THEGAYUK

Category: Comment

  • COMMENT | City Pollution… maybe we need to start from scratch

    Lego City In Traffic Chaos

    I believe the children are the future so the song goes. And it is true. Let’s face it, the young are the ones that are going more forward than me when I’m cold and dead.

    Lego is a fascinating toy. It’s just that it isn’t simply a toy. It’s a learning aid. So much can be achieved from one humble brick added to another and so on. When I worked in the community as an HIV nurse I used Lego as a teaching aid. The choice of colours made it effective. I also used it for a presentation I did for my testicular cancer presentation. Lego is gender proof, ageless and universal.

    Now I have a problem with Lego. All is not good in my spiralling Lego metropolis-on-floor. There is enough housing for all living there. They have access to a snack shop by the side of the road and the petrol station is open 24 hours. There are even 2 postal vans doing the rounds no doubt delivering drunken purchases from Amazon and eBay.

    I’m catered for every eventuality for I have the 4 emergency services. The fire service might be reduced to one rapid response vehicle and two firefighters but my police force is seven vehicles strong with staffing to match. And with seven vehicles comes maintenance so thankfully there is a little garage on the corner.

    Traveling around the city is fraught. There are no traffic lights causing jams. Truth is I haven’t built any. We live in a “give way” city where road rage isn’t a thing.

    At the time the picture was taken, my medical team were busy saving a Lego life. The use of blue lights helped the two-vehicle team cut through the traffic. Thankfully there was room for a nurse in the ambulance to get there with the doctor following by car.

    Traffic in any situation, fictional and real life, is a nuisance. It slows the path of progression in your day to day life. If public transport was better, we might find ourselves using it more (damn it! I don’t have public transport in my Lego city! Dear Santa…)

    We are a lot like my Lego people. We jump in our cars and drive. Usually travelling on our own. Our five-seat capacity hatchbacks all being occupied by one person.

    Now, this is where l have a problem with Lego city. There was a time when the vehicles never took a person. Come the 1980s we soon didn’t have to use our imaginations as to where that person went when they drove to work. All vehicles since then have only had one seat up front.

    In order to cut traffic in Lego Metropolis-On-Floor, I was thinking of getting my people to car share. If we want to teach the future about cutting traffic, pollution and enabling densely populated areas to work better, car sharing might help. Four people into one car equals three fewer cars on the road. I’m quick at maths as you can see. Even two in one would be better.

    Lego doesn’t actually sell such a vehicle so l decided that if l was going to save my citizens of Lego metropolis-on-floor, I’d have to design a new car and then hopefully roll out stiff penalties to those that won’t change or insist on taking their single occupancy cars around my city.

    Having a look around the internet and you find that people have made cars to accommodate more than one person so I set about making a car for Dave and Gary. To reflect their preferences it had to be a two-seater, quite sporty looking and that’s about all l could think of at 2 am on a Saturday when making my two-seater for the lads from “Red Cottage” of Fold-Out Mews.

    Lego cars are four dots across. Lorries are six. The trouble is two Lego people next to each other occupies about seven if you want an intimate car or eight realistically because then the dots line up with their legs and bums.

    We made, we destroyed, we reinvented and eventually I had the 2 seater roadster for Dave and Gary. It ended up eight dots wide. My thinking was that this reflected actual life because cars themselves have got bigger.

    Dave and Gary were overjoyed with their sports car in blue and took to the city. Unheard road rage ensued because it took up the entire width of the road and everything almost ground to a halt. Thankfully the love soon fell out of the sports car for Dave and Gary when they discovered they couldn’t actually get it into the petrol station to refuel. It was then stripped down and made into a garden attraction and gym.

    Suddenly I was thwarted in my own thinking. We all have ideas about how to tackle congestion but to implement it can sometimes be difficult. It needs thinking. It’s more than taxing people and adding costs. It comes from learning, exploring, trailing and making small changes one step at a time.

    At a time where pollution from the car comes under scrutiny again, let’s start at the beginning, let’s start with Lego and build it up from there.

     

    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.

  • COMMENT | What do we mean when we say Mental Health?

    I was taught there are 2 main groups of conditions that affect mental health and that they are:

    Mental Ill Health
    These are the types of conditions which occur as a result of trauma or tragedy, the workplace, home, relationships, the environment in which we live and our physical health.

