Well, not toxic, exactly... maybe just a little bit rank. But in a nice way. With a garnish.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

death row

Imp and I watched The Green Mile on Monday night. It's a spectacular book, and the film isn't bad either! Stephen King excelled himself on this one - a welcome sidestep from his usual material.
It reminded me of a web page I found ages ago that listed the last meals requested by Death Row inmates. Weird thing to post on the internet.... but I suppose it's a weird thing to want to read too.

However it's got nothing on this page. It'll make your buttocks clench.

Did you know that in America in three states they still execute people by firing squad?
Me neither.
Did you know that in America in three states they still execute people by hanging?
Me neither.

Procedure: Shooting can be carried out by a single executioner who fires from short range at the back of the head or neck as in China. The traditional firing squad is made up of three to six shooters per prisoner who stand or kneel opposite the condemned who is usually tied to a chair or to a stake. Normally the shooters aim at the chest, since this is easier to hit than the head, causing rupture of the heart, great vessels, and lungs so that the condemned person dies of hemorrhage and shock. It is not unusual for the officer in charge to have to give the prisoner a pistol shot to the head to finish them off after the initial volley has failed to kill them.

Makes you think.

I was interested to hear that Sheriff Joe Arpaio of Maricopa county in Arizona is over here at the moment visiting our own prisons.
He's the guy who is renowned for making his inmates wear striped clothing and pink underwear and for starting the first female chain gang.

He's pro-death penalty....... what's he doing here?

Click on the link for a chance to listen again to his views on the reform system both here and in the USA. It makes for interesting listening.

Oh, and it confirms what I always thought......... Americans are inhumane lunatics.
*Quick word to any Americans reading this: You are freaky. Please pack up your bible and go away.
And your taste in hairstyles is a bit dodgy too.


Tuesday, August 30, 2005

wales in a bottle

Well hot on the heels of Jesus on toast, Jesus in a piss-stained corner of the New York subway and Jesus in the clouds we've got another one.
Not Jesus this time but hey. who's nit-picking? Wales - Jesus....... same thing?

In a bottle, this time.

Wales in a bottle... for a mere £24. Good luck to him!
Cheeky monkey.

Monday, August 29, 2005


Just a quick word about Christians.
Have you ever noticed the WWJD wrist bands that some of them wear?

It mean 'What Would Jesus Do?' and is supposed to be a reminder for Christians to behave in a way that Jesus would have behaved.
That means not getting totally drunk or passing a homeless person on the street and looking the other way. It means no sex outside of marriage or cursing or driving over the speed limit or judging other people.

Just so you know, I don't like them - I think that they are two-faced and too quick to impose their views on how you should live your life.

Unfortunately I know quite a few of them, although I have to say, a lot of them dropped me quicker than you can say 'Same Sex Attraction' once they found out I was not only gay, but in a gay relationship.
So maybe I should say I used to know them.
Now if I'm unfortunate enough to pass one of them on the street they behave as if I don't exist.

So back to my point, or observation, whatever it is.

I noticed back in my church-going days (which was up until just over a year ago) that if you are an alcoholic, or beat your wife, or a paedophile, or a liar, or hooked on drugs, if you are a prostitute or a pimp, if you are a murderer or straight out of prison. If you just plain swore too much or were 'living in sin' with your boyfriend or girlfriend...

Then the church loves you.

And I mean, LOVES you. They like to be seen embracing these people and saying things like 'I was talking to a prostitute earlier today...' and praying for them and dipping their toe into the big, bad world.

However, if you are gay, they only like you if you are not in a relationship. Basically if you can give them the label of your 'sin' but have no evidence of it. They like to know that you are celibate, or struggling with singleness, they like to say 'oh yes, we have a few homosexuals in our church...'
If, on the other hand, you are gay and have the bare-faced cheek to actually be in love with someone, then the church doesn't want to know.
You are too controversial, too dirty, too unforgiveable, too much of a sinner for the church to want to even acknowledge you in the street.

