THEGAYUK

Category: Comment

  • OPINION | The issue with dictionaries’ definition of the word gay

    There is one thing that really annoys me. It doesn’t quite turn me into an aggressive homosexual but it doesn’t half infuriate me. The offending thing is when the word gay is used as a synonym for stupid, lame, rubbish or sh**, basically.

    It was with great disappointment that I came across an update on this fine magazine’s Facebook page that exposed the dictionary listing of the word gay on Apple’s computer operating systems. It lists the word gay as being “foolish” and “stupid”. I will, of course, state that it has the usual definitions of gay listed, but this is a worrying development, particularly at a time when the word is used negatively so casually amongst young people (and some older ones too).

    As you’ll pick up in some of my previous writings for THEGAYUK, I run an LGBTQ youth support charity and work hard to educate young people on the use of the word gay. I’ve spoken to many youth groups, parents, and professionals about the way in which gay is flung around as an insult or put down, and spent much time educating people on how to use the word appropriately or challenge its negative use. I feel that the way gay is listed in Apple’s dictionary goes some way to undo or undermine those efforts.

    Apple is not the only offender, though; the Oxford Dictionary, although putting the words “often offensive” in front, also list the word gay as meaning “foolish” or “stupid”. In general, I am not easily offended but I find the dictionary listing unacceptable. Perhaps it is true that dictionaries should list the way in which words are used rather the way they should be, but I am still uncomfortable with this definition. I have actually referred young people to the dictionary to look up what gay actually means. Now it’s defined as meaning “foolish” or “stupid” I will no longer be able to do that.

    In Apple’s defence, I am aware that their dictionary entries come from several different sources and that it must be difficult to keep tabs on every entry. Apple is also known for being LGBT friendly so they can perhaps be let off for this oversight. I have confidence in Apple removing that particular definition or at least making an alteration now that they have been made aware of it. However, as for the Oxford Dictionary, I am a bit more disappointed. In my view gay does not equate to being foolish or stupid. It refers to sexuality or being light hearted and care free. Despite mentioning that the negative use is often offensive, it doesn’t make it an acceptable definition. To use the word in the way that these dictionaries define it, they are being pretty gay themselves.

    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 | Bully Boy

    Secondary school was a pretty grim time for me.

    In spite of being bright, having lots of friends and attending a pretty good school, it was a hideous time in my life and one that I shudder to recall. Markedly effeminate and obviously gay, I was a sure fire target for the homophobic bullies and there’s nothing like a touch of bullying to make life a living hell. I still recall evenings at home sitting and crying in my room, the lurching nausea of a Sunday night with the prospect of school the next day and the soul-destroying erosion of my confidence.

    30 years later, I wondered what advice I might give my 12-year-old self, should I discover that elusive time machine. Here are my top five tips to mini Chris. I’m sure that they won’t apply to everyone and I know that facing up to a bully is a complex issue but here’s what I’d tell myself. Hopefully it might have some advice transferable to others too.

    1) Tell people about it

    The worst bullying of all came from a sport’s teacher (clichéd, I know but people often do behave in a way so tediously true to the expected norm). The belittling comments and name calling during sports lessons set a precedent. If it was acceptable for a teacher to call me ‘the poofter’ in front of the class then it was acceptable for everyone, surely? The resolution came when he blacked my eye (accidentally) by throwing an icy cold football at my face with velocity whilst shouting some retro homophobic name at me. Cue a minor inquiry and a partial resolution of his nasty behaviour (it was the ‘80s, people could get away with more bad stuff than now). It’s easy to see, in retrospect, that I could have made it end a lot quicker had I spoken out sooner to maybe my parents or a sympathetic teacher. At the time this felt terrifying and impossible but I realise now that I didn’t deserve this and that whatever I did to speak out then the moron couldn’t hurt me any more than he already was doing.

    2) There’s safety in numbers

    Take comfort in your allies and if possible, befriend the like minded. I’d tell 12-year-old Chris that he has a great bunch of friends who actually seem to like him and will stand up for him. I made friends with two other gay teenagers and that was an incredibly lucky thing for me. I was lucky that they existed and we got on. We’d hang out together and to our surprise, it was harder to bully three people than one. My loyal female friends were a support too. There was a memorable incident when a boy tripped me over on the way home and my female friend punched him squarely on the jaw. He didn’t cross me again for fear of her firm left-hook. Naturally, I wouldn’t ever advocate violence but I really wish I’d known before that my group of friends were so willing to take no nonsense whilst I was prepared to take so much.

