THEGAYUK

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  • THE UNDATEABLE GAY | downloads Plenty of Fish

    THE UNDATEABLE GAY | downloads Plenty of Fish

    I do it every Christmas period. For some unbeknown reason, usually around Boxing Day, I decide it might be a good idea to go in search of a husband. I don’t know what comes over me. It must be the excessive plonk consumed over the festive period.

    Or, on a more serious note, it could be the fact that Christmas makes me feel all loved up and warm and fuzzy inside. And gives me the notion that it might actually be nice to fall in love after all.

    Although I must confess I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in requited love. Without wanting anybody to crack out the violins, it has been more years than I care to remember.

    iPhone at the ready… Plenty OF Fish downloaded… And snap.

    So, there I was on Boxing Day night, staring at the present-less Christmas tree, clutching a bottle of Single Malt Scotch Whiskey. Yes, I know it’s rare for anything other than New Zealand savvy B to pass my lips but I do like to treat myself from time to time.

    After my third large Scotch, I stood up determinedly and declared to myself that I would find a husband. Dramatically pressing the buttons on my iPhone, I downloaded Plenty of Fish.

    Obviously, I picked my best photographs and kept my profile simple.

    “Love to laugh, love to have fun. Love the theatre, the beach, swimming, reading and writing. And I love men!”

    Within minutes, a lovely looking chap called Matthew pops up in my inbox. Yes, I know, I just used the word CHAP. I’m clearly getting old. I even used the word DISCO when describing a CLUB the other day.

    Anyway, back to Matthew who seemed rather forward.

    “Let’s video chat”, he insisted.

    Okay, I thought. At least I’ll get to see him in the flesh and it will give me a glimpse of his true personality. It’s so easy to hide behind a keyboard.

    As I pressed accept on the video chat, I saw that he was topless. I was in a two-piece pyjama set but each to their own.

    The call starts off with small talk and then he pans down his pecs and six-pack. What a body, I think to myself.

    And then he comes to his piece de resistance. I see him clutching his fully erect manhood, rather seductively. Now, I’m no prude but in my naivety, I truly believed this video call was to be an initial test to judge our compatibility.

    “Watch me wank!” He bellows through the iPhone screen at me.

    Being the ever-accommodating gay boy, I oblige. But after his voyeurism, I never hear from Matthew again and I notice that he’s blocked me. Bastard.

    Never mind, an extremely cute bloke called Louie pops up into my inbox to distract my attention away from being dumped by Matthew.

    Within seconds, I notice that Louie is probably not looking for a relationship. His profile classes him as straight and looking for a woman. What is it with Plenty of Fish and straight men chasing the homos?

    Well, Louie was beautiful and willing, so who am I to turn down a chat, gay or not? He started the proceedings.

    “Do you want me to wank for you Sir? I’m so horny Daddy. Can I call you Daddy?”

    Being an ex-holiday park entertainer, I’m not one to turn down the chance to partake in performing arts.

    “Yes, you can call me Daddy. And you better respect me”, I typed sniggering.

    “Okay. Tell me what you want me to do Master Daddy.”

    In the meantime, I see another supposedly straight man arrive in my inbox. Terry. He wants me to make a video for him. And he’s certainly precise in his direction. Eat your heart out Stephen Spielberg.

    “Have your legs over your shoulders with your wet fingers running over your juicy hole.”

    Not being an acrobat, I feared I may have problems in obliging. And being a writer, I’m not opposed to engaging in a bit of naughty talk. But I draw the line at dirty videos. You never know when they might come back to bite you on the bum. Pun intended.

    This time I took a leaf out of Matthew’s book and made use of the block feature of the app.

    And then, just as I was about to give up, my fortunes changed. An ‘actual’ gay man sent me a message. Darren. And he asks for no dirty talk or sexually explicit videos. He engages in purely decent conversation, obviously on a quest to find love.

    We spend a few days sending endless messages to each other. It was going so well. We’d even started to arrange a first date.

    He happens to ask me what I’m giving up for Lent. I inform him that I’m giving up swearing.

    “Is your swearing really that bad?” He asks me.

    “I’d be lying if I said the C U Next Tuesday word doesn’t often leave my lips. Back off now if you’re easily offended.”

