THEGAYUK

Category: Comment

  • COLUMN: Two Glasses Of Water And A Gay Mag

    Hark back to the summer of 2003 and what do you recall? The scorching Indian summer? Beyoncé’s ‘Crazy In Love’ blasting out of every radio, Topshop, hair salon and car stereo?

     

    Me? Well, I was fresh out of college with the usual aspirations of world domination. The comedown from the heady student days was starting to kick in. My newfound residency at the dole queue was another bone of contention. My battle with my sexuality was nearing a denouement. After all the soul searching and pathetic, half arsed attempts at being a Hetty, I had as good as conceded a blissful, euphoric defeat to queerness.

     

    It was time to take the plunge, albeit gradually. At the time I was spending a summer of discontent in Dublin dossing around with my best mate and the hot straight guy from college I was convinced I could turn. There comes a time in every novice Homo’s life when they have to take that rite of passage. No not that one… Thats another story… The other one. Yes, your first visit to a gay bar. Funnily enough the song of the same name by Electric Six was a hit at the time. Sang to me at regular intervals by the hot straight guy from college I was convinced I could turn.

    The pub in question for me was the granddaddy of them all on the Dublin gay scene -THE GEORGE!

     

    Located in Central Dublin, I had often walked by and stared at it’s alluring, purple exterior. In the back of my mind noting that sooner or later, I would tentatively mince through it’s purple doors. And it was to be sooner. Bored and skint, me and my best friend and future hag had decided to go. One drink, that was it. Walk in, have a look around, absorb it all, the faces, smells. I wasn’t expecting to pull, I probably would’ve run a mile had I been approached.

     

    It was a gorgeous, bright Dublin evening, of the type you can just get lost in. I didn’t worry about what to wear. It was a whistle stop visit after all. I settled on a a tight, casual green top from what I can remember, that would extenuate the appalling farmers tan I had accumulated that summer and the obligatory pair of jeans. Every strand of hair was lubricated and gelled to within an inch of its life.

     

    My stomach spoke of pure terror. I walked briskly through the inner city streets, talking a mile a minute to disguise how tense I was feeling. It wasn’t all one way though. There were overwhelming pangs of excitement. All these feelings danced and collided together with such a life affirming gush. Time to taste the rainbow.

     

    The closer we were getting to The George, that stupid feeling of naïve terror persisted to tease me. What was so terrifying? It’s the realisation and culmination of it all. We’ve all been there. Wrestle and grapple with al those feelings. Taking that great leap of faith. I wasn’t blessed with much confidence back then. I envy the younger generation of confident and relaxed gay youths with their heads seemingly screwed on.

     

    The purple cauldron of The George was just in sight as we waited at the traffic lights on Dame Street. We arrived. No fanfare, no epic Europop anthem to soundtrack it all.

    I was the youngest thing in there. I could feel every stare and every head that turned. Unbeknown to me at the time, this was the part of the bar frequented by the older clientele. Granted, there were a few relics propping up the bar, there was only a a very small band of people in there. Less than 10 I think, including the bar staff.

     

    Of course my best friend and I hadn’t a pot to piss in at the time. I was mortified walking up to the bar and ordering two glasses of water. The look he gave me. So no money to even grab a pint to knock back and neutralise the anxiety and self consciousness.

     

    Admittedly it was flattering to get those few, paltry stares. All those older eyes must’ve seen so may awkward new pretenders come and go over the years. And here I was. All scrawny body, farmers tan and badly manicured Craig David beard.

     

    We sat in a quiet corner, as you do, sipped our waters and looked around. Absorbed. Took it all in. Sitting in a gay bar in Dublin, knocking back a glass of water. Talk about living the dream. I laugh now. At the time I felt like I’d scaled Everest and erased world poverty.

    There was nothing to see. I don’t even know what I wanted to see. I just knew I wanted to be there. Even if there was only a handful of people clutching cigarettes and drinks, sheltered from the impending July dusk.

     

    We didn’t do much the pair of us. I went for a piss intending to make eye contact with everyone, to let them know I was here. On the way back from the toilet I did the same thing. We then found ourselves transfixed by a couple snogging the faces off each other. We tried not to look, but when we did, we giggled incessantly like two schoolgirls. My mate’s face was priceless.

    We finished our waters, grabbed a tonne of free gay listings mags and left. A bit of an anti climax but a worthy one. As I laughed my way through the sunlit streets of Dublin, I knew I’d be back. Keep me seat, mine’s a water.

  • COLUMN: I Was A Gay Zombie

    Halloween is fast approaching, there are Christmas adverts all around and everyone at work is queuing to heat up soup in the microwave. It’s definitely Autumn.

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  • COLUMN: What Will We Become?

    Lewis Fellows ponders the questions about the labels we give ourselves in the LGBT community in his new column Just A Quickie.