    3) What they’re saying is rubbish

    Just because you have a crush on the singer from Duran Duran and like a good show tune doesn’t make you inferior. Whatever names they might call you are utterly irrelevant. The opinion of someone who terrorises someone due to his or her sexuality really doesn’t count at all. It’s worth less than zero. In fact it’s worth less than that even. It needs a whole scale of its own; it’s so beneath contempt.

    4) Look for positive role models

    Not so easy in the 1980s but this is a bit easier now, hopefully. Even back in the bad old days of leg warmers and The Kids from Fame, there were strong positive people to look up to. It was a revelation to me, at the age of 14, to discover gay literature. I devoured books by Edmund White and Felice Picano and took a keen interest in historical figures like Harvey Milk who had fought so strongly for the cause. Pop music gave me idols too and Andy Bell and Jimmy Somerville were strong and unashamedly gay figures. These people taught me more about humanity and strength than any meathead sports teacher or vile acting teenager with an axe to grind.

    I also found comfort from a local gay youth group and the local gay switchboard. I was amazed that other people understood what the strife I was going through and that I wasn’t alone.

    5) Remember: You really are a lot more fierce and fabulous then they’ll ever be

    Nothing to say about this on except: fact!

    This is just my advice to myself and doesn’t apply to everyone. Bullying is a hard thing to stand up to and to get through alone. If you are being bullied because of your sexuality or any other reason, whatever age you are, then please get some professional help and advice.

    Here’s some useful links:

    http://www.nhs.uk/Livewell/Bullying/Pages/Homophobicbullying.aspx

    http://www.standupfoundation.com/

    http://www.anti-bullyingalliance.org.uk/advice/children-young-people.aspx

    http://www.eachaction.org.uk/about-each/

    And for more contacts visit: http://www.thegayuk.com/Bullying

  • OPINION | The Hairy Grey Gay

    So, here’s the deal…..you’re ageing, bits aren’t working the way they used to and then nature plays the cruellest of jokes on you – you go bald on top only to have hair grow “elsewhere”!

    As your thatch thins, your ears suddenly become playgrounds for what can only be described as industrial strength pubic hair! As if that wasn’t bad enough, you start to notice the odd (very odd) hair on your shoulder, sprouting on your neck well below your beard line, even on your ear lobe! Ok, that last one may be just me but you get the picture. I can’t be the only one with feet like an ageing Hobbit?

    So why is it we grow bald in some places and still grow hair in others? And how much does it affect our confidence as we age – already a dodgy area even if you’re not gay!

    The whole area of us growing hair is a strange subject – we’re born with some, it can change colour as we grow, it appears in places during puberty that we never had it before, it then disappears from some areas as we age and also changes colour again! Talk about keeping us entertained!

    I did a quick straw poll amongst my twitter lovelies and it appears that the majority of us “folic-ally challenged” individuals are FINE with being somewhat thin on top. Luckily fashions change and we are no longer seen as thugs or skinheads if we shave our heads.

    One of my favourite signs in Manchester of recent times offered scalp pigmentation as an option to losing your hair. This reminds me of the old “hair in a can” stuff that used to be available – and maybe still is?

    It sounds like someone comes along with a can of whatever colour your remaining hair is and either sprays your head or slaps some paint on it! It smacks of desperation, but that’s my own opinion, maybe I’d feel differently if I wasn’t happy with the bald look!

    Recent fashions have encouraged beards, moustaches, shaved heads, the most severe partings possible (even shaving them in) so it seems anything goes and for all ages too. No need to feel left out of the fashion loop if you’re 39 and 12 months…..however, maybe ask Santa for one of those lovely nasal hair trimmers – they work wonders and can take care of those tricky little buggers growing in your ears, nose or elsewhere…

     

     

    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 | Bullying: My Experience

    Bullying is a bit of a sore subject for me. At the age of 29 I sometimes still find myself haunted by past experiences. I have been on numerous medications, had therapy, and even a stint in a rehab facility in an attempt to ‘get over’ the bullying I endured in my youth. It’s been a long and rocky road, and I still haven’t reached the end.

    My experience of bullying began when I was at primary school. I was five years old when a boy in my street started to pick on me. I was quite a weedy child so guess I was an easy target. The bullying began as name calling but as the years went by it became more physical.

