Gay Man Code

Gay Man Code

This year celebrates 50 years since the partial decriminalisation of homosexuality in the UK. Since 1967, the UK has led the way with equality, however there are some ground rules.

To be a proper ‘Friend of Dorothy’ , please observe the following code at all times:

  1. You will forever refer to Deirdre Barlow as ‘Deirdre Rachid’.
  2. ‘I am what I am’ is your national anthem…and you lip sync with pride at the dramatic and timely key change.
  3. You will have Cher’s back until the grave.

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4. You will spontaneously find the urge to stop everything and say …………

“Im Liesl, Im 16 years old and I don’t need a Governess”

5. The quotes of your life are provided by Linda La Hughes and RuPaul.

6. You sent a tweet to check Madonna was ok after her horrific demise at the Brit Awards.

7. When someone tells you, you’re not their mother, you hastily respond…’ YESSS III AAMMMMMM!’

8. You chuckle when someone asks if you are a giver or a taker and reply….”It’s top and bottom darling.”

9. You know all the words to ‘I dreamed a dream’ from Les Miserables.

10. When you want a wall knocking down, you just get a lesbian to lean against it.

11. Getting on a bus is almost as unforgivable as shopping in Matalan.

12. You will travel  to Mecca, Gran Canaria at least once in your lifetime.

13. Your kitchen is filled with chrome.

14. You refer to Bet Lynch as a fashion icon.

15. You think Ed Sheehan is like poppers…over-rated.

16. You remember how shit ‘Gaydar’ was.

17. You think David Gest was a closet…for marrying Liza with a Z.

18.You think this is the gayest picture ever  …and want to hang it in your living room.

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19. When you shop for clothes..you say the word ‘couture’ at least 100 times an hour

20. You think Donald Trump is a c**t

21. When you leave the supermarket with your man…it is always appropriate to say (in the style of Meryl Streep);  “Do you remember where we parked the car?”

22. When deciding your favourite X Factor judge..it is only EVER between Nicole Scherzinger and Dannii Minogue.

23. Your favourite film is ‘Beautiful Thing’.

24. You can’t watch Beaches or Steel Magnolias without scrying (sing -crying)

25. You sky plus ‘Long Lost Families’ so that you can have a good sob.

26. As much as you love Holly Willoughby, you resent her for stealing Cilla’s spot on ‘Surprise Surprise’.

27. You instantly recognised when Pat Butcher wore the same earrings twice.

28. ‘Steptacular’  is the soundtrack to your life.

29. You signed the petition to kill Fenner off in Bad Girls, after what he did to Yvonne Atkins.

30.. You do not, and have never owned a pair of crocs.

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The Curious Incident…

The curious incidentLast weekend we went to see The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night time… a little Christmas treat from my pal.

The plot was about a young boy with autism who was trying to find the killer of his neighbour’s dog- Wellington, and we were all drawn in to his life story and gripped by his tenacity and  methodical approach to the world. This was a real thought provoking play with sad bits, random shit, and a cute labrador puppy at the end to help take your mind away from the incessant crying.

While I was there though, I was drawn to a number of other curious incidents..

The curious incident of the 70 year old Usherette with Tuberculosis

As I said this was a play that required attention..there were moments of powerful silence where you could hear a pin drop….well…you could if ‘old Sylvia’ from the grand circle could control her whooping cough. Ironically the pensioner who was paid to make sure people were not talking or disrupting anyone’s experience sat dying in the corner….disrupting everyone’s experience.   Oh we did laugh…

The Curious Incident of the Tongue and Grooved Theatre

I have never been to Aylesbury Theatre, and unlike Drury Lane, it offered a much more modern motif  with   a sea of wooden cladding that gave the feeling of being in a scandinavian sauna. Luckily the heat was turned right down…although if we had thrown a bucket of menthol on the coals, then Sylvia may have been able to clear her chest.

The Curious Incident of the overweight gay and the pretty lesbian 

I’ve never met a real one… but a couple of rows in front of us, there was a gay boy with a stomach to his knees and the arse the size of Belgium. Sat next to him was a beautiful petit lesbian (an oxymoron in ordinary circumstances). It’s usually the other way round…but no the bloke was a dog and the dyke was a babe.

We had a great night with good friends and a lovely McDonalds to wash it down on the way home.