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  • COLUMN: Medium Rare

    We’re having a paranormal scarefest here at TheGayUK for October. I love a good fright film and a scary ghost story but am sad to say that I’m not much of a believer in real life. I did however once have a slightly more gullible side…

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  • COLUMN: Bad Nose Day

    I used to enjoy shopping. I mean clothes shopping, of course. Not food shopping; I’ve always found that dull and hateful and don’t really get off on trying to push past people who are studying the packs of bacon like it’s fine art they’re buying.

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  • COMMENT | Bigotry

    Oh dear oh dear. It seems Lord Ken Maginnis has been getting his Stonewalls and his THEGAYUK’s mixed up.

    As far as he is concerned, gay newsgroups, lobbying groups, pressure groups and charities are all the same – ‘an aggressive, perverse and corrupting influence on susceptible and vulnerable young people

    Having been nominated by Stonewall for their prestigious Bigot of the Year award, he got very hot under the collar when approached by TheGayUK for a reaction to his nomination and thus re-affirmed his credentials. If you, or indeed Lord Maginnis, are not sure what a bigot is, let me enlighten you. According to Merriam-Webster a bigot is a person who is obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices; especially: one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance. Guilty as charged, I say, but bigots, and particularly religious bigots, seem to get very upset when you point it out to them.

    We’ve been here before of course. Why only a couple of weeks ago Nick Clegg apologised to the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Archbishop of Westminster over claims he was prepared to call the opponents of equal marriage “bigots” in a speech at an LGBT reception. Allegedly he never actually used that word, but even if he did wouldn’t he be just saying it like it is? Bigot is exactly the right word in this context. I just wish he’d had the courage of his convictions, but he doesn’t seem to have been very good at that recently, does he?

    It is certainly looking as if the church and its various representatives are losing the battle over gay marriage, and, as they do so, their attacks on the gay community have become ever more virulent and ever more ridiculous. Only recently, the Christian Institute came up with the not very Christian statement that, as we only represented a very small percentage of the population, we didn’t deserve the same human rights. The great thing is that the more outlandish their arguments become, the less likely it is that anybody, except their small band of blinkered followers, will take them seriously. Really, I am beginning to hope that it won’t be long before the church is so completely marginalised, that we will at last live in a secular country and the church will be completely separate from the state. What business has this outmoded institution meddling in the private lives of people who don’t believe in their teachings?

    So, why be outraged or offended by what Lord Maginnis has to say? He is a dinosaur, one of the last of a dying breed. He’s already been expelled from his own political party. It’s not surprising that the more marginalised he and his cronies become, the louder they will scream, but is anybody really listening anymore?

    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 | Corrupting Influences

    It’s a common misconception among lots of my straight friends that homophobic bigotry is almost non-existent in modern society and that people are generally pretty tolerant.

    I’m sure they’d be shocked to read that a peer who sat in the House of Lords has branded this website as displaying an “aggressive type of behaviour”, being a “perverse pressure group” and having a “corrupting influence on susceptible and vulnerable young people.” Bigotry clearly stalks the corridors of power and is pretty poorly informed.

    Personally, I wouldn’t call myself perverse or corrupting. I’m certainly not aggressive either; assertive, maybe. I can stand my ground. I work hard in the public sector, pay my taxes and keep a clean house. I even subscribe to the Radio Times, listen to Radio 4 and like walking in the Peak District. I’m thoroughly wholesome, mostly. Just because the gender of the person I sleep next to and have sex with is the same as my own, it doesn’t make me a degenerate. I don’t go around spewing venom and hatred either. That, to me, is the hallmark of an aggressive bad influence. Hatred aimed against whole groups of people is a true evil.

    As a younger gay man, the corrupting influences which affected me adversely did not originate from the gay community. They came from the mouths of bigots and zealots. I was continually told by teachers, the government of the day and by religious groups that I was sick and depraved and an abomination. This didn’t make me feel warm inside. The eighties were nasty in many ways, not just because of the bad clothes. The positive influences on me were gay celebrities, gay literature and gay films, which showed me that actually they were all wrong and being gay did not equate being the spawn of Satan. It was just something I was born being.

    If only the internet had been around then. I feel heartened that young gay men and women can now access internet forums and sites like this to help them learn that the way they were born is not a crime and doesn’t make them wrong or bad.

    The city where I live hit the news in February of this year when three men were jailed for homophobic hate crimes. It was a case that made me feel physically sick. This was a test case using the newly amended laws from 2010. The Criminal Justice and Immigration Act 2008, which came into force in 2010, made it an offence to stir up hatred on the grounds of sexual orientation. These three men chose to distribute leaflets in the street and through letter boxes which were intended to insult and abuse gay men and to stir up hatred against them. The leaflets called for the death penalty for homosexuality and suggested we either turn straight, burn in hell or face execution. Thankfully these dangerous bigots were jailed for their actions. I know I would have been disconcerted and felt threatened to receive one of these leaflets.

