Have It Your Way

Are you a thoroughly modern Millie and would like to download Perking the Pansies to your fancy Kindle thingy bobby? Perhaps you’re opposed to Amazon taking over the world? (Of course, I couldn’t possibly comment.) Or maybe you’re a bit of a traditionalist who likes to browse the shelves and thumb through the latest releases? Well, you can do all these things. Perking the Pansies is available to download to Kindle, to purchase online at WH Smiths and Waterstones (and many other online stores), and to order at any good bookshop near you. Go on, you know you want to.

Alternatively you could buy the paperback or Kindle edition through my website and I'll earn an extra few pence. No pressure.

Houston, We Have Lift-off

An enormous thank you to On the Ege and Impossibly Glamorous for kick-starting the publicity campaign for Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey. This was done without any prompting from me. I'm really touched. Find out what other reviewers have said about the book here. And that's not all. The Displaced Nation have listed the book on their Best of 2011 Expat Books and it's on the BlogExpat Christmas list.

On the day Perking the Pansies hit the presses, I found out that Joe Storey-Scott, the Book & Film Buyer for Millivres Prowler Group, contacted my publisher, Jo Parfitt. Prowler is Blighty’s premiere gay lifestyle chain with outlets in Birmingham, Brighton and a London flagship store in Brewer Street, Soho. Joe has agreed to stock the book. Wow. Thank you, Joe. The next day the book entered Amazon’s top ten of forthcoming biographies. It’s above the paperback release of Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years. Blimey.

Perking the Pansies, Unwrapped

The book cover for Perking the Pansies is done. As threatened, it’s colourful with a lot of pansies and a delicious hint of Turkey. I think it’ll catch the eye on the book shelf. Let’s face it, it'll probably glow in the dark. A huge thank you to award-winning author, Paul Burston, who has given such a glowing review. Paul wrote:

"An entertaining story, told with wit and insight." Paul Burston, author, The Gay Divorcee

I'm really looking forward to presenting the book at the Polari Literary Salon in London early next year. Thank you also to the other reviewers who have given the book the thumbs up. I'm thrilled. You can read them here.

Perking the Pansies available now to pre-order on Amazon.co.uk. Order today and the book will be delivered to you soon after it’s published on 15th December 2011. It’ll be available to order on Amazon.com very soon.

Thank you to all those who voted and commented (good and critical) on my post, What’s in a Name? After much straw-polling, soul searching and deliberation, my publisher, Jo Parfitt, had an overnight epiphany. The next day, she emailed me with unconcealed excitement.

"Perking the Pansies - Jack and Liam move to Turkey"

Just like that, a book title was born. Inspired.

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Cover Story

Polari Literary Salon

World AIDS Day

Today is World AIDS Day. Many will remember when AIDS raised its deadly head in the early Eighties. It was the dark ages of ignorance and astonishing bigotry. The tabloids pandered to the pond life with talk of a gay plague, the British Government terrified old ladies with images of tomb stones and people really did think you could catch it from a coffee cup. It took Princess Diana (among many others) and a seismic shift in social attitudes to make a difference. I was one of the lucky ones. I survived when many around me were dropping like flies.

These days we live in more enlightened times. Or do we? It depresses me that many young gay men in Britain and elsewhere think HIV is an ‘old man’s’ disease and even if they do become infected they think a pill a day will keep the doctor away. It’s true that in the West people generally live with HIV rather than die from it. But, AIDS isn’t hypertension or high cholesterol. Just like flu, HIV is a virus that mutates. The drugs that work today may not work tomorrow. Still, we should count our blessings. AIDS is still devastating many developing countries, particularly in Sub-Saharan Africa where access to expensive combination therapy is pie in the sky. AIDS affects the most sexually active and the most sexually active are also the most economically active. It’s a double whammy, more destructive than war or famine.