    I was hit, kicked, and spat at. My mother would try to talk to his about what was happening but only came up against shouting and swearing. The bullying took a turn for the worse when I was ten years old. One day the boy picked up a pair of hedge scissors and tried to cut my head off. I almost laugh when I recall that because it seems ridiculous, but I was terrified at the time. He may not have succeeded in cutting my head off, but he could have easily caused serious injury had I not ran away.

    On another occasion, the same boy, along with a group of his friends, managed to pin me up against a fence in a corn field and tie me to it. They then urinated on me and tried to set fire to me. Luckily my sister came along at just the right time and distracted the gang. They chased after her and I managed to free myself. By the age of ten, I was experiencing serious mental trauma. By then the bullying wasn’t just occurring at home.

    From around the age of eight, the bullying had also begun at school. What started as general name calling became racist bullying when the other kids realised that my Dad is white and my Mum is black (or half-caste as some people call it). I was called a mongrel and the other kids would say that I don’t know if I am black or white. Just before leaving primary school the bullying changed focus again. Some of the kids in my class had noticed that all of my friends were girls and that I did not hang around with the boys. A word started to get thrown at me; a word that I had not really heard before. That word was ‘gay’.

    Moving up to secondary school should have been an exciting time. However, I was dreading it. I was aware that most of the kids from my primary school were going to the same school. I was scared that the bullying would continue. That fear became a reality when rumours began to spread that I was gay. This was based purely on the fact I hung around with girls and none of the boys. Of course their assumption that I am homosexual turned out to be correct, but for five years I was persecuted for it. Taunts during classes and at break times were frequent. The mental abuse became a daily occurrence. I was called all of the usual homophobic slurs and sometimes I would be physically attacked. Appealing to the teachers never achieved anything and I was often told to be quiet and stop making a drama. As time went on I became more introverted and eventually fell into a depression. At the age of fifteen that depression deteriorated into bulimia.

    Controlling my food intake and having the power to make myself sick afterwards seemed to be the only thing that I had control over at that time. The situation became worse, the bullying more intense, and the self-harm continued. At sixteen I had my first experience of antidepressant medication and mental health services after a friend realised my mental stability was crumbling and took me to see my GP. Something else also happened when I was sixteen; something surprising. The bullying came to an end.

    The day came when I could no longer handle the bullying. It was a case of fight or flight, the flight being to end my life. In a moment of pure anger I chose to fight. Someone who had previously been relatively nice to me started calling me homophobic names so I decided to confront him. When I did that, the boy kicked me and called me a f**king poof. That was the moment that I lost it. I punched the boy and knocked him off his chair. I ended up getting suspended as a consequence of my actions. When called into a meeting with my head of year I explained that I was being homophobically bullied. The year head brushed it off and said he was “not interested in that kind of thing”. I was then suspended. The boy who kicked me and was homophobic received no punishment.

    Upon returning to school after my suspension I noticed that people were leaving me alone. The name calling and violence suddenly stopped. At break time a group of lads came up to me, but instead of being abused I had my hand shook and they said that I’m “actually not that bad”. I thought it was completely bizarre that it took me being violent and sticking up for myself for the bullying to stop, but at the same time wished I had done it years previously.

    I wasn’t bullied at school again after that. I was left to it and my educational experience became easier. The damage had been done though. For years after I was haunted by the experiences and used mental health services extensively. Now as a mental health professional I am turning my experiences into something positive. With Push Projects, the LGBTQ youth support charity I founded in 2011, I provide a source of support to young people that didn’t exist when I was younger. I have also since returned to my old secondary school to discuss my experiences and work with them on anti-homophobic bullying strategies. I’m absolutely on a crusade and want to save all LGBTQ youth from persecution, but even if just one person is helped then I’ve done what I set out to do.

     

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

  • COLUMN | Tis The Season

    It’s the most wonderful time of the year! No, not all that Christmas nonsense that’s looming, but autumn. I totally love autumn. It’s arrived with a bang in London, heralded by high winds and radical temperature drops but oh, is it beautiful. The leaves are magnificent, the smell of wood smoke is in the air and the weather today is crisp and sunny.

    Finally the weather suits my clothes (isn’t that a line from a song?). I’ve unearthed my wool suits, my tweed jackets and my original 1950s Tootal scarves and I’m ready to rock and stroll. Autumn is my favourite season to go walking: all those leaves to kick, cheeky squirrels to feed nuts to and bright vistas full of warm colours. No more having to expose my flesh in summer clothes that fail to hide the bulges in the wrong places and the puny bits. No more sweating so much that I look like I’ve melted and having to sport unseemly damp patches on the Tube.