    And then Darren showed me that he’s also capable of making use of the block button. What a C…

  • Why I undressed for Elska Magazine

    Why I undressed for Elska Magazine

    Multiple factors can contribute to the development of the body image, but the biggest influence seems to come from the advertising industry, which unapologetically creates the need on the consumer to look like the ideal men or women portrayed in the media. Smoothing skin, erasing wrinkles, enlarging muscles, slimming waists… All this has become the norm in advertising. These images don’t reflect reality. This is just a convenient strategy designed to sell a product. Yet, from a younger and younger age, people are aspiring to these biologically impossible ideals. And I was no exception! Looking at these distortions of reality, I felt ugly and had the same desire as everybody else to look just as perfect as these models. But I eventually realized that this way of thinking can lead to serious body image problems. People who are unhappy about their bodies can develop eating disorders, turn to diet pills or steroids, or try cosmetic surgery and Botox injections. And I fear that, until the public responds more favourably to images of real people with real bodies, very little is going to change. This is why I decided to stand up and share my belief that everyone has the right, whatever their size or shape, to feel happy about their looks. I defend that a diversity of body shapes and sizes needs to be included in magazines, advertising and on the catwalk URGENTLY!

    A while ago, I discovered Elska Magazine. Created by Liam Campbell, Elska is a bi-monthly male photography publication, whose first edition was released in September 2015.

    Its name means “love” in Icelandic.

    One of the main aspects which differentiate Elska from other (gay) photography-related publications is that it does not feature perfect models, but instead focuses on real people with their “imperfections,” presenting real-life people and their stories, and providing a glimpse at queer men and community around the globe. Each issue is shot in a different city. When I saw an ad looking for real people to model for the Amsterdam issue, I knew immediately that this was an initiative I needed to support. And this why, with no shame or fears, I undressed and posed for Elska. I might not have the perfect body (at least according to the advertising industry), but this is me, I am real, and I learned to love myself and to feel comfortable in my own body. And now I am sharing it with you!

    Elska Amsterdam, the latest issue of Elska magazine, is out now and includes a nice selection of ordinary gay locals and their stories. Sadly, my photos didn’t make the cut for the main magazine, but they are featured in Elska Ekstra, Elska’s companion magazine with behind the scenes tales, outtakes, extra stories, and extra boys. Enjoy it!

    As a famous drag queen would say: “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else?”

    SEE THE PICTURES

    Pages: 1 2

  • It’s time for companies to stop offering holiday prizes to countries where being LGBT+ can land you in prison

    It’s time for companies to stop offering holiday prizes to countries where being LGBT+ can land you in prison

    I’m a fan of holidays and I’m also a fan of prizes, so a prize that’s also a holiday it’s pretty much up there with buttery crumpets and that new car smell for me, but I have to plead with the marketing departments at large corporations not to offer trips to countries where being LGBT+ could wind you all banged up.

    This afternoon a Caffe Nero marketing email landed in my inbox advertising a competition where the prize was a holibob to Cairo. How nice I thought until I wonder what are the legal ramifications of a visit to Egypt for a card-carrying gay like myself.

    Not good. it turns out.

    A little digging from the marketing department would have them discover homosexuality has been “defacto illegal” in Egypt since the year 2000. Yes, in Egypt under its “morality laws” people found guilty of breaking such a law could face “up to 17 years with or without hard labour and fines”

    Not to pick on Nero’s but they really should know better, after all, they do use the rainbow flag, during pride season in some of their stores.

    But they aren’t the only company to offer competitions where the prize could land LGBT+ people in trouble.

    You wouldn’t think that in 2020 it’d be acceptable to offer a prize that actively discriminated against LGBT+ people, but when you see a prize that’s a holiday to any country which outlaws homosexuality, and there are a lot of them – that’s effectively what they are doing, especially to gay and bi men who don’t want to end up in court facing punishments ranging from fines, lashes or even death.

    Even high profile game shows can get it wrong, in May 2019, Channel 5’s Blind Date sent two bisexual men on a romantic trip to St. Lucia, where it is illegal for males to have sex with other males.

    If we want change, we are going have to call on companies and allies to do their part.

    If we want a world that is tolerant of LGBT+ people we have to start showing that being anti-LGBT isn’t good for business, travel or politically and that includes using them in your marketing campaigns.

  • This is what it’s like to go on a nudist beach, when you’re a nevernude!

    This is what it’s like to go on a nudist beach, when you’re a nevernude!

    It has to be said. I’m a never-nude.

    CREDIT: Jake Hook / THEGAYUK

    While my boyfriend takes almost every possible moment to whip his clothes off, I’m happy to keep it AbFab Saffy. He says I’m the only person he knows who dresses up to go to bed.

    So the idea of a nudist beach outing isn’t a natural fit for me, my Irish Roman Catholic never-naked family upbringing means that nudity to me is best kept in the dark. But as I’ve always said, “don’t say no, till you give it go”. So on a trip to Australia, I relented to my nagging boyfriend, who had heard there was a gay nude beach somewhere on the shores of Sydney.

    We were 9,445 miles away. No one I know would be there, and at 26 years old I was in my prime.

    Early one morning, we took a ferry to the Taronga Zoo and walked for what seemed like hours. With every step, my protestations got louder and more pronounced. “Did we really need to do this”, “There’s a perfectly nice, findable beach in Manly”, “What’s so special about getting naked anyway?”