    Many of us will visit our GP and accept medication and/or a referral to a mental health practitioner at some time. These types of short-term (up to 6 months) interventions help us to adapt and adjust to change

    Mental Illness
    These are acute conditions that are considered as being severe and enduring.

    Mental illness in this group is of the nature that requires long-term medication, monitoring of the person and at times periods of hospitalisation. Hospital admission is a last resort when someone deteriorates and becomes a danger of harm to themselves or others.

    General

    The reasons for a change in someone’s condition can be many and varied from something as simple as neglect. From not eating regularly or taking their medication as prescribed they may experience an acute episode.

    I always reflect on us being a melting pot of chemistry and chemical reactions. By adding or taking something away or some change in routines and sleep patterns adverse effects can be experienced.

    Mental Health is indiscriminate and does not take into account, your ethnicity, age, gender, sexuality or any other character of diversity.

    In the same way, as we are all unique and individual, times of recovery and the severity of symptoms we each experience will be different. A diagnosis requires expert knowledge, training and experience.

    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.

  • COMMENT | Cyclists: Apart from the Lycra, I just hate them

    Thought I would mention cyclists. I am not one I would like to point out, from the very start. To give balance I am sure there are considerate and road aware cyclists. In fact, I encountered one earlier this week. An elderly lady who pulled over to the side of the road at a point of narrowing to signal me past.

    I travel on country lanes on my daily commute and the vista is a delight to behold. Other road users including tractors, horse riders, car drivers, and I pull over for those who have a more urgent need to get to journey’s end. This is not reflective in my experience of the cyclist.

    I say to men of any age; before dressing in the lycra outfit you have purchased, empty a bag of spuds into it to get some contextual vision into the sight you will become. If you are unfit before mounting, the clothing is not like a superhero costume, it does not enhance your performance. It just makes you stand out as a fool.

    There is something about a man and his fascination with all things phallic that drives a male “old enough to know better”  to shrink wrap his body in Lycra and place on his head a slipstream carbon fibre helmet to complete the image of an erect member. Hardly surprising then that they are complete “d*cks” on the road.

    On my journey home last night I came to a queue of traffic on an A class road. As I got closer to the front, there he was “cycleman”, all in black with a black helmet and on a black bike. In poor visibility and with no lights.

    To add insult to injury this athlete of the highway was proceeding at an earth-shattering 6 or 7 miles an hour. This breakneck speed impaired his ability to turn his head and see what a total nuisance he was being to commuting traffic in tax paying vehicles. The reason for his slow progress, he was holding aloft his mobile device and filming himself.

    Having passed him I looked into my rearview mirror and he was still in the middle of the road ignoring other road users. The only other thing I would surmise about him was, he was a man of small appetite. I deduce this from him having a very small lycra lunchbox.

    On another recent occasion, I was sat in a line of traffic in the town centre with my right-hand indicator on to turn at the next junction. I was in a road position to the right of the lane with a number of other vehicles that were indicating the same intent. At the moment there was a gap in the oncoming traffic enabling my turn to be conducted safely I had to brake hard as “cycleman” came down the outside of the lane ignoring all of the indicators and riding in the middle of the road.

    We live in an age where we are encouraged to be environmentally friendly and considerate. One man on a bicycle may be that – until he has a 2-mile tailback of carbon-emitting traffic he is ignoring behind him.

    As a car driver, I can be held accountable and I am identifiable from my vehicle registration. It could be any road user that makes a note of my number or a camera on the highway if I am speeding, perhaps one on a set of traffic lights if I go over on amber or red, or a dashboard cam of any other road user, finally even a mobile phone cam handheld by a pedestrian can be used to report me or any other licensed road user. I have lost count of the number of cyclists I have seen breaking the law of the highway and failing to show even the slightest amount of courtesy and why should they; as they are totally anonymous and unaccountable.

    A man in Lycra can be a sight to behold, a bulge to indulge, a fetish to crave; until he mounts his machine and becomes just another drain dodger!

    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.

  • COMMENT | The NHS is wrong to ask patient’s their sexuality

    Doctors have been ordered to ask patients if they are gay. This is one of the most ludicrous decisions I feel the NHS has ever decided to make.

