by aids and bodyguards blazing through international conferences or sat atop a tank blasting cannons into a field.

    Meanwhile students, who weren’t even twinkles in their parents’ eyes at the time of her resignation rejoice at her passing, while the generation above sneer and remember songs by Billy Bragg and Morrisey.

     

    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.

     

  • COLUMN | Smokin’

    So, this month, we’re looking at the subject of vice. I can definitely relate to the idea of vice. I have way too many. I’m not sure if the addictive personality is a myth or not but if it does genuinely exist, I have one.

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  • COLUMN: Tell Me Lies

    It seems to me that the world is full of false perceptions. I often sit on the bus and see people walking around in skinny jeans who clearly think that their bottom is a lot smaller than it is. They don’t appear to notice that the denim is strained to breaking point and that they look bulbous in all the wrong places. The same goes for the milky blue-white flesh of an unwisely exposed upper arm or the sportswear on a man who’s likely to pass out running for a bus.

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  • COLUMN: The Battle For Social Equality

    Saturday 29th March 2014 will forever be a wonderful day in the history of our country; the day same-sex couples were finally able to marry each other. It’s a wonderful progression in the struggle for equal rights and I am proud to be from a country that now has such laws. However, while it’s absolutely fabulous, we need to keep in mind that we are not done yet.

    Although pretty much having complete legal equality, there remains a huge amount of social inequality in this country. We often hear about the situation for LGBT people around the world in places such as Russia, Uganda and even America (supposedly a free land), but what we don’t hear about enough is what it’s like for LGBT people living in this country. There seems to be an assumption that everything is going to be ok now because we have marriage equality, but let’s remind ourselves that homophobia, transphobia and discrimination are still rife.

    I have some real life examples to refer to here. I have personally been barred from a pub in my local town for being gay. The explanation given to me by the manager was that I am a “f**king disgusting queer”. I challenged the barring and kicked up a fuss. It resulted in me being allowed back into the bar but it is something I chose not to do on principle.

    The same venue is now under different ownership and has changed its name, but discrimination still exists. I do a lot of work around LGBT community engagement with my local Council and am seen locally as the authority on anything gay (something I have never claimed to be), so I hear from a lot of people about their experiences of discrimination. Recently a gay couple were asked to leave the venue for kissing each other; something which is actually illegal. It has been brought to the attention of the Police but I am not aware that anything has been done about it.

    It’s not just an issue with one venue though. When hosting the first Warwickshire Pride festival in the summer of 2013 there was an incident of homophobia when a man called some of the stall holders “f**king queers”. Not too bad, perhaps. But what is bad is that the homophobe then went online to the stall holder’s Facebook page and began to message homophobic abuse to people and threaten them. The criminal offence was again reported to the Police but nothing could be done because it did not come directly from the person who was the victim of the abuse.

    A personal friend of mine has received transphobic abuse for a number of years and reported it to the Police on many occasions, even telling them some names of people who were being abusive. Nothing was done about the abuse and my friend continued to live in fear.

    It’s situations like this that give LGBT people such little faith in the authorities actually doing something about Hate Crime.

    Nationally we have political parties such as UKIP who appear to be anti-LGBT and say some really quite disgusting things about us. The scariest thing about that is the fact that these parties, particularly UKIP, are gaining a following. This will mostly be based on the apparent racist views of the party, but there will be people who agree with the anti-LGBT views too.

    In schools homophobic bullying is still rife. I know this first hand as I work with young people and regularly engage with schools in the area, or at least attempt to. Most schools don’t want to hear about sexuality and gender identity issues. You mention the acronym LGBT to them and they go into panic mode as if it’s something they want to avoid discussing. It’s here that the problem lies. I don’t necessarily think it’s down to schools not wanting to tackle homophobic bullying. I’d say it’s more a case of schools not being equipped to tackle it. What’s needed is a big change in the curriculum when it comes toPSHE/RSE (Personal, social, health and economic education) lessons. Schools must be required to discuss sexuality and gender identity with all students. And to do that I believe all teachers must attend diversity training that includes an LGBT section.

    These are necessary things that must happen if there is to be social change in this country. By educating our youth I believe we will find our society becomes more open and discrimination based on sexuality and gender identity lessens.