    Finally, we found it. Opening up in front of us was a naked haven. It was less of a beach and more of a cove of smooth rocks, facing towards the sea. A bit like a penguin exhibit at a zoo. Numerous, well-placed, seemingly naturally occurring outcroppings of smoothish rocks, perfect for spreading out a towel and basking beneath the Aussie sun. It looked perfect. It looked secluded. At each end, there was a high wall of rocks and thick bush add to the seclusion. Perfect.

    My boyfriend’s little eyes lit up like it was Christmas, Easter, Valentines, New Year’s and Wirral Appreciation Day (he’s from Wirral) all in one. He started removing items of clothes as we picked our way across the rocks to find somewhere to settle.

    I started casually glancing around, more to make sure I had a good footing on the rocks, rather than goggling the naked men on show. There were penises everywhere.

    Some were casually flopping over the owner’s knees, some were neatly nestled in a well-groomed nest of pubic hair. All attached to perfectly bronzed and toned bodies.

    We had found a spot to make camp, my boyfriend literally ran off towards the ocean.

    I was left to undress and sink lower into my own self-loathing.

    I could feel expectant eyes around me. I was, still dressed, very much so. So I began to peel off an item of clothing one item at a time. It was like a very slow, very bizarre Victorian striptease. First flip-flop, second flip-flop and so on until it was just my underwear and nakedness. I was eking out every moment of clothed protection.

    I rooted around in my rucksack for my book. It was chunky. In what can only be described as pure magic, I whipped off my undies and firmly placed the book in front of the crown jewels in one swift, deft move. I was naked save for the book.

    Finally, with my undies still on, I rooted around in my rucksack for my book. It was chunky. In what can only be described as pure magic, I whipped off my undies and firmly placed the book in front of the crown jewels in one swift, deft move. I was naked save for the book. I looked around to see if there had been any signs of approval from the expectant eyes, but they had long bored of my antics and were distracting themselves in other ways.

    I pretended to thumb through my book. My boyfriend called for me to come down to the ocean.

    Could I?

    Could I walk to the ocean… exposed? Between where I was sitting and the shore there must have been about ten meters of rocks.

    Sod it. Do it. What’s the worst that could happen?

    Beneath my book, I gave my little Mr a tug. It’s the tugging that all men give themselves when you need a little something more. You know, in the right circumstances, you add a couple of inches to a flaccid knob.

    Finally, appeased by the length, I remove my book, stand up. I blind everyone. My pale never-nude body is so bright I’m sure it can be seen from space.

    I feel eyes on me. “Turn it around Jake, turn it around”, I coo to myself. In my mind, Sade’s “Smooth Operator” is playing, as I slink towards the shoreline. Not wanting to rush, I make sure each step is sure and solid. My boyfriend is seven meters away from me. He’s waving at me, encouraging me to come to the water’s edge. He’s waist-deep in the water and he’s been playing catch with some others that are in the sea. It looks fun. I want to join them.

    I continue to walk towards the sea. Why did we settle so far back from the shore? I’m five metres away now.

    Four meters… and then, I hear voices. These aren’t the subdued mumbles of the cove’s current inhabitants. No, I can hear children’s laughter and a general hubbub. I can hear a tannoy announcement. I can hear the churning of water from a propeller. From the left side of the cove, a tourist boat’s bow begins to appear.

    I’m three meters from the water now. More and more of the boat begins to show. It’s big. Actually, it’s massive. And there are lots of people on it. All of them with cameras pointed in the direction of the beach. The boat seems so close I’m sure I can hear the individual shutters of a hundred cameras firing.

    Forgetting ‘Smooth Operator’ and my careful footing, I make a dash for the water. Gazelle like, I spring over the last few rocks and dive.

    Into 3 inches of water.

    My pasty ass isn’t even covered with water.

    The tourist boat continues its slow-paced chugging, its slow speed is mocking me. The cameras are still clicking. Eventually, it disappears around the cove.

    My boyfriend is almost drowning with laughter.

    The expectant eyes, attached to waspy mouths are saying something… I think I can hear “oh look, a floating pomme”.

    I die.

  • COMMENT | There are thousands of men just like Phillip Schofield, waiting to come out and that shouldn’t surprise us

    COMMENT | There are thousands of men just like Phillip Schofield, waiting to come out and that shouldn’t surprise us

    The past was deeply homophobic. It drove would be out gays, lesbians and bisexual people deep underground and now is their time to walk, heads held high into the light.

    When I used to volunteer for an LGBT+ helpline, our extensive training outlined how to help young people navigate their coming out experiences at college or how to tell mum and dad that, actually, they weren’t a daughter but a son. We were told that we’d get a lot of these types of calls, but in reality, every shift I volunteered for, I would have at least one, if not two, men of a certain age, grappling with the fact that they had lived a life of lies.