My point I suppose, is that Jesus spent his time with people that no one else wanted to be associated with, he pointed a finger of disgust at the Pharisees (who were the in-your-face religious ravers of the day) by saying that they were hypocrites.
Why? Because they made sure they were seen praying loudly and 'doing good works' in full view of everyone else, but they didn't want to dirty their hands by associating themselves with those that they considered beneath them.

In my experience, the charismatic church of today is the 21st century Pharisee.
The gay community is the 21st century leper colony.

Is that right?
What would Jesus do?

Sunday, August 28, 2005

Phone Charger

This poor sod invented something that could become an essential device in the bedrooms of teenagers across the country....... and only got a 'C' grade for it.

He says that two minutes of hamster-mania can provide up to 30 minutes talk-time on his phone. How's that for an environmentally-friendly solution? Fantastic!
Give him an 'A'.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

trying not to eat

I'm sitting here, back sore, killing time.

It takes time for a back to mend; it appears that every time I think it's okay again I make the one, wrong movement that reminds me that it's still there, twisting, wringing, aching.

If I had a video of how I did it, I would laugh at myself.
Do you remember that scene in Wayne's World where Rob Lowe climbs out of his car right at the end of the film, after his latex-glove encounter with the Nazi cop?
That was me, minus the latex-glove bit.
That was me, pulling a suitcase from the backseat of the car, from the wrong side of the car due to parking alongside a tree...... and ping! There goes my back and I'm frozen into a comedy position, traffic hurrying past me, life moving on as always.

If you could have seen me trying to sit on the toilet and then try to get up again, you would have laughed too. Laurel and Hardy have nothing on me.
Did you know that when you sit on a chair, you twist and shift to get into the exact position you want to be in?
I didn't until Sunday night, but you do.

I have to switch my computer on with my foot to save trying to bend down.
I get in and out of cars like a stiff old lady, even though I'm only 32.
I save rubbish on the side in the kitchen so that I can put it all in the bin in one go, rather than bend over lots of times.
I'm glad the coffee jar is high up.

So I'm here, sitting down for a short while before I need to get up and walk around a bit; 14 paces from one end of the flat to the other, 25 if I make a detour through the bedroom.
I'm running out of snack food but I don't want to eat proper food, I want to graze because I'm bored.
I want to watch the telly, because I haven't got one, even though I know I would be bored of that too, within 15 minutes. I would rather eat my own legs than watch 'Murder, She Wrote' and 'Trisha', but still, I'd give it a go if I had a telly.

I'm waiting for my back to get better and trying not to eat.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Why I can't wear shorts

When I was seven years old I burned my leg.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say someone else burned my leg, but I can't remember who it was, just that it was a boy.

At school there was only one TV, and that was in the staff room. It was the late seventies and you were lucky to have a TV at school, never mind have one in each classroom, a computer, a SmartBoard and a mobile phone each.
Even calculators were still new and cost about as much as a cheap cd player costs now.

So we were going to the staff room to watch 'Watch' and it was exciting because watching the telly always felt like a skive.
We sat around the perimeter of the room on various chairs and I managed to bag a spot on the tall padded bench at the back... we all fought to get to this first and I was one of the lucky ones.

The teacher put the kettle on to boil so that she could make herself a cup of tea, and disappeared out of the staff room for some reason, while we, excited, pretended to shoot the little blobs on the BBC clock as the seconds counted down to the beginning of the programme.

The rest is slow motion - someone swinging their legs, getting them caught in the lead of the kettle and the whole thing swinging round and emptying itself over my leg - me, in shock and agony jumping up and screaming, watching the skin shrivel and burn and turn to plastic, the water gathering in my little red sock *I'll always remember that red sock* and in my shoe, and burning me, scalding me, burning me.

Back in the seventies no one did First Aid courses, no one knew what to do.
But I did, you do if it's your leg that's burning.
I was running trying to find some cold water... sprinting into the hall, screeching with the unimaginable pain that wouldn't go away... frantic for some cold water.

I ran, not seeing, and collided into the arms of the Headmaster, who wouldn't let me go, wouldn't let me find something cold - he forced me into his car and all the while I fought him, needing to get away from him and cool my leg down.
But he was a grown man, tall, stronger even than a small girl who is finding new strength through panic and pain.