    What is the point of GP’s having to record every patient’s sexuality? I really fail to see the point of this new rule and to me, I fear it’s building up to the UK becoming a nanny state.

    It’s being called intrusive and Orwellian by many people. I agree. I’m very lucky, I’m an open gay man who is widely accepted by family, colleagues and friends. But what about those in denial about their sexuality? Or those who simply don’t feel comfortable in coming out yet? I’m scared it may actually do more harm than good.

    I have deep fears about the security of the data, as any leak could potentially ‘out’ thousands of patients.

    Many visits to the GP are for everyday ailments, like tonsillitis, chest infections, aches and pains etc. So how is a doctor questioning their patient’s sexuality going to aid them in making a diagnosis and prescribing treatment? Quite frankly, none whatsoever. I’m no medical expert, but I’m sure antibiotics are the same for a straight person, a gay man or a bisexual woman.

    Unless it’s related to your health, I believe that your sexuality is not the NHS’s business. The precious eight minutes you get with a GP is short enough, without taking up the time to ask unnecessary questions. You want medical advice from a doctor. Not your sexual preference being interrogated.

    So, from 2019, every patient over the age of 16 will be asked to state their sexuality. Is it really relevant to ask an 80-year-old grandfather if they’ve ever had a relationship with a man?

    I think this ludicrous, intrusive and damn right ridiculous question should be scrapped before it even begins. Doctors and the NHS are stretched enough as it is, without adding sexuality checks to their workload. Let them stick to what they do best. Medically treating and diagnosing patients. And this is something they do exceptionally well, without knowing a patient’s sexual orientation.

     

    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.

  • COMMENT | Joining an all-female walking group with my Tupperware and Thermos

    With the coming of turning back of the clock nearing, I realise we are already at half past autumn and heading for quarter to winter. It seems months since my early morning commute had any daylight, as now the stars and moon shine brightly in the heavens as I dawdle with dread towards work.

    When I drove through the single track lanes on my way-in, pre-dawn today, slipping and sliding on the muddy deposits of tractors and autumn leaves; my mind wandered back to those halcyon lazy hazy days of summer. Already they seem a distant memory.

    I found myself chuckling aloud thinking of joining a walking group as an honorary member and what a fool I was too.

    One summer’s eve I had been partaking of a beverage of two or more down the local hostelry. Quietly minding my own business. I had absentmindedly starting stroking an excitable Springer Spaniel who belonged to another of the customers. Said owner, Berni and I found ourselves in conversation and after a few more pints I had agreed to join her and her friends for their walk on Sunday morning.

    Berni is a founding member of the Hatherleigh and Highhampton Hiking Dykes. An all-female walking group.

    On the following Sunday morning, I arrived at the appointed time to find a minibus and small hatchback already in the pub car park. I was last to arrive carrying my Tupperware box of sandwiches and Thermos. The hiking dykes it turned out were all butch lesbians in Doc Martens and dungarees, armed with rucksacks and assorted other equipment, strapped together and mounted into backpacks. In open-toed sandals (thankfully not painted) and with my provisions in a supermarket carrier I looked the odd one out and certainly the least manly of the assembled group.

    Thirteen of them crammed into the minibus, which left me with the spaniel and Berni to go in her hatchback. What they knew, but never shared was that Berni is the world’s worse driver. I kid you not, the excitable spaniel is not excitable, he is panicked with abject terror at the prospect of being put behind the dog guard and driven to his “walkies.”

    It all started fine. We set off following the minibus heading for East Devon to get onto the Jurassic coastal path. At the first junction I mused, she’s leaving it late to brake —“bloody Nora!” — I thought the brakes had failed but no; this it transpired was how she approached a junction. The poor wee beastie in the boot is now howling as if in pain and lying prone in what I assume to be the canine equivalent of the crash position.

    Junctions were hair-raising enough but the gear changes added another dimension to the nightmare of the drive. For no reason, having got into 5th gear and in the total and absolute absence of a change of terrain or contour, Berni would go from top gear to 2nd at 60 miles an hour. The mindset seemed to be that of “I know let’s change gear; pick a gear!” Within the first 5 miles, I was spitting my fillings out, having left teeth marks on the dashboard. I was braced for impact, gripped with fear and even felt a little bit of pee warm the top of my legs.