    The story these men would tell would have a regularity to it… They were out walking the dog and another man in the bushes piqued their interest, or while browsing porn online they stumbled upon the GAY button and it opened the floodgates.

    “But why now?” would be the question…

    “What about AIDS?” would often be another question.

    Their concern would also be couched in terms like, “but I’m not gay, I have a wife” – although further conversation would reveal that they had been in a sexless marriage for the best part of twenty years and even when they were in the throes of passion, they felt it never “really clicked”.

    Men in their 50s, 60, 70s and 80s grew up with intense social and legal pressures to be normative.

    It was illegal to be gay in this country until 1967. The AIDS epidemic hit the gay/bisexual community hard from the early 80s. The World Health Organisation only declassified homosexuality as a mental illness in 1992 and the patriarchal nature of our world means only a certain type of man makes it to the top.

    It must have seemed safer to stay in the closet.

    The idea that Phillip Schofield would have had a hint of the success that he’s enjoyed during his career had he come out during his time in the Broom Cupboard is to be dismissed right away. You can imagine the Daily Mail and Sun headlines now.

    It must have seemed safer to stay in the closest.

    The societal changes to reflect the legal and health changes has taken decades and, worryingly still isn’t fully ingrained.

    Every day, hundreds of mostly unreported homophobic hate crimes happen on the streets of the UK. We only hear of a few of them, which leads people to have an overriding sense that “everything is okay, nothing to see here”.

    It’s not true.

    Back to the phone room, at first when I was taking these calls from men in their 50s and above what I got was a sense of self-loathing, uncertainty but excitement. Something had been uncorked. The genie was out and it was never going to be stuffed in again.

    At first, I was surprised that the number of calls I’d answer – in amongst the “wank calls” (that’s another story), but with each shift, I began to understand that these men all hailed from a truly toxic age. They felt they had to be strong, get married, father children and provide. The only time you could cry and not be called a poofter was when England lost the World Cup.

    Our issues as a community haven’t just started. It’s been decades. Actually it’s been centuries in the making.

    …Coming out after 30 years of marriage doesn’t just affect one person. Spouses are often forgotten in the blaze of support that can surround someone’s coming out.

    I also understand that someone coming out after 30 years of marriage doesn’t just affect one person. Spouses are often forgotten in the blaze of support that can surround someone’s coming out. It must be incredibly lonely for them. Their emotional response must feel very limited, less they are seen as a homophobe.

    We need to find tools to help both people. The person coming out and the person feeling that their entire adult life has also been a lie.

    Phillip Schofield isn’t the first man to come out later in life. He won’t be the last and instead of the hype that surrounds that revelation, maybe we need to question why they felt they needed to wait so long.

  • THE UNDATEABLE GAY | Joins a gay walking group

    THE UNDATEABLE GAY | Joins a gay walking group

    For years, my friends have been nagging me to get some gay friends. Apparently they’re concerned that my circle consists of straight ladies, their husbands and my gaggle of old dears from the church.

    “You’ll never find a life partner surrounded by us!” Are they trying to tell me something? Lucky I’m not a sensitive soul otherwise I might think they were trying to palm me off. 

    In a way, I guess they’re right. Being stuck in my circle of ‘straights’ is probably not the most pro-active approach to meeting ‘the one’ or any gay friends come to that.

    After their persistent advice, I finally decided to take action. I Googled gay men’s groups. And up popped a gay man’s dinner club. I quickly searched for the date of the next meal, only to discover the group was now defunct.

    Probably for the best. I’m sure it would have ended up involving copious amounts of alcohol and I’d have bedded half the men before you could say ‘gay men’s dinner club.’

    Known for my perseverance, I refused to give up at the first hurdle. As I scoured the Google search engine, the Gay Outdoor Club caught my eye.

    Once I’d clarified that it wasn’t a dogging event, I became increasingly disinterested. JOKE. I became very interested. 

    I soon discovered that it was a gay walking group. How exciting. Not only would I get to meet fellow gays, I would get exercise and fresh air into the bargain. I had two options to choose from. A London group or the Surrey Hills. Coming to the conclusion that I could walk around London anytime, I decided on the Surrey Hills.

    I also noticed that they indulge in coffee and cake at the end of each walk. Cute. And the cakes are baked by some of the members. Being an amateur Mary Berry myself, this gave my spatula a twinge of excitement.

    Armed with a lemon drizzle loaf (my speciality), I nervously turned up at my first walk. This particular day was a 13-mile ramble around Hascombe. Yes, Hascombe. I still don’t bloody know where it is but it’s blooming beautiful.

    Shaking hands with all the men that were attending the walk was daunting and as the introductions finished, it was clear that I bought the median age range down by about twenty years. 