I was seven and small. He was old and strong and tall.

At the hospital they said it was too late to put anything on it, it would pull what was left of my skin right off my leg. It should have been cooled down earlier, much earlier. I was in too much pain to say 'I told you so'.

It took months to mend.
I was moved from one hospital to another.. from a sterile room on the childrens' ward into a sterile room in a burns unit, and then a ward more than a hundred miles away for a skin graft.
I was away for 3 months.
It felt like a year or even more.

Physiotherapy in the 1970's was whole different ball game to physio now.
Back then, the objective was to make you do what you were supposed to do. If your body couldn't do it, you made it do it. And if you couldn't make yourself do it, then they made you do it.

That is how I found myself in a long room with a frightening woman whose face I don't remember, just her voice and her hands.

The objective - to make me straighten my leg and to walk.
The barrier - tight burned skin that stretched over my bones but had no give. The stretchiness had disappeared with that kettle of boiling water an eternity before... instead I was left with scars and blisters that were like hard plastic. They wouldn't bend.
The woman with the voice and the hands was there to make sure that I did bend my leg and that I did walk.

She prodded me in my backside and barked at me 'Walk!'
I stumbled and cried a bit. She shouted again and I struggled forwards again.
She won - she stopped using her finger and used a pin, jabbing it into my bum, forcing me to straighten up and move as quick as I could away from her.

That was what you got for being the victim - a scar on your leg and a bigger scar in your head.

Monday, August 22, 2005

window shopping

If you're stuck in the house you can always go window shopping with Street Sensation!
Carnaby Street in your living room?
Not 'Arf.

At the moment I'm incapacitated with a bad back, and never thought that being at home doing nothing could be so boring!
I'm not known for my patience with shopping but this is different - this is browsing on the internet, gasping at all the hugely over-priced minging seventies furniture and finding my way around London without fear of having my arse bombed to bits.

Sunday, August 21, 2005


I did something today that I haven't done for years, I built a sandcastle.

Let me tell you, it wasn't any old sandcastle, it was the biggest, best sandcastle I've ever built.
I was on a beach, it was sunny, I borrowed a spade and it would have been a waste not to have built one.

So. This piece of visionary construction was square, it had several layers, a massive moat with a channel that reached towards the sea, two towers on top - one big, one small, and a bridge that led to the main gate.
It was the Hogwarts of sandcastles.
Dads walked past with their kids and I could hear them say "Hey! Look at that sandcastle!" and that fuelled me on to keep going - to make the moat deeper and the towers higher.

Not satisfied with building the biggest sandcastle I had ever built, I decided that next I should build a sand sculpture. Why stop at castles?
So I made a woman out of sand, lying on her back with her knees up and one arm under her head, sunbathing. She was lifesize and her stomach was just rounded and her ankles were as slim as I wish mine were. Her breasts were smaller than mine and held upright in her swimming costume... her back curved and her feet apart.

Two little old ladies came by, one short, the other tall. They joked about how they had thought she was real. They were retired teachers; you could imagine that they would have worked in a girls' school like Malory Towers and that they had been quite strict in their day - but now had softened into two harmless old ladies who took pleasure in walking together on the beach and watching the children run in the sand.
One of them (the tall one), a tiny bit embarrassed, asked if she could take a photograph of the woman, as yet unfinished.

I finished the sunbathing figure just as the rain started lightly and we packed up our things and headed back up the beach.
Just as we reached the top of the beach we heard shouts and turned to see a load of teenage boys jump on the sandcastle. Not satisfied with destroying that, they turned their attentions to the woman and laughed at her breasts. We quickly hurried away, not wanting to watch her get crushed under the feet of immature men who wouldn't be happy until they had wiped away all evidence of someone else's pleasure.

Friday, August 19, 2005


Mo Mowlam died this morning at 8:10. I never met her but I'll miss her, she was a stonking woman. She quite plainly was fighting for what she believed in as regards politics.. you never got the feeling that she was avoiding the issue or trying to pull the wool over your eyes. One genuine lady. Politics is poorer today.