    What can only be described as the worse journey I have ever endured seemed to be eternal? I am a seasoned traveller, but when we reached the meeting point at the other end I had to be helped out of the car after they had prised my fingers from their white-knuckled death grip on the door handle. Those who had taken the alternative vehicle were propped up against it laughing at my misfortune; though I thought I saw empathy in the faces of some who had also been her passenger once; and only once.

    I was a dribbling jabbering incoherent crippled contortion of whiplash and angst. Berni was entirely oblivious, had no idea what was the matter with me or the many other motorists en route she caused to take evasive action and perform emergency stops. I am sure she just thought they were waving at her and being friendly. I can lip read and I can assure you they weren’t.

    Still, we had reached journey’s end and the view was staggering. The blue sky, matched and equalled by the sea were the backdrop of the canvas of nature’s achievement that is the staggering cliff edges and verdant countryside of one of the most beautiful counties. I now felt sure I was going to enjoy our walk.

    Our walk turned out to be a military yomp that would have tested the fitness of many a Marine Commando

    Our walk turned out to be a military yomp that would have tested the fitness of many a Marine Commando. I wanted to study the flora and fauna, perhaps pick up a fossil or two and maybe take some pics of the group against the vista nature had provided. Though it was not to be as we had a target to meet, miles to march and checkpoints to reach on schedule.

    When we broke for lunch I collapsed in a heap gasping and gulping to fill my lungs with sea air. I was dishevelled, broken and proven unfit. I poured a soothing cuppa from my Thermos and started to ease the lid from the sweaty Tupperware box.

    I had not fully removed the lid to reveal my Salmon and Shrimp paste sandwiches when the smell of fish assaulted my nasal passages. The last thing I remember was a blur of blue denim and brown leather racing towards me like a Rugby scrum on heat.

    I woke 3 days later in intensive care…

     

  • COMMENT | Are you asking for it, if you go out dressed like that?

    I used to hear the generations who were older than me talking about the way young women dress. They used to say “Is it any surprise if they get attacked or raped? Going out like that; they are asking for it!”

    Now as an older gay man who has spent many years as a publican, I look around and have similar thoughts. Not for women but for young gay men.

    Their conduct, which so often overtly displays their sexuality like a badge of office or some cheap jewellery screams “victim here.”

    So many gay venues are now gay-friendly. Once these places were a haven of safety where we could behave with each other in a manner that was consistent with the law without the fear of some bloke beating the crap out of us when we left. Not anymore; now they’re sometimes a testosterone and alcohol-fueled environment where men are trying to impress women. Gay men can be such easy prey.

    It is our own fault (well, us and technology). The price of getting your rocks off and finding cock is so cheap now. Every gay man is Grindrered up or has some other app. The bars and clubs that were once our seedy sanctuary are now shared. No longer is it safe to cast a gaze around a room from the dance floor whilst snorting Poppers and sipping Babysham. Chances are some hairy arsed ‘erbert is going to ask “You looking at me?”

    The young are so idealistic and think gay rights are a shield of steel that will protect them. Of course, they are not. Gay rights means if you gain consciousness, report the offence to the police and go through the process then some thug may have to answer.

    It’s hard to stand up to someone who battered you unrecognisable last night, someone who has friends, especially when there is a limit to the number of places you go. We don’t all have the choice afforded by big cities.

    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.

  • COMMENT | Know your gay acronyms: When CBT doesn’t mean CBT

    CBT but not that CBT!

    When working in social housing the company which employed me, diversified and began to take on service users with severe and enduring mental illness.

    The brother of a colleague was a mental health practitioner. He came in to do some training and talk us through the manifestation of conditions so we would know what to expect.

    I don’t think he was prepared for us knowing absolutely nothing. I had to keep interjecting and explaining some of the jargon he used and asking him to define other terms that were also unknown to me.

    It had been a very tense session as many of my colleagues were unsure if they wanted to remain as support workers to the new user group. This demystifying and understanding of terms, explaining common diagnosis and interventions was invaluable to us.