    One of the older guys came up to me and offered me a sweet from an open bag he had in his hand. Ignoring advice I’d been given as a child about accepting sweets from strangers, my hand reached into his sweetie bag. 

    “Which colour willy would you like?” He bellowed as my fingers realised they were fiddling with sugar-laden penises. 

    As we set off on our walk, the usual small talk ensued as I was asked, “Where do you live?” “What’s your job?” But it was so bloody nice. The surroundings were glorious and I was engaging in conversation with some really friendly people. And they were gay. My friends would be so proud of me. The only conversations I’ve had with gay men in recent years have been via Grindr. 

    A few miles in and this rather charming, camp man came up to me and grabbed me by the arm. Maybe this is a dogging group after all, I thought as I felt his hand on my arm.

    “I just have to tell you darling. Your eyebrows are FABULOUS! They are even better than Kim Kardashians!”

    We soon spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and talking random rubbish with each other. We had the same stupid sense of humour and outrageous outlook on life. 

    As I left the walk that day, my eyebrow admirer came running up to kiss me goodbye. “I feel like I’ve known you my whole life!” He said as we embraced. And it was true. We had clicked automatically. And do you know what was even more refreshing? It was a purely platonic encounter. I certainly felt no romantic notion towards him and I knew the feeling was mutual. 

    As the walks are only once a month, I found myself counting down the days until the next one. I’ve now been a member for five months and have loved every minute of the days out.

    It’s so amazing seeing parts of the countryside that I would never, ever venture into. And with wonderful conversation and laughs from many beautiful souls I’ve met. It’s innuendo city most of the time. Which is right up my alley. Pardon the pun.

    It’s the best decision I’ve made in years to join. My advice to you all: Even if you feel scared, just take the plunge. Join that group, book that trip. Grab life by the balls!

    During the most recent walk, I engaged in conversation with the chairman. 

    “We are always looking for new people to lead the walks”, he told me.

    “I’d bloody get us lost!” I insisted. 

    “That’s what I thought five years ago and look at me now. I lead walks and I’m the chairman!”

    “Are you trying to groom me?” I quickly retorted. Oh, how we laughed.

    Jokes aside, Tullene (my best friend) later said to me that she can see me becoming the chairman one day. Watch this space!

  • MOTORING | Before the Rise Of Tamiya

    MOTORING | Before the Rise Of Tamiya

    My first 3

    With Christmas just gone I look back to the winter of 1981 where my driving career started.

    I’ve been rather fortunate with a recent eBay purchase that I hadn’t actually gone looking for and to be honest, I’m not sure what made me look for it or how I found it. The reason for this utter astonishment from me when sober was because the item in question doesn’t really have a memorable name. What I have managed to do is find my first 3 radio controlled cars. 

    The toy pages of the Gratham autumn/winter catalogue became a mass of dog eared pages. I had eyed up the Corgi racing Golf. Being all of 6, I did still believe in Santa. I was expecting a racing Golf. Alas the Golf never happened. So let me take you for a drive on my first 3.

    LaTrax Alpha RCX

    I’ve been searching for this ad-hoc for several years but I’ve never really been able to find it because its random name was totally lost on me. How the hell could I remember that mix of exotic sounding words?

    For a start there is the design. I could have sworn it was a 1967 Mustang fastback. It does look a bit like that at the rear but now I’m looking and I note it’s more Datsun 240Z at the front. It really was a nothing car. A random selection of designs thrown together. There were 4 Mustangs 2’s on the box. I remember that. 

    There were other things I remembered too about this. Despite not quite remembering the controller having a steering wheel, I do remember the push buttons for the forward and backward motions. 

    Looking at the RCX today, it really was a thing of advanced engineering. It had proportional steering and a floating rear axle. It drove quite quickly through the one rear wheel. I remember hearing it crash against the wall the night before Christmas and shouting down to my parents only to be told it wasn’t what I had screamed.

    Sadly the RCX was to be short lived. Like several minutes. It broke. What was to come afterwards was MUCH better.

    Likto Truck   

    This was the absolute nuts of a toy to me. It was huge and had blazing yellow lights. The trailer could either be a flat bed with detachable ramp or articulate box. This was 18 wheels of goodness although 16 of those were pretend double wheels but let’s us not split hairs of tyres here. It wasn’t just a truck and trailer though. Based on a Kenworth, this was your all out American big rig. I was part of the convoy. I was right there with Rubber Duck. That was until the gun firing. I wasn’t going to have my big rig damaged. 

    The Likto truck had the added bonus of being able to dismount the trailer at the touch of a button. It was almost fully interactive. The game was then to reverse up to and hitch the trailer to the truck. You could say it taught eye-hand co-ordination. Not that you’d think it did if you ever see me playing computer games. I’m quite hopeless.