Famous people.
It's weird, you feel like you own them because you hear about their lives. Well, and you miss them when they become out of reach in whatever way. When John Peel died I was gutted.
*And whatever happened to Rod, Jane and Freddy?

They're just people who lots of people have heard of. For some reason that makes them interesting. I've heard of my sister's husband's brother's girlfriend... never met her, not that bothered to be honest. I'd probably be more interested if she started hosting the Today programme on Radio 4.
How shallow.

I'm not that bothered about celebrities.. haven't even got a telly. Don't miss it, don't want one. But my ears still prick up if I hear that even the most obscure has-been celebrity is due to make an appearance within a 25-mile radius of my house.
"Who? She was Sheila's daughter's babysitter on Home and Away? What, before I was born? But she appeared on TWO episodes?"

Famous people.
Not met many of 'em. But I have stood in the same city as some of them.

Her's a list of famous people I've nearly met.

Mikhail Gorbachev
Ronnie O'Sullivan
Norah Battie (Kathy Staff)
Rolf Harris
Sven Goran Erikssen
Sid Little
Charlie from Casualty
Josh from Casualty
George Michael

But ask any of 'em. Bet they've all heard of me.


Thursday, August 18, 2005

wife swap

I hear that there's a series of Wife Swap on at the moment.
And that it's utter compulsive viewing.

Well I haven't seen ANY of them EVER. But I like the sound of it. Mess with a few people's lives - who are apparently willing to go through with it - sit back and savour the results.

D'ya remember The Word with Terry Somebody-or-other, late night Manc programme... they had a bit where people got to be on telly if they did something hideous? Like eat their own shit or shove maggots in their eyeballs. Charming.

Not many people will know this (unless they're called Margaret Smythe-Lewis and live in the outskirts of Swindon where they run the Neighbourhood Watch and have a wheelie bin with a cover disguising it as an ivy-covered wall), but posh-granny radio-soap The Archers has currently got a wife-swap programme occurring! They're all swapping wives with each other *which of course really helps perpetuate the incestuous image of farming communities..... which they're calling 'Life Swap'.

This is hilarious listening as I discovered this week while looking for something to listen to on the Radio 4 'Listen Again' webpage.
Stirling piece of band-wagon-leaping.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005


There's a load of stuff going on in my life at the moment and I really do need cheering up.
Luckily those cheeky little World Leaders down at the G8 Summit certainly brought a smile to my face.

Hit someone!
Do a mexican wave!

Well done, boys.
They'll do anything I ask..... well isn't that what political leaders are for?

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

prejudiced against trees

I think I'm fairly accepting of most things.
I'm not racist (although I struggle with Americans, but that's because they're frightening and ignorant all at the same time. No offence intended. To non-Americans), I'm not age-ist, I like (some) men and I'm learning to cope with children.
Sexuality? That's a given. Posh people? Now there's a challenge......

But trees in cities.
That's a tough one.

They're pretty and everything... provide us with oxygen, absorb carbon dioxide... but blimey, they don't half make a mess.
Back in the days when I worked for the Wildlife Trust I was an energetic advocate for trees in towns.

"They're the lungs of the city" I would enthuse to my *yawning* friends.
"We need trees in towns; they lift the morale and keep us in touch with the green stuff. They keep depression at bay."

I went on and on about how criminal it was that cable companies were digging up the pavements and damaging the roots, how the damage wasn't immediately obvious, but that we would pay for it at some point.

Well that was before I had to park underneath one.

My street is lined with huge massive humungous monster limes. Now that they are in full leaf there aren't any gaps between the canopies.. you park under a tree or drive the equivalent distance of the coastline of Ireland looking for a permit-free tree-free spot somewhere else. So here I am, under the shade of their leafy limey boughs..... and they're dropping leafy bits and crap all over my car without so much as a sheepish shrug.