    The food is good too. I’ve begun on an odyssey of soup consumption and stodgy cakes, wholesome stews and custard have re-appeared on the menu. The festivals are better too. Give me Halloween any day over your puny Christmas and Easter stuff. I don’t want a chocolate egg or sickly carol singing. I want blood, ghouls and the un-dead. I want rotting flesh, dismembered limbs and evocations of mean. They appeal to me so much more. Cruella de Vil is so much more me than a giant rabbit with a basket or a man in a red fur trimmed suit that entices children onto his lap.

    Snuggling up with the heating on high, a good book and the curtains drawn against the outside world is my idea of heaven. The cold weather keeps people in their houses more so the streets are quieter and there’s less noise and bustle. On the down side: given the energy price hikes, I’ll be destitute come March but I’ve got two kidneys and the market must be good for selling one of those, right?

    With every Yin comes a Yang though. I have started the season of viral illnesses with a heavy cold. I’m drowning in my own mucous and living on a diet of Paracetamol and bad TV. Maybe I’ll give the leaf kicking a miss today and snuggling up will be more sweating and shivering. Oh autumn, how I loved you but like any lover you have some annoying habits and bringing with you these tiresome viruses has to be a deal breaker. I’m all about the spring now. Autumn: We’re through.

  • COLUMN | Some people are gay

    I’m never normally speechless but the other day a work colleague rendered me thus. She happened to mention the Stonewall “Some People Are Gay Get Over It” bus campaign that has re-launched. She wondered why it was necessary at all and considered it a bit of an insult…

    I remained silent, to my shame. There was a lot that I could have said.

    I could have pointed out that homophobic hate crimes still ride high in the crime figures’ hit parade.

    I could have discussed the recent reports about the volume of calls to The Samaritans from men with issues surrounding their sexuality.

    I could have pointed out that although we’re both white and middle class, we work in an area with a high black and ethnic minority population with high social deprivation where homophobia is rife.

    I could have pointed out the high levels of bullying in schools, prevalence of drug and alcohol problems in LGBT people and the high rates of mental illness and suicide that, unsurprisingly, go hand in hand with this.

    Maybe, I could have quoted some of the extremist religious groups and the hatred and bile that they spout about us, to anyone who will listen.

    I could have discussed the long wait for marriage equality and the vitriol that was merrily aired during this debate.

    I could have mentioned the school children on the bus, merrily calling each other ‘gay’ as an insult, the word, naturally, meaning totally crap.

    I didn’t mention any of this. I grunted and carried on typing, followed a few minutes later by a funny little aside about a colleague. I was fulfilling my role, you see: comedic and waspish gay colleague/friend/relative/neighbour. We’re unthreatening and fun to be around. We’re much like the inflatable ‘gay best friend’ recently on sale by a major supermarket. We make hen nights jolly but can be put back in the drawer if we get over blown.

    I think that tomorrow, I may take something unusual to work with me: my soapbox. We’ve got things to discuss.

  • OPINION | Lesbian Movies are NOT All Porn

    If you search for the word ‘lesbian’ on Google, you will most definitely be bombarded with numerous porn sites.