The rate of HIV infection in Turkey is mercifully low (according to official statistics) but with a long incubation period who really knows? Education is the key to prevention but meaningful sex education is thin on the ground here. Last year the Turkish Daily News published an article on the subject. It seems people don’t like to talk about the issue. It goes against the cultural grain. The common condom is not so common because nobody has extra-marital sex and adultery never happens. Head and sand spring to mind. And what of the legion of Shirley Valentines washed up on our shores every summer who fall for the considerable charms of the hunky waiter with the come to bed eyes? Listen up ladies, slip the French letters into your sequined clutch bag and get your man to cover up.

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Tick Tock

Two Nations Divided by a Common Language

I recently received the first edits back for the book. I downloaded the file with nervous anticipation, expecting it to be mauled with angry red lines and a must do better report at the end. I was pleasantly surprised to find the text relatively intact. My editor is a talented young man from across the pond called Kilian Kröll. Kilian’s day job is treading the boards as an eminent life coach. He’s also a superb writer and is moonlighting as editor at the request of my publisher, Jo Parfitt. Jo gave him the specific remit to check the text for British idioms and cultural references that might fly over the heads of our Yankee cousins. Kilian is well-qualified for the job and is doing sterling work – meticulous and professional. His interventions have been smart, literate and illuminating. Striking the right balance between keeping the essentially British feel of Perking the Pansies and appealing to the greatest possible audience is going to be tough. Cor blimey, mate.

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Jack Scott

Turkey, a Land for All Seasons

The parade of storms that recently rolled into town was a reminder (if one was needed) that Turkey is a land that enjoys proper, melodramatic seasons. Here on the Aegean coast we spend six months too hot or too cold and six months just about right. My partner, Liam, and I first arrived in Turkey to find our new foster home bathed in a glorious Indian summer and we were lulled us into a false sense of meteorological security. Within a month, the pitiless winter was upon us and we were woefully unprepared. Liam and I were mugged by a posse of violent electric storms that rolled across the horizon, a savage spectacle that crashed ashore and trapped us inside for days at a time.

Turkish winters mean business. Prodigious pulses of horizontal rain cluster-bomb every crack and cranny. Water sneaks through every window frame and beneath every threshold. Towels are requisitioned and old cushions commandeered to ebb the relentless biblical flow. Staying warm is a challenge. Think pre-central heating childhood days when the bed was too cold to get into at night and too warm to get out of in the morning. We sprint to the loo for a morning pee, wear sexless layers and revert to copulating under cover. They don’t mention that in the guide books.

We survive the onslaught and the short sharp winter gradually gives way to a wonderful warm renaissance. Spring in Turkey is a magical time of the year, nature-wise. The hills seem to blossom overnight with a riot of flamboyant and exotic flora blanketing the usually arid scrub. We awake from our enforced hibernation, dust down our flip flops and freshen our speedos. Smiles get broader as trousers get shorter. It’s a brief respite before the unforgiving sun burns the landscape back to its usual two-tone hue of dull green and ochre. As the mercury marches inevitably upwards, summer slaps us about the face like a merciless sweaty flannel. By August, varnish peels off the window sills, the upper floor of our house becomes a fan assisted oven and sofas radiate heat like embers from a dying grate. We move slowly, a pair of camp vampires only venturing out between the hours of sunset and dawn. This too passes and falling temperatures herald our favourite time of the year. At last, the wilting wilts and we retake possession of our town to watch the hordes of tourists jump aboard the last flight home. In autumn, Bodrum is in an easy, relaxed mood. Hassle from the press gangs reduces to bearable levels and itinerant workers join the long caravans travelling to their winter pastures back east. Beware, though. Nothing lasts. Winter waits menacingly just out to sea and the cycle begins again.

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Stand Up and Be Counted

I'd like to share a touching video that brought a small tear to my eye, something which is quite hard to do in this cynical old goat these days. I think this should be shown in all schools. Alas, Hell will probably freeze over before this ever happens in Turkey.