Every morning I get up as late as possible and leg it to my car having had no breakfast yet again (I will start eating some, I promise. I know it's supposed to start your metabolism kicking in sooner, in fact, I'm banking on it. It's just that I never seem to have time) and screech up the road in a blast of expletives and frantic reverse-mathematics... 5 minutes to Newport Road, erm.. say take off 20 minutes for the motorway... if I drive like a maniac as far as the Police Headquarters, slow down for quarter of a mile in case there are any trainees hiding in bushes disguised as badgers armed with radar guns... er.. roundabout, roundabout, another roundabout.... Bugger! That'll still be 5 past 9 at the earliest.

Each day without fail I pull out into the traffic outside my front door while simultaneously securing my seatbelt and squirting screenwash liberally to get rid of the morning's brand new film of bloody sap from the bloody trees - it's all over my car, tiny speckles of sticky gooey goo. ALL over. Great for getting doghair off your clothes. Just lean on my car.
So anyhow, back to my daily manic exit. Without exception there's a whole load of alieny bobble thingies from the lime trees jammed under my windscreen wipers. Like a tree-conspiracy. Like putting chewing gum in someone's hair in assembly when you were at school, but more tree-ish.
So instead of making it possible to see, I'm in fact smearing sap and crap all over my windscreen with a pile of leaves.
This severely cramps my style in a safe-view-of-the-road kind of a way.

I would class myself as an environmentalist, but I've got a car too, which leaves me torn.
I've just come in from chancing the traffic and washing my car, I'm soaking wet and my car will be clean for about - Oh, 4 minutes - and I say Bugger the Trees.

Monday, August 15, 2005

fantastic drum machine

Sometimes you just need cheering up and let's face it, there's not much that will quite frankly cut the mustard.

Random suggestions are:

Watch old re-runs of Rentaghost.
Dye your hair.
Go shopping for yellow things only.
Eat an entire Dr.Oetker mozzarella pizza on your own.
Walk up a hill.
Hit someone.
Turn back time.
Get a tattoo
Send the cheesiest postcard you can find, to your best mate.

Obviously there is a time and a place for everything so you would need to show some discretion while selecting one of the above.
If you lived in Holland for example, finding a hill could take an inordinate amount of effort and effort when scoffing a pizza would do the trick before you'd even had to think about loading up your campervan.
Oh, and I'm no expert but I would say don't get a tattoo if you live in a nunnery.

If none of theses are of any help then there's only one thing for it. The Indian Shankar Drum Ganesh Machine!

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

words that make me smile










Saturday, August 13, 2005

Big brother

Question of the day:

If you had to go into the Big Brother house with 10 people (past or present)
- 5 men and 5 women, who would they be?

My choices after much deliberation:


Eddie Izzard comedian
John Sargent journalist
Ray Reardon snooker player
John Peel music journalist
Michael Jackson singer


Dawn French comedian
Gabriella Sabatini tennis player
Amanda Burton actress
Jenny Eclair comedian
Mo Mowlam politician

Hmm. Could be interesting!

Ask me tomorrow though and I'll have a completely different list.
Depends what mood I'm in. Today I'm in nosy trouble-maker but slightly melancholic mode:-)
The more metaphorical blood-shed the better, but I'll be sad afterwards.

Friday, August 12, 2005

amateur psychiatry

I don't think I had a very close relationship with my mother when I was little... I'm not very comfortable around straight women and I'm not particularly touchy-feely. Oh, and I don't like knitting.
I know that I have a tendency to kick out if people try to control me... I'm stubborn, I drink too much given the chance and I have in the past been in a relationship based on emotional dependency and codependancy.
I get nasty on vodka and silly then sleepy on beer.

Now that I know all of this about myself I think it's about time I start subjecting other people to my amateur psychiatry.

No, honestly, I don't think there'll be a problem... give me a pint and an audience and I know everything there is about analysing people.

Oh, maybe you're right... maybe I should start on cuddly toys rather than real live actual humans.
I'll stand in for Doctor Kindermann at the Asylum for a bit and hone my skills.
That okay with you?

Thursday, August 11, 2005

literal sayings

These phrases bother me:

Keep your eyes peeled.
Certainly not, that's disgusting! How would peeling your eyes be of any use to anyone? It would make them water, presumeably - and never having done it, I can only imagine it would hamper your chances of keeping an eye out.