    Then he started to talk about CBT, and in the corner, his gay brother collapsed into raptures of hysterical laughter. The sort of laughter that is contagious. The others did not know why they were laughing, or what the trigger for it had been. Our trainer was looking completely puzzled by it all.

    I too was guilty of sharing in the laughing, mostly because I was the only one in the room that knew what was funny. Finally, I regained some composure and explained the term CBT had been used as a reference to Cognitive Behaviour Therapy and not Cock and Ball Torture, which is why the gay brother had fallen about laughing.

    In a world of acronyms, it is inevitable there will be a duplication of some. CBT is unfortunate as it stands for 3 that are known to me Compulsory Basic Training to ride a motorbike being the third.

  • COMMENT | Religious bigots don’t deserve to keep their jobs

    The Archbishop of Sydney has said that religious believers could lose their jobs if same-sex marriage is legalised in Australia. If these religious believers are acting bigoted or being narrow-minded, then quite frankly, they don’t deserve to keep their jobs.

    He went on to say those religious believers could also face discrimination suits and bullying if the bill is passed. But what about the bullying and discrimination homosexuals have faced for years? He clearly doesn’t care about the homosexuals facing this. Hypocrisy. And such a caring attitude for a religious leader. Please excuse my sarcasm.

    He told worshippers that the government should “keep out of the friendship business and out of the bedroom.” Maybe he should take his own advice and keep out of the situation also. What right does being the Archbishop give him to interfere in friendship and bedroom matters?

    “The state has no business telling us who we should love and how, sexually or otherwise.” In his arrogance, he is, ironically, showing support of same-sex marriage. Thank you for that Archbishop. For once, we might actually agree on a point. No one should play God and tell anyone who they can love or marry. Pun intended. The fact we still need to vote on such matters is a disgrace in itself.

    This delightful human being carried on saying that it’s best for children to have a mother and a father. So Archbishop, what about the poor children who have been bought up in a single parent family because one parent died? Or the awful stories we hear of children being sexually abused by their mother and father?

    I’m no genius, but that is clearly not best for children. Issues in our society are not so black and white. It’s not a simple case of stating children should have heterosexual parents, one being a woman and one being a man.

    In my eyes, it’s best for children to have a role model who cares for them and loves them unconditionally and teaches them right from wrong. This could be a single parent or a mother and father or a mother and mother or a father and father.

    He continued in his arrogant preaching by saying if marriage is redefined, it will be very hard to speak up for real marriage anymore. What is real marriage, Archbishop? Beg my pardon for my simplistic views, but I thought marriage was the joining of two people who love each other whilst committing themselves, for richer, poorer, in sickness and in health etc.

    He said the vote had implications for religious freedom. This is actually so angering because the vote actually has massive implications for human freedom. The freedom for people to marry who they want to marry.

     

    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.

  • COMMENT | Just what has happened to Gaydar?

    Gaydar – The death of an icon?

    I used to be a regular on Gaydar chat. I enjoyed that it was all-encompassing; in that, I could elect to be in rooms that were either fetish or location driven and that I could see them all at the same time. Then one night it all changed as Gaydar had a makeover. Less of a makeover really, more of a demolition.

    It went from being something similar to a magazine one might find on the top shelf in the newsagents and changed in likeness to the reading material in a doctors or solicitors waiting room.

    It had metamorphosed into what I would describe as “coffee shop gay”, having been ethically and morally cleansed, and coming out the other side as Conservative with a small “c.”

    There are those who are still reeling from the change to the site. I laid a small posy on my router to mark its passing. I sent an email to PinkNews asking they put a notice of obituary as a gesture at its loss.

    Then came the attempted resurrection, the chat facility had a couple of new rollouts. Early indications suggested from my appraisal it had been written by someone in London who felt the place was the centre of the gay world as whilst there were rooms for every direction in the capital those of us from the provincial hinterlands were left out in the cold, though this was subsequently addressed.

    I try it again every month or so. I miss it. Reminds of the line in the Billy Joel song Italian Restaurant “but you can never go back there again,” because it has changed and so have I.

     

    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.

  • COMMENT | Has world politics just become a p*ssing contest?

    Is the “Dick of Death” a world leader with a tiny todger? Is the world just having a bad hair and small penis day?