More on Perking the Pansies

Publish and Be Damned

It’s done and dusted. We’ve done our best to spice up the speech, vacuum the grammar and pep up the punctuation. We can do no more. Thank you to Liam. We didn’t row too much about the pace, pathos and plot. Thank you to Jessica who did a marvellous job of proof-reading. Thank you to the emigreys who handed me a story on a plate (or was it a poisoned chalice?). Perking the Pansies and Surviving the Expats in Turkey has gone off to the publisher by carrier pigeon to be savaged by the editor. Booker prize here I come. As if.

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Polari Literary Review

I’m really excited to announce that Paul Burston, award winning author, LGBT Editor of Time Out London and one of Blighty’s leading commentators on LGBT life, has invited me to speak at the Polari Literary Salon in February. Paul created Polari to showcase new gay and lesbian writers. Since its launch in 2007, Polari has established an enviable reputation as a centre of excellence for promoting new talent. I’ll be reading passages from my book, Perking the Pansies and Surviving the Expats in Turkey and taking questions. I’m completely terrified. Paul assures me it's a warm and easy crowd. I will have to dig deep into my past to resurrect the orator in me. I'll be trolling down to Soho to ask the literati omis, palones and palone-omis to vada my bona book*. I hope this pansy will still be perking by the end of it. What shall I wear?

*For a quick lesson in Polari slang check out Trolling on the Net.

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The Shepherdess of Dreams

The talented Linda A Janssens at Adventures in Expatland asked me to participate in a virtual blog tour. I jumped at the chance. I love this new-fangled virtual excursion lark. You can promote a masterwork without changing out of your jimjams. The book is an anthology called Turning Points: 25 Inspiring Stories from Women Entrepreneurs Who Have Turned Their Lives Around. It does exactly what it says on the tin. It's inspirational.

I'd like to start by thanking Jack for welcoming me back as part of my 'virtual book tour' for Turning Points. It's a collection of stories from women from all over the world, all working in various jobs and professions and living very different lives. Yet each experiences a pivotal moment or series of events that drives home the need to make significant changes in her life.

The book is edited by Kate Cobb, a women's business and executive coach (www.movingforwardyourway.com). As with Jack and I, Kate is an expatriate making her home in a country other than where she was born and grew up. In Kate's case she's a Brit now residing in France; I'm an American living in The Netherlands.

When Kate asked me to contribute my story to the Turning Points project, I will admit that I was thrilled, flattered and absolutely terrified. I had only an inkling of what it took to publish a book, and I worried and fretted about what lay in store. The entire process is a long one, and has taken the better part of a year. In many ways it has seemed surreal, as if it's happening to someone else.

That is, until yesterday.

Launch Day.

I have to say the response has been both overwhelming and humbling. I am not exaggerating when I say that it is a dream come true.

When I first started putting together my blog tour, the first person I thought of was Jack. Not merely because he has been such a great supporter (although he has) or because Perking the Pansies is such a great site (which it certainly is).

Jack was my first thought because we share an editor in the savvy and experienced Jo Parfitt. Jo (www.joparfitt.com) is an accomplished author of 28 books; she is also a journalist, speaker, writing instructor and long-time publisher. She runs Summertime Publishing, a niche publishing company that focuses on bringing to print fiction and non-fiction books written by expats, internationals, serial travelers and global wanderers such as ourselves.

When a writer opens up and shares their innermost thoughts and feelings, it is an intimidating thing. Jo has calmly and gently shepherded Kate and the rest of us along the editing and publishing path, explaining myriad steps and key details, and helping to demystify the process. Along the way, we've gained confidence in ourselves and our book.

Jack's many followers know that he has finished his manuscript of his own book, Perking the Pansies, and sent it off to Jo's capable hands. In just a few weeks, he will be preparing for his own launch day.
Before he knows it, he will be holding a copy of his book in his hands, stroking its cover and marveling that his dream has come to pass.

I came here today to tell Jack to enjoy the ride. He needn't worry. He is in excellent hands with Jo, the Shepherdess of Dreams.

If you're interested in learning more about our book, please take a look at the website   www.theturningpointsbook.com, or follow along on Facebook's The Turning Points Book page or on Twitter @Turning_Points. A portion of all sales will benefit www.seedsfordevelopment.org.