 

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The Status Updates You’ll Find On Gay Men’s Facebook Pages in 2017

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Ok so I know I am being a bit stereotypical here, and don’t speak on behalf of all fellow ‘Friends of Dorothy’, but here is a round up of all the statuses you are likely to see this year from your Gay BFF.

January

“Happy Birthday Dame Shirley…..80 years and still a legend…love you babes”

February

“Long Lost Family…Get the tissues ready…..Love Davina”

March

“Has nobody killed Donald Trump yet? The world needs a new Jackie’O’…..Melania would rock it as a widow”

April

“Ooh weather man says it’s gonna be 15 degrees tomorrow….roof down!”

May  13th 7.30pm

             ” Eurovision partyyyyyyyy…..Gotta good feeling about this year”

May 13th  11pm

” Cant believe the politics and bloc voting, how can FYR Macedonia win and we came last #Eurovision #politics #WhoWasThatHotGuyFromEstonia

June

“Im sorry…. but how can they cancel Eastenders because of the football….not everyone likes football”

July

“I need to find an outfit for Pride…should I go for hot pants and a pink boa, or the sailor outfit?”

August

“Lighting the candles on my Princess Diana shrine…cant believe it’s been 20 years” #peoplesprincess

September

“No more Gay pride events…..ooh wait Merthyr Tydfil and Stornaway !……iron that white vest top”.

October

“Woop Woop, Kylie’s Christmas tickets go on sale tomorrow….up at 5am!!”

November

“OMG they are re-running Bad Girls on ITV2…. Yvonne Atkins is a legend”

December

“Mariah!  you know I love you princess, but seriously If I hear you sing that Christmas song one more time I’m gonna launch one of my Uggs at the radio”.

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Living Next Door to the ‘Junglist Massive’

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Yo ! Yo! …Word up!   Booyaka!

In our suburban dwelling in the ‘lovely part of Hemel Hempstead’ we are a far cry from the hustle and bustle of city life…..or are we?

Since moving to our new home, we have tolerated the weekend antics of our neighbour- the 38 year old -‘coke head’ with a mis-spent youth, and sufficient time spent doing ‘bird’.

Of course we have never had a conversation with him, but due to his uncouth and ‘less than dulcet’ tones that resonate at 100 decibels down the street, we know about his time inside, how he’s been sacked from every job he’s had, how his girlfriend likes it in the bedroom (and believe me we’ve heard her fulfil  those fantasies) and the details of his bank account….pin number etc.

We live next door to a moron of the highest calibrations, who has shared much more of his life with us than our tiny minds can comprehend. A truly annoying oik that speaks at one volume and has no respect for himself , let alone the people he lives alongside.

If that wasn’t enough… we are treated to (on a weekly basis) a ‘full -on’ club night, whereby he sets up his decks, opens his windows, grabs his vuvuzela and continues to DJ to his crowd of ….nobody….(except maybe a few hedgehogs and stray cats that happen to be nearby) until the early hours.

Now David Guetta he is not…in fact he’s more of a fatboy slim (without the slim) and his girlfriend rocks up in her “Fat Bird’s uniform” (leggings and a mid-drift top), and they party until the break of dawn (I think her name is Kelly, not Dawn).

Now please don’t get me wrong, I do love a bit of a boogie when the mood takes me, but please let me watch the Strictly final before you inflict ‘old school Jungle’ on the entire neighbourhood. And do we really need a commentary in between tunes?…you don’t have an audience you idiot….and you are 38…get a life!

Last night was the straw that broke the camel’s back….apart from a very small interlude when he played ‘Here comes the Hotstepper’ and ‘Lady, hear me tonight’, which I quite enjoyed, the music went on from 8.30pm until 5 am this morning at full volume and with the bass vibrating through our bedroom walls, I needed to do something.

I googled online, on how to make a complaint to my local council and rest assured, after I have completed my ‘noise diary’ he will be receiving an abatement notice….but as revenge is a dish best served cold I thought I would give him a taste of his own medicine.

So here I am this Sunday morning, windows wide open, stereo on full pelt…..but not giving him a selection of classics from his favoured genre…oh no…we have a medley of Steps, S Club 7, and the best of the musicals from Calamity Jane to Les Miserables.

Enjoy your ‘come-down’ you big twat…..Happy Sunday!