    You only have to keep a faint eye on the news to see that bigotry is still big business and hate crimes exist in many forms and at all levels of society across the globe. I know who I think are the real bad influences here and I have just one thing to say: Bigots, bugger off.

  • OPINION | A Cautionary Tale Of The Unpaid Graduate

    With graduation out of the way, one has to embrace the step into the ‘big wide world’ (even though I detest the patronising tone of that phrase).

    Understandably jobs are difficult to come by, with the back log of graduates who have come out of education in a time of global financial troubles. But the point of this entry is not to radiate this negativity we often hear in our day to day lives. Rather it is an honest attempt to share my own experience; a cautionary tale of the unpaid internship; is it justified?

    Personally, I have been there before, graduating in 2008 from a Fine Art degree. I spent 6 months in London, unpaid, financing myself from savings. Days involved jumping from one position to the next, going application crazy hoping to secure some money. The 3 month internship at Aicon Gallery was experience, but in hindsight was it worthwhile experience?

    Being given a set of keys to a Regents Street gallery within the first week of the job seemed an honour at the time. Opening up the gallery early before the paid directors arrived, and staying until they decided to go home. Some days consisted of sitting behind the desk answering phones and filing, contrary to the original position of ‘Exhibition Intern’ suggested. Full days without a break. Imagine the ‘Devil Wears Prada’ heart pounding feeling of fear. Fear of doing something wrong or out of place in this pristine white gallery (which was probably the best thing about the job, as it was designed by Caruso St John).

    On some occasions I remember eating my lunch which consisted of a spoonful of cottage cheese, with a tomato and half a pepper, as I couldn’t afford to buy food. But it was ok, I was working in an ‘art gallery’ – or so I kept telling myself.

    The lowest point was when I did get something wrong, and sent some parcels by courier rather than by post. I was the only extra worker that day, having to man the phone and gallery at all times. The directors were in an ‘all day meeting, not to be contacted’, and at some point I was supposed to have magically doubled myself, and popped off to the post office while staying in charge of the gallery. From that day onwards, one particular individual make it her mission to make my life hell, finding fault in everything I did. But still, I carried on as a nervous, under fed, unpaid graduate. Not exactly the experience I was hoping to get.

    I would certainly be reluctant to jump at the chance of unpaid work again. And I disagree that all experience is good experience.

    A point came last year when I needed a reference. I asked the gallery for one, surely the least they could have done for someone who worked incredibly hard for them without pay. ‘The reply was, just write one yourself and I will sign it’.

    It strikes me that being able to say you have work experience under your belt to a potential employer can hide the substance of what was actually learnt during that placement. This is the difficulty I am having again, this time as an Architecture graduate. I have no experience in an architects practice, as I had to seek paid work during my summers to afford to continue studying. And surely the point of the Part 1 placement year is to gain experience, and not to be declined because of the lack of.

    I take my stance a little more cautious this time, seeking paid work only. Over the past month I have been offered two more internships, one in Denmark, and the other in Paris. The Paris internship offered 419 euro per month, barely enough to cover rent. The fact is, I would not be able to support myself financially whilst undertaking such a position. Both positions were declined, with a hint of satisfaction.

    Surely it says something about the ethics of a firm who offer unpaid work in the first place. It is making a disgrace out of the profession. This is not ok.

    But what is one to do when there is little option of work, either succumb to the fact of gaining some kind of experience for no money, or stick it out for the foreseeable future in hope of a paid position?

    I do not believe internships to be justified for a lengthy period. It takes advantage of skilled graduates or individuals who are determined to make a career for themselves. We have the ability to learn, and learn fast. Being thrown in at the deep end and having to learn the ropes is indeed a valuable suggestion. I am often alarmed when looking at architecture internships, the stipulations the companies require. For example, proficiency in a lengthy variety of packages, the ability to speak fluent Japanese, 3 years experience in housing, etc. I am also appalled at individuals who wouldn’t stop and question their cost of their free labour. By accepting an unpaid placement makes a suggestion that you agree working for free is acceptable, with someone else benefitting from your efforts. With the expectations of what an intern can do increasing, this means that companies now have a choice of highly skilled candidates to chose from.

    So what can be done about this? I am an avid fan of ‘Don’t just complain, do something about it’. There is a UK government petition,

    http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/14143

     

    that I would ask you all to sign and be a part of. Let’s help to make this wrong doing illegal, so that everyone benefits in the future.

     

    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: Coming Out Again

    I came out when I was a teenager and once the tension of the event passed I found that I quite enjoyed it.

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  • COLUMN: New Beginnings At Profile

    Locals aren’t what they used to be (an old man boozer, 5 minutes down the road from your house). Designed for “early doors”, “football gossip” and “blokes”.

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  • COLUMN: Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are

    Is there a need to come out? Is it anyone’s business?

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