    What is more, these porn sites will not be for lesbians! (I know that you’re all doing it now). Sadly for me and many others, as lesbians, we are not searching the word in order to find porn.
    NO, we are searching the word to find information about lesbian culture, events, news stories, dating and lots more.
    Just this week I was on the BBC discussing why people are still scared to talk about being ‘gay’. I believe that this is partly because people still correlate ‘gay’ to ‘sex’. Why is it that my relationship is often purely regarded in a sexual context, whereas heterosexual relationships are granted multi-dimensional explorations?
    I love watching lesbian movies, as I feel that I can relate to the characters and get engrossed and empathic towards the journeys that they follow. That is when I can find a lesbian movie that is A. not porn, B. not made by men for men, C. made with truth and understanding.
    There is a significant lack of lesbian movies on the shelves due to the fact that the genre is still marginalised and therefore not granted funding or support. There are, of course, exceptions to the rule.
    Nicole Conn is a lesbian director whose movies are made with depth, compassion and realism. Still, her movies along with most other lesbian movies are not seen as mainstream, due to the fact that the female protagonists enter into relationships with each other. This is even, may I add, when the main characters do not identify themselves as ‘lesbian’. Regardless of the fact that the stories are moving, poignant and well told, it appears that movies like Conn’s cannot be placed into ‘romantic’ movie categories, yet instead are in the lesbian/gay movie categories. Are movies about women who fall in love not about romance as well?
    I have never once seen a lesbian movie at the cinema. I have never once had anyone who is not a lesbian recommend a lesbian movie to me. And I have never once just stumbled upon a lesbian movie. Why is this? This is because these movies are not seen as ‘regular’ movies to be staged in cinemas or viewed by ‘normal’ people. It is true to say that I cannot imagine a group of straight friends watching a romantic lesbian comedy together for a ‘girlie’ night in. At the same time, my lesbian friends and I can happily watch ‘straight’ romantic comedies.
    This needs to change. Lesbians are not all porn stars without deep multi-faceted relationships. In fact, in my experience, ‘straight’ couples could learn a great deal from lesbian relationships!This is why I firmly support Nicole Conn’s new project to help find the next lead in her movie. This project is unique in a number of ways. It allows all women of all sexualities the opportunity to star in her movie.
    Plus by offering both professionals and non-professionals a chance to audition, it spreads the word further still. In this way, I hope that it will raise awareness of lesbian movies within all sectors of the community.I am delighted to be working with Nicole Conn and her production company to help find her next star. Anyone can apply and what is more they can video audition right on my site too.

    So let’s get lesbian movies on the main screen away from the dark alleys of marginalisation towards the light of mainstream Hollywood.

     

    by Juliette Prais  (Creator of Pink Lobster Dating: Lipstick Lesbian Catch)

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

  • COLUMN | Some Days

    There are days when I really hate those people who shout into mid air whilst sitting on the train.

    In my youth you knew where you were with people who talked to themselves. They were experiencing psychotic episodes and best avoided in case they mistook you for a demon. Nowadays you have to look discretely for the mobile phone and earpiece. Whatever happened to decorum? To the young woman on the train yesterday: I’m terribly sorry about your cousin’s gynaecological problems but actually I think that you’re wrong. The manager in the pizza takeaway where you answer the phone was right to tell you that taking the day off to see a relative in hospital who has a faintly dodgy fanny is a sackable offence. I hope he gives you your marching orders.

    There are days when I hate the scrum at the tube station. I want to shout at people that I’m actually a solid and can’t be passed through like a vapour, however hard you push. They’ve yet to invent a human who can be walked into and won’t make a resounding thudding noise. I want to proclaim the virtues of personal hygiene and cologne and that train seats are for people, not your tacky fringed handbags.

    There are days when I want to the stand up in the cinema and shout at all the people who are discretely whispering asides to their companions. I want to ask them all to go home and watch television in the comfort of their own sitting rooms where they can make inane comments to their hearts’ content and not be irritating the hell out of the rest of the paying public with their hissing babble and verbal nonsense.

    There are days when I want to scream at the people blaring music from their cars as they drive along. I can almost cope with the Gangsta Rap. If there’s music to be blared out of a car window then that’s your tune of choice. Elton John, though? I seriously heard someone belting Elton John out of a car stereo the other day. As much as I like the odd vibration, I don’t want my spleen being wobbled about to “Nikita”, thank you very much.

    There are days when I consider a move to a remote island. Then I remember how much I hate not having a mobile phone signal. I’d get annoyed by the cows and sheep and how they just kind of stand there, the way they look at you and not to mention all that public defecation. The birds would fly the wrong way, the grass would be too tall/too short or too green.

    You know what though? Other days not one bit of this annoys me. Life can be odd like that.

  • OPINION | Becoming body confident

    My name is Daniel Browne and I am a fat bastard. I say this not to shock or to gain sympathy from people telling me that I am not fat and should not put myself down. I say it because I have come to the realisation that this is how I am and I now accept it.

    For years I loathed myself and the way I looked. I spent a large amount of time on diets and following weight loss plans with little results. Then one day something changed in my mind. I began to realise that the self-loathing did not come from within; it was external pressure that had caused it.

    Flicking through various fag rags I was faced with page after page of so-called hot men with all their muscles and smooth bodies on show. I felt inferior. In the media we are fed gorgeous men. We are also told how to dress, what we should be eating, which exercises we should do, and it goes on and on. I used to lap it all up and dream of becoming an Adonis if only I could stick to what the media was telling me. Now I think it’s a load of rubbish.