    The technology didn’t just stop there. For a toy, it had a complex drive and clutch system with 3 gear ratio set ups. Slow or fast in all directions but it also gave the option of fast forward and slow reverse at the flick of a lever underneath. 

    Alas all good things must come to an end. I remember being almost inconsolable when it stopped working. I loved that truck.

    Corgi Mini Metro

    Now here was peak Corgi toys. Back in 1983 Corgi had you covered for all things a young budding motorist required. TV detective cars, big scale, small scale and electric cars that you didn’t even need to push around the living room. That last statement can’t actually be applied to Corgi’s RC toys. They were a bit rubbish.

    The Metro lived up to the hype of its British Leyland roots. It wasn’t that great and it was unreliable. Discovering the magic powers of a screw driver, I took mine apart. It was like looking into the void of a glossy wrapped box with a sparkling bow in the corner next to your name. It was  empty apart from the cheapest circuit board you have ever seen.

    It took all these batteries to give it 6 volts of magic. It could have done with around half of that. So simple and not very effective, it had cheap magnetic controlled steering. That 6 volt of power did not translate to scintillating speed to chip the lead paint from the newly painted skirting boards around the house. It wasn’t what you could call a carpet racer despite its fetching Datapost livery. 

    What I do remember was the hate I had for my sister when it came choosing the 70 or 77 numbers. She suggested 70 because I was 7. Shut up Jackie. She know nothing about race cars. We all knew the higher the number, the faster it goes right?

    It died a painful death in my hands and I can’t say what I did to it was deliberate. It just died. Its Super Cover warranty had expired along with the car. 

    Rise of the Big Boys

    It wasn’t until Christmas 1985 when I kick started my long affair with the real boys toys. Those from Tamiya with their Wild One. And as for the Golf, I found one and to be honest I wasn’t missing out. It was the same as the Metro, just as naff but clothed in a Volkswagen body. Thankfully nothing was as unreliable as a Corgi VW Golf except for a Metro.

  • Mauritius: ‘An island where gay men still live with the consequences of British colonisation’

    Mauritius: ‘An island where gay men still live with the consequences of British colonisation’

    The fight for gay rights in Mauritius

    It was the writer Mark Twain, who said, “Mauritius was made first and then heaven was copied after Mauritius.” Boy, was he right! The tropical paradise is one of Africa’s wealthiest tourist destinations and is one of the world’s top luxury places to visit.

    It’s clear why over 100,000 British visitors go every year. Yet for some LGBTQIA+ people, it holds an unknown law that threatens the freedom of the community. An island where gay men still live with the consequences of British colonisation. Various countries across Africa and southern Asia still have harmful anti-homosexuality laws in place that were first introduced under British rule. The republic of Mauritius gained independence from British rule in 1968.

    Homosexuality is prohibited in Mauritius and LGBTQIA+ life in Mauritius still remains fairly discreet, it is important to know that ‘sodomy’ is still illegal and punishable with a maximum sentence of up to 5 years.

    In 2018, The Republic of Mauritius was forced to cancel its gay pride event due to concerns of safety from anti-gay rights campaigners, to which some were quoting section 250 of the Mauritian Criminal Code Act of 1838, which outlaws sodomy.

    The Law in Mauritius violates individual constitutional rights and freedoms which breaches the island’s equal opportunities act, which bans discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

    Embed from Getty Images

    Same-sex relationships are a crime in more than 70 countries around the world, almost half of them in Africa. But recent changes in laws within other countries have encouraged individual petitioners to challenge section 250. 

    Abdool Ridwan Firaas Ah Seek originally brought a legal case last year challenging the constitutionality of Section 250 – a colonial-era law from when Mauritius was ruled by Britain. According to an unofficial translation of this section “Any person who is guilty of the crime sodomy… shall be liable to penal servitude for a term not exceeding 5 years.”

    The case had its first hearing by the Supreme Court in October 2019 and another hearing to appear this February 2020.

    Mr Ah Seek’s legal case is being supported by the Collectif Arc-En-Ciel (CAEC), a human rights organisation in Mauritius working to improve the lives of LGBTQIA+ people.

    Mauritian activist Najeeb Fokeerbux, Founder of the LGBTQIA+ group, Young Queer Alliance has addressed that he too will be campaigning to overturn the law and will work alongside Mr Ah Seek’s on this case. The Young Queer Alliance is s a non-governmental, youth-led and a political organisation dedicated to advance equal human rights of LGBTQIA+ people in the Republic of Mauritius. Supported by various local and regional partners and philanthropies.

    Mauritian activists claim that the law is rarely enforced with sentencing, although it is still illegal and still active and has other impacts on the community.

    jodylehigh / Pixabay

    Mauritians citizens are an eclectic mix of French, Indian, Creole and Chinese people, renowned for their hospitality and their acceptance of cultural differences. So why they live with such strict laws is frankly disappointing, outdated and violates human rights to the local people and their overall tolerance to people.