The Devil wears….leggings

I don’t, nor have ever proclaimed to be a style advisor to women or ‘queer eye for the straight guy’ but I have got to get one thing really clear so that we can spread the word and eliminate a large amount of humiliation and low self esteem in the world..

‘Leggings are not clothes!’

There you have it ladies. When you don a pair of leggings, essentially you are leaving the house with your knickers on (only they are knickers that happen to have 2 legs attached).

If you are going to wear these awful lycra- based ‘skin huggers’ because they are ‘so comfortable’ , then please spare us the accompanying mid-drift top and wear something loose that reaches your knees. (Especially if you have the physique of a fruit machine and the arse the size of Belgium).

I wonder whether you ever notice that at the top of your legs there is a part of your anatomy that is not conducive with skin-tight fabric , with it’s many folds and flaps, leggings make it look like you are smuggling oreos. Equally the stretched thread-bare fabric ‘covering’ your posterior points out every dimple and imperfection, often making it look like a scene from Buzz Aldrin’s cine camera of the Moon landings.

‘But they are so cheap’ , I hear you say.  Well yes they are, thats because they are shit, you wouldn’t see me walking up the shops in my thermal long -johns- I’d probably be arrested.

Nobody wants to see your clam when they are fetching the daily newspaper, no matter how agile and inviting it may be, so please stop this appalling practice now. Throw the leggings away and buy some clothes.

Spread the word…..

Myth and Reality -The Modern Family

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When you think of a happily married gay couple, you would be forgiven for thinking that we run perfect houses oozing with style, cook fabulous meals of Duck a l’orange with potatoes dauphinois and have fresh-cut flowers delivered by ‘the help’ three times a week.

Sorry to destroy the myth, but in the case of our family- you couldn’t be further from the truth.  We don’t have 2 saucepans that match,  we don’t own any chrome and if you want a fork…well you’ll just have to wash one up! Time spent plumping  up the scatter cushions and spritzing the egyptian cotton bed-sheets is better spent picking up abandoned knickers, removing cat shit from the garden and febreezing the sofa.

Yes – I am a disgrace to the gay community- I leave the house with bad hair, I only own about 6 pairs of shoes and I can cook about 5 different dishes, most of which come from a jar and are rotated on a weekly basis, complimented by dodgy takeaways and that ‘beige’ food that you throw in the oven and serve with spaghetti hoops.

I often thought I’d like to be a good cook and spend hours in the kitchen preparing a culinary masterpiece -but to maintain a body like mine, you can’t keep it waiting for periods of time, long enough to massage your chinese water spinach with olive oil and lemon zest.  As for ‘the great british bake off’ our house is more often the great tea-time stand off, a microwave chicken tikka for one, a pot noodle for the other and a throw-in -the -oven pizza from aldi for us grown ups…So in terms of being the stereotype gay family- we are out of the game….out like a fat girl in a two piece.

Here are some other myths about the modern shirt -lifter that we can personally dismantle.

Myth– We have built in walk in wardrobes with an abundance of designer clothes with an outfit for every occasion

Reality – We have 2 ikea wardrobes, shoddily assembled and crammed with un-ironed clothes from Primark, Next and the odd Hollister t-shirt. Most of our clothes lay in fallow, while we attempt to lose enough weight to get back into the left hand side of the wardrobe, consequently we rotate from work suit to onesie and dread attempting ‘those jeans’.Our biggest fear is the dreaded ‘smart casual’ instruction. Our clothes are smart or casual- not both.

Myth – We have fantastic ripped bodies and go to the gym 5 times a week

Reality – We have impressive bodies, that for sure. The only thing that is impressive is when we get on the scales  it’s anyones guess as to the final ‘weigh in’. (After the scales have gone round a couple of times). As for the gym, you have the word confused with ‘kebab house’.

Myth – We are out every weekend

Reality – True, we do tend to frequent Aldi at the weekend to stock up on cheap chocolate and beige food. As for socialising, we may go to Karaoke every couple of months on a Thursday….get totally bladdered on Sambucas and regret it for the next 3 days.

Myth – We are in love with Kylie.

Reality– Ok so this one is true.

Myth -We are all great at interior design.

Reality– Thats too much like hard work, our walls are magnolia, our scatter cushions are from Dunelm and the dust on our feature lamp clashes hideously with the cobwebs on the coving.

Myth –  We eat artisan food and always cook from scratch

Reality – Anyone who eats Quinoa, goji berries and Kale should be lined up against a wall and shot. Our idea of a Super Food is when McDonalds are doing the ‘Big Tasty’.