    I look at some world leaders and question if they have a mirror or have ever taken advice on styling? For example, have you seen the coiffes sported by some in the political elite? In the name of sweet mercy, someone get these blokes a haircut, a makeover or at the very least a hat or baseball cap.

    I don’t think people are waving in support of their leaders, they are pointing and laughing. Perhaps it is the hairstyling of one particular leader that brings his people to tears as they know they have to imitate and copy it if they are to stay alive.

    Often those who are under-endowed have an inferiority complex. It is why the term BCSD (Big Car Small Dick) was coined in the Julie Walters film Personal Services. I think some substitute a big car with a big arsenal of nuclear weapons.

    In the interest of world peace should their not be a doctor somewhere who measures the penis size of prospective leaders? If they are “Hung like a hamster”, sporting only a tiny todger then they should be pointed in the direction of other careers, vetoing their political aspirations and attempts at world domination or destruction.

    The combination of bad hair and a small co*k has a damning potential for the continuation of world peace. I am thinking of starting a funding page to get these boys a spa day. In privacy somewhere they could measure each other up, get a cut and blow dry and be pampered. We are talking Queer Eye For The Straight Guy, the diplomatic mission

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

  • JOURNEY TO FATHERHOOD 8 | Planning to be a single, gay dad

    About a year ago I was approached by a documentary production company, who were producing a documentary on different types of families from the UK, going through the surrogacy process. They had a straight couple, a gay couple and were looking for an individual gay man as well.

    The company asked me to take part. At first, I was like ‘no, not really interested,’ and then when I mentioned it to my project manager he said “well, they can pay a lot of money”. Surrogacy is an expensive business, so I was like ‘okay, for the money’. Time past, I met them and we did some filming, but when it came to the crunch there was no money available – small production company etc… Then my first surrogate and transfers didn’t work out, so the whole thing fizzled out.

    Nine months later, I had a new (and my current) surrogate and was getting ready for the next transfer. The production company contacted me and said, “well things have changed, it would just be about your journey now”. I ignored it for a bit and then thought about it in detail. Obviously, it would expose my child and me to national coverage (it’s for Channel 4), and, potentially lead to ridicule, humiliation and social media trolling (just look at the recent McCain oven chips ad for families, featuring a gay couple part way through). However, I also work in media relations and marketing. Do you know how difficult it is to get coverage or even to get prolonged coverage on an issue? For example, last year I led a big charity campaign on an emotive ongoing issue. We got the TV news, radio, press, and had a launch in the House of Commons. For one day there was a ‘buzz’ and then apart from the charity’s own community, it essentially died away. My own professional experiences like this, built up over many years balance the negatives that spring to mind. Apart from a ‘buzz’ over a day or two, what’s the worse that could happen?

    I guess the realisation for me, is that this isn’t an issue about being on TV, it’s about how you belong to your wider family or friends and the values you jointly hold. To draw a correlation with my own situation, I read somewhere over the last week that the couple in the McCain oven chip ad was now saying “what a mistake it was’ to be involved in the ad”. McCain has stood by the ad, and I agree with McCain. If my charity campaign experience from last year has taught me one thing, it is that too have acceptance in the wider world, an issue must be normalised or ‘everyday,’ and to achieve this, it must be ‘visual’, on TV, on the high street, at school and in workplaces. The McCain ad has helped to normalise surrogacy in my view.

    However, if I was a betting man, I would bet that the couple in the McCain ad were getting the most ‘pain’ from their parents, friends and relatives, not the man down the road or the lady in the supermarket; although the online abuse is what the media has reported about. We can all ignore Facebook, Twitter and Instagram for a couple of weeks, but we can’t run from our parents, relatives or immediate friends. (These are of course assumptions as I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with the McCain ad couple.)

    I draw the correlation with the couple in Manchester because of my own family’s vociferous and I think hysteric reactions to my own filming situation. Again, it comes back to my mother. In part three, I wrote about how my mother reacted, from: “Why do this now, you’re too young” (I was 38 at the time), to a discussion about the baby’s gender, name and how I would cope. In light of this, I approached the filming discussion with her, with a touchy-feely build up. It was no good though. Despite working with the film crew for six months, having recorded video diaries and sense checking with cousins first, the result was more hysteria. Unfortunately, this time we had reached a ‘bridge too far’. Effectively my father told me that I had put their marriage at risk and my brother’s mental health was becoming unmanageable. If I was going to continue agreeing to film, it would be without the support of my parents and brother, and we would stop speaking. No amount of my professional experience or helpful insight from the production crew could change this. I spent two weeks in abject family hell.