Keep an eye out.
I never take them out. They are not like cats... I can't put them out and then call them when it's tea time, they are built in to my face. Am I the only person to have noticed this?

Bob's your uncle.
Does having an uncle Bob automatically make everything alright? I've only got a Robin and a Peter... Bob's not my uncle and never will be however hard I try. I feel somewhat cheated.

Cheap at half the price.
This is supposed to mean that something is cheap or good value... well I agree, it would be if it was half the price. Shouldn't we be saying 'cheap at double the price'?
As in, "This spangley boob tube is so comfortable I would gladly pay double for such quality".

Under the weather.
Pardon? The logical progression would therefore be that feeling great would be the same as feeling 'over the weather' - and an average day would be logged as 'beside the weather'.
An obsession with the weather seems to be a requirement for being British, but this surely is slightly over the top. We're all subject to the weather, but what has the weather got to do with feeling peaky?
Search me.
*On second thoughts, I'm only pointing out how illogical this saying is... don't actually search me. I value personal space.

Feeling peaky
Heh heh! Conjures up visions of... oh no, let's not go there. However, what the word 'peaky' has to do with well-being defeats me.
Looking peaky would suggest that you're looking mountainous but nope, the English language couldn't possibly be that logical. Although I concede, why you would want to accuse someone of looking mountainous remains to be seen....

Ten to the dozen.
This means fast. I don't know why it means fast. It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Zilch. I give up. My brain hurts and I need to sleep for a very long time.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Natural selection

A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. When the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and the weakest ones at the back that are killed first.
This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole because the average speed and health of the group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members.

In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol as we all know, kills brain cells, but naturally it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of wine eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

my favourite things since sliced bread

Dunno about sliced bread.
It's bread, and it's sliced. Big deal.

The three most life-changing devices or inventions are listed below. No arguments.

1. Fitted sheets.

The saviour of personal hygiene the country over. Be honest, who would bother to change their sheets if it hadn't been for these ingenious little thingumies? I've been known to sleep in a sleeping bag on top of my bed, rather than grapple with the hideousness of bedmaking.
So let's hear it for fitted sheets!

2. Cup-holders.

Having changed my car two years ago from an old banger that thought that changing gear was a cheap, yet unnecessary capitalist luxury, I initially scorned at this seemingly pointless piece of gear.
No more do I jest. I use the cup-holder more than I do my own legs. Genius.

3. Cordless phones.

Not mobiles, that's a whole other millstone. I mean cordless phones... the ones that you recharge on a base and then lose in the fridge.
Remember when you had to sit in the front room trying to have a private conversation while your Mum listened in... and you had to somehow speak loud enough that the person the other end could hear you, but quiet enough that you didn't ruin 'Bergerac'?
These handsets have been liberating and life-changing... I can carry on with what I was doing when someone rang me; cooking, sitting in the bath, playing Spider Solitaire. And my Mum can watch crap TV undisturbed.
Well she can anyway, I live 200 miles away, but now we're being picky.

So that's the top 3 life-enhancing doojit list.
It's since been scientifically proven that if they had had these in the workhouses back in Dickensian times, then Oliver would have had his extra bowl of gruel and life on earth would have been peachy. The Third World would never have gone into debt, the 2nd World War would have actually been the 2nd World Whinge... and if fitted sheets alone had been invented around the time of the Roman Empire, then Jesus wouldn't have been crucified.

Hind-sight. It's a marvelous thing.

Monday, August 08, 2005

Staring at the Boobies :-)

Here's a challenge.....

Nudge nudge.

It's not profound, but it's funny!

Willy Wonka

I've just spent my lunchbreak productively making chocolate bars for Augustus.

I'm sure my employers will be pleased to find I'm moonlighting somewhere more exciting than this office...........

Sunday, August 07, 2005


Imp and I did a car boot sale this morning.

The sun beat down on us, the customers haggled and we fried.
I wore the wrap-around sunspecs that I bought last summer when I cycled from left to right across Ireland.
Great for keeping the sun out your eyes, also great for making you look like a total nob when they come off again. Panda? That's me. How we laughed.......