Myth – We spend our weekends watching musicals followed by ‘gone with the wind’.

Reality– True

Myth– We wake up to a medley of Madonna, Lady Gaga, Bette Midler and Cher which sets us up for the day

Reality– We wake up to children arguing about who ate the last brioche, who’s turn it is on the laptop, and which excuse they are going to use today for not brushing their teeth.

Myth– We all have a Princess Diana shrine

Reality– No but we do have 2 children’s bedrooms that look like the aftermath of the Pont de l’alma tunnel on that fateful night.

Invoking ‘Article 40’- A look back on my life so far as a gay man

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When you’re 18 years old and you tell people you’re gay, it’s an exciting time for everyone concerned. For me, coming out in 1998 was considered brave by some and repugnant by others. Once out of the closet, I was plunged into a world where every straight girl and some of the ‘less macho’ men wanted be my friend,- the token ‘funny gay guy’, with many fish lining up to be the one to immediately take on the unique crown of ‘fag hag’.

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The ‘fag hag’ is a fair-weather,  lady friend (hetty), with a multitude of responsibilities, acting as designated driver, personal courier for your phone number in a club, and companion at the salon while you are having your quarterly highlights and eyebrow wax.  They also double up as a bodyguard to clear a safe route , however convoluted, in  any gay bar avoiding all lesbians, and  any ‘old’ gays trying to be cool and current, squeezing their middle -aged spread into skinny jeans and a tight white  vest top and boasting a carefully manufactured side -parting to disguise their receding hairline. In return, the fag-hag receives bitchy comments, evenings out without the chance of bagging a guy, and a cab home alone. Its very much a two-way relationship.

At 18 years old, I gave little thought to the possibility that In 2016, I would be one of these ‘old gays’. Although at 37 years old (95 in gay years), I don’t feel over the hill, I am now constantly reminded by my stepdaughters that I no longer hold the ‘street cred’ I once did…..So when did I lose it? Where did it go? As I get ready to invoke ‘article 40’ (the political term for leaving the comfort of my thirties) , I reflect back on this transformation and point out some warning signs  that indicate you have finally said goodbye to your youth…and have morphed into a ‘Friend of Dorothy’.

Strictly does it

1998 – The excitement of the forthcoming weekend used to start by about Wednesday, when I would start to plan my outfit, arrange the pre-going ‘out-out’drinks and have a sun-bed or three. The evening would get going with a friendly greeting from Sue the door-‘woman’ (Dave the builder during the week), and culminate in me demonstrating the latest steps routine,  losing the shirt I spent hours selecting earlier that day from River Island’s sale rail (fag hag in-tow), and coming home stinking of B&H, masked with  copious servings of Le Male by Jean Paul Gaultier- thoughtfully packed into my diesel man-bag. In some cases, not coming home at all.  Getting up on Sunday to start drinking again was a given.

2016– Going out? What? Saturday- Oh no I can’t – I’ll miss Strictly Come dancing! We can do something on Tuesday if you like after Eastenders? Maybe the Harvester and a bottle of wine?  We’ve had a busy week!…Yes the appeal of masquerading in designer clothes with accessories to match coupled with a careful splattering of foundation and bronzer, is replaced in 2016 with a much preferred evening on the sofa, wearing joggers, a baggy hoody and a  scatter cushion strategically placed on my belly so that I can breathe out. An evening body-popping to S Club 7 and a sing along to Alice Deejay is suddenly replaced with the dulcet tones of a ‘scorned’ Tess Daley, retired black swan- Darcy Bussell, a cabaret singer churning out sub-standard versions of some great tunes, while a group of lesser known celebrities dance the Viennese Waltz…..keep dancing!

Getting Connected?

1998– I saved up all my hard earned money to buy a BT Cellnet pay as you go mobile phone, (house-brick) as they’ve just invented text messaging. After splashing out on all the accessories (you know…the obligatory case with belt clip and the bling to hang off the extendible ariel), I  found that you could only send text messages to people on your network- and all the fashionable gays were on Mercury 121…..dammit! Who needs text messages anyway? Whats wrong with picking up the phone. Who knew that your mobile phone doubled up as a ‘phonebook’ , thats just genius! – I won’t need to take my ‘little black book’ with me any longer, nor borrow a pen from ‘Tall Paul’ the uber camp, scantily clad bar…person.