    I’m not alone in disliking the way I looked. Research carried out by The Gay UK has shown that 58% of gay men are not happy with their bodies. I believe the media has to take some of the blame for this. We are fed images of men with fantastic bodies, but it’s not the norm. The majority of people do not look like that.

    Then there’s the scene… The gay scene has its pros and cons, but a massive down point to it is the focus on youth and having the perfect body. It’s grotesque and I believe it is causing harm to gay people. On the gay scene, I have faced abuse for being overweight and someone once told me that the only way I will lose weight is if I become bulimic. Also on one occasion, I was turned down by a guy for being “fat”. That same guy came on to me a couple of years later when I had lost three stone. That time I turned him down for being a “twat”.

    I felt great for having done that but inside I was still suffering and continued to hate myself.
    I was slim and had one of those fantastic bodies until the age of 19. At that point, I fell into a deep depression and one day went to bed for six months. The weight piled on and I went from being fit to morbidly obese in a short space of time. Since then I have struggled to lose the excess weight. I could write a whole list of reasons why I have not managed to restore my body to its former glory, but the truth is that I was unhappy and had no motivation.

    Over time I have seen various therapists and then trained to become one myself. It was during the training that my mind-set began to change. During those three years I learnt so much about myself and human behaviour, and learnt that many of the issues I had were about what other people thought. I entertained people’s opinions and took them as the truth. I guess if you are told you’re fat and ugly enough times you start to believe it.

    Ten years after falling into depression and putting on a considerable amount of weight, I am still fat, albeit now a couple of stone lighter. However, more importantly I am a much happier person. I know that my body isn’t perfect and I should probably do something about that. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. But if I do it will be on my own terms and not because someone says I should look a certain way. And that is how to live life; on your own terms.

     

    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.

  • OPINION | Coming Out: You say a hill, I say a mountain

    It’s been a while since I’ve submitted any articles, partly because I’ve been moving and partly because what writing I have been doing seems to be turning into a bit of a beast. A big gay-related beast! I won’t give much away (in fact I’ve given nothing away) but I suspect I may park the beast for the moment and save it for a rainy day.

    Last month everyone has been talking about ‘coming out’ and what this means to people. In my mind coming out is a very personal thing and means different things to different people. But what does it mean to be ‘out’ and why is coming out still a thing for the gay community? Are we making a mountain out of a mole hill?

    When I was 18 (all those many years ago) I pretty much knew what I was and that girls just held no interest for me at all. However, no matter how good my friends were or how close I felt to them I didn’t feel that while at college I could ‘out myself’ to everyone. I think this was mainly because I was scared of losing the friends I had worked so hard to earn – I wasn’t a very popular kid when I started high school (I looked like Harry Potter). That and of the guys that had declared themselves as gay in my year were, how shall we say, ‘bad examples of gay men’ that didn’t have a nice word to say about anyone.

    I remember one occasion when one of them decided to be incredibly bitchy to a friend that had simply and politely said hello to him. Having overheard this I quickly stepped into action and launched a tirade of abuse at said boy reducing him and his ‘posse’ to tears. While this isn’t something I am necessarily proud of I stand by that action as it was one of many incidents where this person had spat poison at the world and spitting poison at the innocent is a step too far.

    At the time I felt like I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. My experience of being gay up until that point was two very camp, very bitchy gay guys in my year that had a very close group of friends but other than that was on the outer edges of the school social groups. Do I out myself and declare myself as different to them or just keep shtum as being different doesn’t make a difference?

    The moment I left college (literally that afternoon) and after quite a few drinks down the local Wetherspoons I did out myself and the majority of my friends did the usual response stating that they already knew and this was old news. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or not, in my mind I hadn’t given anything away – I was the perfect model of a “straight teenager”. Or so I thought.

    It’s only now looking back that actually I remember a few house parties where hands would wander and my crush on two boys in my class (one at a time I might add). The first one was tall, thin and blonde. He was laid back, took everything as cool as you like, and was good with his hands and just yum. I had thought I was discreet but clearly my gawping at him didn’t go un-noticed. That and I used to make up stuff just so he would talk to me. (You can see why me being gay was obvious to people can’t you??).

    The other one was a member of my close group of friends. Tall, thin but this one was sporty. Sweet as you like but very teenage male, which kind of made him even hotter. Anywho, when at house parties it was my hands that would go wandering (or a cheeky feel of certain areas).