    My mother went on about how surrogacy was unnatural and how we couldn’t tell the neighbours. We were going to lie and say that the child’s mum is in the States that we’d gone through a separation and I was left with the child. (Question, which is worse in modern Britain: a child in a single parent family through divorce or through surrogacy? Also, see column seven about what we had agreed.) She said, it would be the talk of the town and that we would be humiliated, abused and shouted at, day-after-day-after-day. And then, how could you raise a baby in that situation? What’s in the best interests of your child? (Well in my opinion, not lying for a start and making everything as normal as possible.)

    My brother was next, but what was worse, was that for him, this was all about me being gay. “You’re not some gay rights warrior, you have no right to raise gay issues on national television, who do you think you are’”.

    I came out at 18. I’ve been humiliated for being gay in an international sales meeting, on the train, at work and in public places. At 20, I ran the LGBT society at university and was a public figurehead at uni for LGBT people and issues. I was an organiser of Yorkshire Pride at 23, and, for virtually every year since 18, I have marched in gay pride parades in London and Birmingham. So yes, I feel an important personal duty about raising gay rights.

    Sadly, the fact of the matter is, that throughout all the filming so far, I’ve barely mentioned the word gay once; because I’m happy that my child will be as a result of surrogacy, but I too was scared to say that I was gay on TV. So, on the one hand, I do everything I think I can, reasonably, to raise and support gay rights, whilst considering the people around me. On the other hand, those I don’t shove it in the face of (my mother and brother), are some of the most vociferous opponents of who I am and what I choose to do with my life. Ultimately I question whether their values and my own match and although outside of being gay our values align pretty much, being gay for me is a fundamental part of who I am.

    “Thinking about my unborn child, who this is most important to, I will be her father. I will try to be a role model, I will look after her, take care of her, indeed devote my life to her. But, that includes the fact that her father is gay.”

    Thinking about my unborn child, who this is most important to, I will be her father. I will try to be a role model, I will look after her, take care of her, indeed devote my life to her. But, that includes the fact that her father is gay. There will be bumps in the road ahead because of this, however discreet I am about it. And, if you think about it, the haters will always hate and even if my child was not born through surrogacy or had a gay dad, other kids may pick on her hair colour, her weight or the way she talks. These are just things that we all have to struggle with in life.

    Which brings me back to my own reasoning for having a family of my own. The most important thing in life is family and friends. So a duty to gay rights and a fundamental part of my life once again must take a hit, so that I continue to belong to my family. In reality, I’m furious, want to scream and shout, because my being gay and my choice to have a family is reluctantly supported by my family. I feel that they have placed their own personal needs before backing me (n.b. what we say to the neighbours).

    The film company has invested time and money, understandably want to continue, but I’ll draw it to a close. The opportunities for both my own life from the pithy 15 minutes of fame, to writing or talking at public events about gay surrogacy, will have to be placed to one side while I shelve this in order to remain part of my family. (My writing name is a pseudonym.)

    As you have probably guessed from the above I am expecting a daughter, so with family and friends, I have been out buying stuff from a ‘travel system’ to clothing, bottles and all sorts of stuff. This has been fun and made things more real.

    Indeed, I now have seven week’s till I fly to the states and eight weeks until my child is born. The flights are booked, an Airbnb condo booked, and my parents (gotta love em) will fly out as well to ‘help’ me for two weeks while we get a birth certificate and passport. I have then agreed to move in with them for three or four months. Now, however, a little part of me desperately wants to move as far away as possible from them and start anew as quickly as possible.  It was my mother’s insistence for a female influence and offers of help that brought me back. Well considering the implications of what I have to deal with, I think three months after we come back to the UK, I’ll want to be at a safe distance from them.

    Finally, I just want to add a note about the NCT course I discussed in my last column. I did get back in touch and the local coordinator was apologetic, so I’ll keep the faith, get over my reluctance and sign up to a course.