2016– My stepdaughters cuss me because I haven’t collected enough credits on Snapchat, Ive only got 200 friends on Instagram and they can’t believe I have never ‘vlogged’.  As much as I try to stay ‘on trend’,  I just don’t get the fascination of watching ‘teeny boppers’ and make-up demonstrations on youtube and the pointlessness of video messaging.  Or maybe I am just belligerent that these 15 year old entrepreneurs are making more money  with every click than I do in a day! I reminisce the ‘good old days’, when the only way of communicating was to talk to real friends on the phone- or go and see them at their house, and admire how their collection of “Smash hits” posters was marginally more impressive than yours.

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Rented Music- sorry ..what?

1998– Its pay day (I took home £240 this month….how will I spend all that?). Oh wait!…The Corrs have just released their TinTin out remix album and  Steps have just released Steptacular and If I don’t get the moves down to ‘Tragedy’ before Warren (the smarmy Queen-Bitch turd-burglar), I may aswell never show my face in Spritzers again! I must get straight down to the Virgin Megastore and have a spend up (now that Our Price has closed).

2016– The last time I bought a CD was in 2009- and that was only because my ‘hairdresser’s car’didn’t come with MP3 and I needed some drive -time sing-along classics. Difficult to pinpoint when people stopped buying CDs, but the other day someone said to me- have you got Spotify?…You pay a monthly fee and can listen to all the music you want!. Great I thought…but where will I store all this downloaded music? .. Oh no….you don’t download it!! The music is not yours to own…..erm what?  What happens if Spotify ceases to exist? I can’t cope with this idea of rented music. No No No.

Give in to the back fat

1998 – My daily diet consists of McDonalds breakfast, Burger King for lunch and Harvester for dinner…..Still 10 stone, toned, and could run the marathon (should I want to)

2016– Daily diet is ..nothing for breakfast, sushi for lunch and a salad for dinner. Still 14 stone….cant shift any weight, I look at a cake and put on 2 pounds, and running from the house to the car makes me sweat like a fat slag at a pie bake-off!

Befriend a Lesbian

1998– Every gay-boys worst nightmare…walking into a drinking establishment filled with overweight old Doris’s propping up the bar with their pints of Cider like they are waiting for the next demolition job to begin. Most of these creatures could take down a concrete wall just by leaning against it. Seriously…. the man-hating lesbians of the 90s were scary….soley responsible for the demise of double-denim, and a constant snail trail on the dance floor whenever the beat dropped into a KD Lang number.

2016– You can’t spot a lesbian these days…disguised as beautiful women- they no longer hate us gay-boys and we don’t hate them. They have names like Chantelle and Amber and are no longer referred to as Pam or Lynne. We holiday together, and sometimes make babies….who’d have thought?

Gay Pride

1998– The annual event we have all been waiting for, we get to march and be fabulously different from everyone else- united in pink and dancing in a field that reeks of amyl nitrate and stereotype. We lip-sync to a medley of Spice Girls, S Club 7 and Backstreet Boys until the break of dawn…(assuming that Dawn was one of those ‘new money’ lezzers off her tits on smack)…man down.

2016– Gay Pride…who dear? me dear? pride dear? NO DEAR. Im washing my hair! I am no longer proud to march around a field and adorn my person with a lavish boa, camel-toe shorts and the latest levi-strauss sleeveless top ,or my personal triumph…the sailor outfit. Nowadays I am proud to be gay, but being a ‘scene queen’ is exhausting and thankless (so many flag bearers). What I am most proud of is that I can marry the man I love and be the person I am in a society that now accepts me without the need to set myself apart by prancing around a field.

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So as I get ready for my 40s- I will say that I have no regrets about my life choices and happy to be a ‘friend of Dorothy’- age is just a number, but with age brings experience of what is important in life and what is superficial.  I may reflect on earlier years with fondness and how many things have changed beyond the imaginable, but I know I would rather be living in 2016 than in 1998. Some people my age still live the same life they did 18 years ago and who am I to judge?.. Suffice to say, these people are still looking for love and happiness, while their fag-hags have retired and had 5 kids. I have found my ‘why’, and it lies with my husband and my step-children, something that I never dreamt possible in 1998, when marriage equality was unthinkable , as was a ‘blog’.