    I myself am of Mauritian descent and an active member of the LGBTQIA+ community, born and living in Brighton, UK.

    I have taken personal offence to the law and will be working alongside the activists to help decriminalise homosexuality in Mauritius by helping overturn this law. This outdated law threatens our very own freedom of being who we are and where we travel to and how we live our lives.

    Over the next few weeks, I aim to meet fellow activist Fokeerbux and his colleagues at La MariPosa Hotel, Grand Rivière Noir situated south-west of the island.

    This venue prides itself as one of the few hotels that promotes themselves confidently as LGBTQIA+ friendly on the island.

    La MariPosa Hotel will be the meeting venue where myself and fellow activists will hold discussions and where people from the LGBTQIA+ community can talk openly about stigmas and prejudice to which they have experienced.

    We will discuss what amendments have been made so far, the challenging of article 250, the human rights violations which LGBTQIA+ people are exposed to and more.

    The Republic of Mauritius is such a beautiful island – but when we look at the beauty around this, it is shadowed by the old colonial laws, which has no place in our time now.

    Policies have been changed and laws similar to this one have been overturned in other countries such as Angola, Seychelles, Botswana and India. This has been inspirational and motivational for the LGBTQIA+ community in Mauritius.

    Let’s endeavour that 2020 brings Mauritius into a place that promotes equality, diversity, inclusion but more importantly equal rights for the LGBTQIA+ community.

    Mathew Parr will be in Mauritius from mid -January 2020 for 1 month, and he will be writing and filming his full experience including discussions with fellow activists.

    Mathew Parr
    www.facebook.com/MathewParrOfficial
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  • I nearly tapped out of the latest season of 13 Reasons Why, but I’m glad I didn’t

    I nearly tapped out of the latest season of 13 Reasons Why, but I’m glad I didn’t

    13 REASONS WHY

    If you watch 13 Reasons Why you’ll know it’s a tough watch. I don’t know any other drama, let alone a supposed teen drama, that manages to squeeze in so many hard-hitting subjects but which rarely get so little air-time.

    It’s hard to forget that in a world with “big news” like Donald Trump, Brexit and now, Conservative-majority rule for the UK for the foreseeable future, that’s it’s the smaller stories, the personal stories that really rule our lives and these are the stories that make 13 Reasons Why a hard, gruelling but necessary watch.

    I nearly tapped out of season 3. I just couldn’t follow jumps between timelines (i think there are three maybe four… I’m a little foggy on that) and the introduction of a new character, Ani, was a little jarring. In fact, I watched the first two episodes and switched it off and left it for a few weeks.

    But it lingered there. In the recesses of my mind. I wanted to know.

    The season focuses on rebuilding lives after so much is destroyed in the previous 2 series and it packs a punch, it also contains some of the most emotional, heart-breaking acting I’ve ever seen on screen. Not from the main characters Clay (Dylan Minette) and Ani (Grace Saif), although they both pull in a solid performance, the real powerhouse deliveries come from rape survivors, Jessica (Alisha Boe) and Tyler (Devin Druid). Devin is good, actually beyond good. I think we’re looking at one of his generation’s finest actors.

    13 Reasons Why season three is a slow cook drama, it takes around 4 or 5 episodes to really get going, but when it does, oh man does it hurt.

    Stick with it. Don’t close it down because it’s too difficult to watch or too harrowing to hear. Let’s, as Jessica says, hear these stories.

  • Gothy Kendoll calls gay Tory voters “f*ggots”

    Gothy Kendoll calls gay Tory voters “f*ggots”

    (C) BBC

    The Drag Race UK contestant Gothy Kendoll has hit out at gay Conservative voters calling them a slur word.

    In the tweet sent just a few days before the General Election the 22-year-old drag queen, who was the first queen to be eliminated from the debut series of Drag Race UK, said, “gays vote labour, faggots vote tory”.

    A few days later the drag queen then asked her 24.7K followers “why do all gay tories look the same”.

    While some users agreed with the entertainer, others questioned why she used the slur, one wrote, “Unfortunately I see no joke, I spend my time within school teaching today’s young people not to use that word.

    “It’s not a joke it’s a word used to bring people down, people of the LGBT+ community.”

    Another added, “I like the sentiment but please reword it. We can’t keep using that horrible F word”

    https://twitter.com/Spider_Man_Si/status/1205012945035497472

    Others branded the tweet disgusting, to which Gothy replied that it was a “joke”.

    THEGAYUK.com reached out to Gothy Kendoll for comment.