    The Police have a big responsibility too. Hate Crime is seen to be a priority but when homophobic or transphobic crimes are reported there seems to be little done about it. This results in a lack of trust in the Police and puts people off reporting the crimes. What we need is for the Police to better engage with LGBT people and offer some reassurance that reports of Hate Crime will be taken seriously and actually dealt with. The reporting process for Hate Crime itself also needs to be made easier and allow for a third party reporting the crime on someone else’s behalf if, for example, they are too scared to come forward.

    I am soon having a meeting with my MP to discuss these issues in detail and ask for his assistance in bringing positive social change locally. It’s a big ask, but I’ll continue lobbying the powers that be until it is a safer and more open society for LGBT people.

    I wish all the happiness in the world to any same-sex couple taking advantage of our new found freedom and choice to get married, but please do keep in mind that the battle is not over yet.

  • COLUMN | The Hirsute of Happiness

    I’m fairly effete and always have been, so the sight of me with a full beard by age 13 was quite an absurd one for all to see.

    This outward sign of my testosterone fuelled teens seemed like a paradox as I merrily whistled along to Madonna and made up new Shirley Bassey show routines in my head. I always felt that my early puberty was a complete curse and the bane of my life. I wanted to grow up glamorous and fey with a sculpted set of smooth abs, not be a virtual werewolf by 20.
    By the age of 15 I had legs that looked like they’d been carpeted, a fetching golden-red beard and a chest wig worthy of a 1970s porn star. I wouldn’t have minded so much if it had matched. Instead I had blond hair, dark brown chest chair and a ginger beard.

    I was terrible at shaving, always gouging chunks from my face and turning up at sixth-form college covered in plasters and dabbing delicately at my face with blood stained tissues like a Victorian hysteric. Often I’d give up on the whole idea, adopting the ideology that if I continually ignored the hair sprouting from every quarter, then it might go away.

    It didn’t go away. I had to choose: depilation and regular shaving or find another way to carry the look off. As I wasn’t prepared to plait my back hair or adopt a Floella Benjamin beaded look, then painful, irritating hair removal was the only option.

    I’ve endured loss of skin through depilatory creams, nicks and rashes, waxing burns and sprains and strains from contorting myself round to reach the tricky bits. A long term partner preferred the hairless look so I spent hours each month painfully erasing every trace of hair growth on my chest and shoulders.
    I experienced an epiphany in recent years as I realised that at my advanced age (let’s just say I’m over 35) I can choose what I like. My preference on a man is for body hair as long as it’s not beyond the pale. I don’t expect any man to present me with a Mexican style handlebar moustache in his trousers. That’s just absurd. I actually find well tended body hair quite attractive.
    So, I accept my body for what it is now and that’s that it’s hairy. It comes that way. If I’ve got the time, I trim and prune. Otherwise, I don’t actually care. Now, ear hair and my straggly eyebrows: that’s a whole different matter. That may take another 40 years to come to terms with.

  • COLUMN | Community Chest

    This month our issue is dedicated to ‘Community’. I must admit that I don’t really like the word ‘community”. It conjures up lacklustre municipal buildings on rough estates where they engage youngsters in crafts (I hate that word too). So what about the gays: are we a community or just a disparate bunch of people with our own agendas and needs? (more…)

  • COLUMN | Who Said Valentine’s Was Reserved For Couples?

    Sometimes I wonder if I am the only person who enjoys being single on Valentine’s. Surrounded by a mix of happy couples and those who are single and are desperate to even find a date seems to drive me to insanity.

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  • COLUMN | The Beauty Of British Men

    British teeth are portrayed as the worst in the World. The Simpsons poke fun at us with the Big Book of British Smiles, to scare Lisa Simpson into looking after her teeth. Yet, I brush daily and floss, so are British teeth really that bad and unhealthy?

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  • COLUMN | Let’s Not Get Phyiscal

    There are a few places I wouldn’t like to find myself in: a bar frequented by Neo-Nazis perhaps or an abattoir. In 2009 I found myself somewhere far worse and much more terrifying: a gym. It was horrific.

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  • COLUMN | The Turbulency Of Love

    It’s the month of love, or so the people peddling overpriced flowers, candle lit meals and mawkish cards for Valentine’s Day would have you believe. What’s all that love stuff all about though? I’ve studied it for many years as a first hand researcher.

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