    Given all that I think that I made more of an issue of coming out that I should have done. Clearly I wanted to, and it was abundantly obvious that I was but in my head coming out would end the world and sees me back as the lonely boy I was in the first year of high school.

    Coming out to my mum was just as traumatic, but for completely different reasons. At the time I was seeing someone (not quite first love but close) and it had ended abruptly as he was shagging his ex and couldn’t have the spine enough to look me in the eye to tell me. So I was sat at home crying my eyes out and saw fit to dump all this on my mum and seek some motherly comfort. Not the best way to do it, but none the less got it done. Tears were had but no anger or issues and now she thinks it’s wonderful.

    My dad on the other hand is another kettle of fish. As with my school mates I strongly suspect that he knows, especially as I’m 26 and have never brought home a girlfriend or even mentioned one. I did agree with myself that once I had moved out from the family home that I would sit him down and tell him as I was then out and standing on my own two feet. If he then chose to have an issue with it I wouldn’t be living under his roof. I doubt he will, but it’s that little voice in the back of the head that says “be careful”.

    I am currently out of the family home and still haven’t had ‘the conversation’. I am going steady with someone and he has met my mum and brothers family and technically has met my dad, but not as “Hi Dad, this is the man I love”. I know I should just get it out of the way but something just stops me from doing so. Which isn’t me at all, usually I look people in the eye and tell them how things are. I can’t stand people that shake off their responsibilities, especially if a relationship is coming to an end. But here I am, shying away from doing something that could well be a mole hill and not a mountain…

    At work technically speaking I am not “out” but that isn’t through wanting to hide my sexuality that is more to do with that I just don’t discuss such things at work. Some of the people know as I know them outside of the office but on the whole they don’t and actually I’m not fussed if they do or do not know. If that’s lazy state of ‘in the closet’ then fine, I’m being lazy!

    In a time where discrimination is still rife I understand the fear people have and why people therefore fear the damage that coming out does. I would however encourage everyone to really think and see if this is truly a mountain or a mole hill? Is the damage real or is the news already out and the damage not what you think? Sometimes it will be, sometimes it won’t.

    But always remember to do what feels right for you and what works. Coming out is a personal thing so never feel pressured into doing or not doing anything. No one has the right to force you into coming out, not even a partner.

     

    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 | Fake Bake

    I’ve developed a new addiction. Tuesday nights see me glued to people making cakes on BBC2. I know it’s ridiculous and that The Great British Bake Off has been going for years but I’m a late adopter with most things.

    Technology is a prime example. I didn’t get a mobile phone till well into the 2000s and only then under duress. I don’t have an iPad, shudder at Kindles and am ‘appy being app-less. I don’t want more electronic devices taking over my life. I’m already bombarded with technology at work. I want note books made of paper, not tungsten and books that smell of fusty old age which crinkle in my hands rather than a little electronic square with a backlit display and a smell of electronics.

    I also don’t understand cookery programs, generally. I hate watching the latest personality who seems to have cunningly developed their traits to order by a PR company, throwing herbs in the air and shouting in Mockney-Cockney, sporting some contrived eccentricity or preparing a meal in full evening dress whilst looking like they’re dying to munch down on your nether regions. The whole idea of watching someone cook bores me senseless. If I wanted to watch housework, I’d prefer a dusting show. Dusting is very soothing and purposeful. Until they bring back Fanny Craddock and her evil snobbish persona I intend to steer clear of cookery shows. I may wait a while unless they can clone Fanny, as she’s long dead.

    It’s not Paul Hollywood either. He might be some people’s idea of a silver-fox but he’s not mine. I find him slightly irritating and although I don’t mind chunky or well built men, he doesn’t thrill me. Maybe it’s those elaborate collared shirts, maybe his constant moaning about the texture of cakes.

    I think the whole thing is schadenfreude. I want to see people fail. I want sunken middles and slanting icing which drips off precariously. I want to see the over confident ones hoisted upon their own petards and the annoying ones flustered in flour showers. I want burnt things, raw things and high anxiety. I’m not ashamed. It’s human to want to enjoy failure isn’t it? As long as it’s not your own, then failure is fine and dandy.

    Has it inspired me to bake a cake? Has it bollocks. I have a supermarket two minutes walk from my house. I’ll stick to enjoying the successes of people like the delightful Mr Kipling.