  • THE UNDATEABLE GAY | That date when I was arrested for being drunk and disorderly

    THE UNDATEABLE GAY | That date when I was arrested for being drunk and disorderly

    You would have thought that I’d learnt my lesson about venturing outside of London for dates. But no, ever the glutton for punishment, when my latest beau, Kevin suggested a day trip to Brighton, I jumped at the chance.

    Kevin was/is the son of my then hairdresser. I say was as he’s no longer in my life and his mum no longer puts a pair of scissors anywhere near my bonce.

    This one day, she was chopping away at my rather thinning hair and she started talking about Kevin. Although I knew she had a gay son, I’d never met him.

    “Oh Mark. My Kevin’s just split up with his fella. He could do with cheering up.”

    Alarm bells should have immediately started ringing in my ears. REBOUND. But this is me after all and I’m never one for saying no. Infact, NO has always been a word that struggles to leave my lips. Perhaps that’s why certain people have called me a slut over the years.

    No sooner had the words, “Okay, I’d love to meet him” left my gob, this tall, jaw droppingly handsome man appeared from behind the door.

    She was either a magician or this had been a planned set up. Seeing his gorgeous flop of brown hair and deep set green eyes quickly made me erase all thoughts of my hairdressers’ wizardry. Either that, or she’d wiped out my memory with another spell of black magic.

    We caught each other’s eyes and I saw a glint in both his and mine. I smiled and I witnessed him become rather dazzled at the sight of my pearly whites. I’d been to the hygienist that particular day for a clean and polish.

    “Do you fancy a day trip to Brighton?” He forwardly asked me.

    “Damn right!” I blurted out quicker than you could say pier.

    Before I knew it, we were at Euston waiting for the twelve minutes past ten fast train. We chatted with ease and laughed a lot. We had the same stupid sense of humour.

    Gadini / Pixabay

    I soon found a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from the train’s buffet table was going down a treat. Luckily, he shared my love of all things Savvy B. Except he appeared to love it much more than me. He was already on his second glass before I was even half way through my first.

    But, as you know, the good Catholic boy that I am, I shalt not judge.

    No sooner were we off the train, Kevin had his lips firmly plastered around another glass of savvy b inside The Queen’s Arms. My eyes widened as I saw him pour the wine down his gullet quicker than Jaws approaching a surf board.

    As my friends quite often say, “if Mark is shocked by someone’s behaviour, then that’s saying something”. It MUST be shocking. Now, until I spent some time with Kevin, I thought that I could put the Savvy B away. But he made me look like a tee-total monk.

    After god knows how many glasses in The Queen’s Arms, he suggested we take a walk along the pier. Well, I say walk. By this point, it was more of a stumble.

    Stumbling along the pier, we ventured into the arcade. As we came out the other side, Kevin grabbed my hand with excitement. How romantic, I thought, the way he’s clutching at my hand with such enthusiasm. It soon became clear that the over zealous way he held my hand had more to do with the pub on the pier he had spotted and was now dragging me into.

    Five more glasses of vino for Kevin and just two more for me, I was struggling to keep up. I suggested we get some sea air. I thought it might help sober us up, if nothing else.

    wilhei / Pixabay

    As we ventured out onto Brighton sea front, I turned to look at the pier all lit up. What a beautiful sight. Suddenly confused, I turned to look at Kevin who seemed to be sporting two heads.

    “I didn’t know there were two piers!” God knows how I was managing to string a sentence together.

    “There is only one pier”, Kevin told me, “the other one burnt down in the eighties.”

    With hindsight, I realise the copious amounts of Sauvignon Blanc had probably started to affect my vision.

    “Revenge should be open by now!” Kevin grabbed my hand rather enthusiastically. The fact that I struggled to put one foot in front of the other should have been a massive hint that I was ready to get the train back to London.

    Just as we went to cross the road, a policeman tapped me on the shoulder. My head flopping from side to side, I managed to turn to face him without falling flat on my boatrace.

    “Don’t you think it’s time you called it a night.” P.C Plod advised, obviously observing my inebriated state.

    Wanting to nod my head, I didn’t get a chance to respond as Kevin took the lead.

    “The night is only just beginning!”

    “It looks like it began a long while ago!”

    I do like a policeman with a sense of humour.

    Ignoring the officer of the law, Kevin took my hand once more and started to pull me away from P.C Plod. Struggling to stay in an upright position, I found myself clinging onto the policeman’s shirt.

    And before you could say, old bill, I had fallen to the pavement, pulling P.C Plod on top of me. And then, just to put the icing on the cake, the Savvy B (and empty stomach) finally caught up with Kevin. I saw projectile vomit launch towards us.

    “I’m arresting you both for being drunk and disorderly in a public place.”

    Those were the last words I heard before my eyes opened again in the cold light of day. Sunshine beaming through police cell bars.

    I got the train home to London all on my own.

    Receiving a caution on a date was a sure fire way to ensure that a second date with Kevin was definitely not on the cards.