Well that's the cover story anyway.
Actually as an undercover superhero living in Britain I'm not used to seeing the sun - it caught me a bit unawares while off saving lives and securing world peace yesterday. Must get myself a smaller mask.
Don't tell anyone.

Oh yeah, that'll be it then.

Saturday, August 06, 2005


Nice place, go there!

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Yes, we'd like to book a DOUBLE room.

Well, we're off to Cumbria, thanks to Pink Uk, where we tracked down a gay-friendly B&B.

As a gay couple it's really hard to be a couple outdoors.
Something that straight couples can take forgranted.

If you hold hands you immediately become the focus of an incomprehensible amount of nudging, whispering, craning necks and disapproving mumbling.
If you are as bold as to actually look like you like each other, you risk at least a few sarcastic remarks, at worst, a beating.

People often say to me that they think that being gay is trendy now, a kind of status-symbol. They even have gone as far as to suggest that people choose to be gay as some kind of lifestyle upgrade.

"Look at me, I'm cutting edge.. I've got 6 earrings, 2 tattoos, I don't eat meat and I'm queer."

My arse.
Whatever Eastenders or Coronation Street say about life as a gay person; however they portray the community as regards sexuality and how it deals with it, I've got news for you - it's all a load of cobblers.
People don't become gradually more relaxed around you, you can't peck each other on the cheek outside the local corner shop, you can't hold hands in the local pub. If only!
What actually happens is that everyone stares, and the local teenagers call you a Poofter and chuck stuff at you when you've walked past.

So anyhow, there are a few things that gays do to counteract these awkward moments.
  • they flock together - Brighton, Madrid, gay clubs and bars, pink events.
  • OR they don't show affection in public.
  • OR they become overt, in an attempt to ride it out.
  • they become experts at holding hands under the table, snatched moments in cars or in crowds.

I don't know what we'll be doing up in the Lake District... life is often a mixture of all of the above depending on the time and place.

What I would really like is for the world to become an accepting place, but I think I've got a long wait.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

walking boots

I hate shoppping.
Actually, that's not quite true. I like shopping if you count browsing on the internet as shopping. If I happen upon either, or, then that's another cd or a set of air-drum-sticks hurtling through the post in my direction. I can't help it; there's some kind of mind-bending will-power-reducing power at force but if I visit these site enough times then (like Lara Croft) I'll find a way to triumph........
I quite like shops that sell power tools or books as well.
But that's it.
Oh, I like tents or gadgets.
But that really is it, now.

Otherwise I'm crap at it. I'm too easily bored and too eager to be distracted.

Well today Imp and I braved some REAL shops to look for some walking boots.
We're off to the Lake District tomorrow and she needs some decent footwear in order to get round Beatrix Potter-world without blisters.

And hopefully we'll trot round a lake or two.

I have a pair of massive stompy trainers genetically welded to my feet... they're not walking boots but they are the world's most durable pair of CAT boots in disguise as a pair of walking boots.
I've been up some fairly serious mountains in them, so they'll do for the next few days.

Thing is, Imp doesn't like walking boots unless they're purple or pale blue or generally girlie.. whereas I like walking boots to look chunky and have things like massive welts and lugs and bits that sound like you could charge through the rainforests of Vietnam if needed... although I've never been anywhere near Vietnam.... but you just never know.

So between us we were rubbish.

She kept looking at all the girlie trainery things and saying how they all looked like normal trainers (she's right, they did) but were about six times the price... and I kept looking at the gadgets and pressing buttons on LED keyrings and gasping in wonder and generally getting distracted by the knives and stuff. I mean, they came in handy pouches called pods... put yer gubbins in a pouch, call it Mac-in-a-Pod or Pod-Pants and I love it! Portable-TV-Pod? How did I ever manage without a Brolly-Pod before today? All those thunder storms........

Walking boots?
Not likely.

We bought a really cool purple wind-proof water-proof coat instead.
So when Imp gets blisters and has to sit down, at least she won't notice the howling gales and pouring rain..........

Oh, and we bought some purple trainers from Asda for a tenner.