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Jack the Versatile Blogger

I didn’t win the Cosmo Blog Awards. Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. Who wants recognition from a glossy magazine with a worldwide audience and enormous circulation? Not me. I don’t need it because I’ve just received the Versatile Blogger Award for my main Perking the Pansies blog.

A big thank you to Kate at UKate for nominating me. I humbly accept. Yankee Kate writes about being clueless in Blighty, trying to get to grips with all things British. God, help her. We're a funny lot. Curiously, Kate only seems to live in places beginning with the letter T, moving from Texas to Toronto to Trowbridge (where next, Timbuktu?). Kate’s moved to the Sceptred Isle for love. Aah, bless! I congratulate her on her forthcoming nuptials.

The award comes with conditions. Recipients must formally accept the award with a post featuring the award’s image, reveal seven quirky things about themselves and pass the baton onto 5-15 other bloggers to do the same.

I’m really quirky because:

• I used to have long curly hair and looked like Marc Bolan. People always assumed it was a perm. It wasn’t.
• I got scarred for life in the Far East. I caught my thigh on the wheel of an out of control home-made go cart as it careered into a monsoon drain. See, I was a proper rough boy.
• I’ve never slept with a member of the fairer sex. I got as far as heavy petting with Sheila B (not the Sheila B) and realised the whole thing wasn’t for me. Thank you, Sheila. You changed my life.
• I have size five feet. You know what small feet mean don’t you? Small shoes.
• At seventeen, I had a 26 inch waist, wore luminous green loon pants and 5 inch platform shoes. The seventies really was the decade that fashion forgot.
• At 10, I was the junior champion diver of both Hounslow and Wandsworth in London (we moved in between) and came eighth in the Surrey Diving Championship. I used to be a contender until I discovered hormones and Playgirl.
• I am a serial monogamist. For the last 32 years I have been partner-less for only 18 months. Who says gay men can’t manage a second date? Either I’m a really good catch or just terrified of being alone (or both).
• A snotty sales assistant at Harrods tried to get my parents to kit me out in an oversized blazer for my snotty school because he thought they were too poor to buy me a new one each year. Bloody cheek!

Now to my victims. Drawn across three continents, the roll of dishonour is (in no particular order):

• Archers of Oçuklar
• Bitten by Spain
• Staying Sane in Spain
• Being Koy
• Petchary’s Blog
• In Search of a Life Less Ordinary
• Pul Biber
• Istanbul Stranger
• Ayak’s Turkish Delight
• Helen’s European Journey
• Slowly by Slowly
• Adventure’s in Expatland
• Turkey with Stuffins’ Blog
• Adventures in Ankara
• Lick the Fridge
• Talking Turkey

I know there are 16 blogs listed but, like a typical Libran, I couldn't make up my mind and they're all a good read. Anyway, I've been breaking the rules since dropping out of the womb singing I am what I am. I feel a camp little clip coming on.

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Dear Old Blighty

Books for the Weekend

Anyone who’s poured their heart and soul into writing a book will know what a nerve-racking experience it is. Months, sometimes years, in gestation then the bloody thing is born and sent out into a cruel, unforgiving world to sink or swim. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Booker prize contender or a scribe on the Mills and Boon production line, your labour of love will have you biting your nails until they bleed. I know. Mine are already bruised and bloodied.

There are two new books with an expat twist that have caught my fancy recently. They are both strong and confident swimmers.

Sunshine Soup

 

Jo Parfitt runs Summertime Publishing, the company that is publishing Perking the Pansies. I’m in safe hands. Jo is an accomplished and successful author, mentor, journalist and publisher with 27 books and hundreds of articles under her belt. Jo has just released her debut novel, Sunshine Soup. Meet Maya, wife, mother of two and owner of a successful deli. She’s whisked away from her friends and a job she adores, to an uncertain life as an expat wife in Dubai. Next, transplant Maya into a fabulous new house, throw in an obsequious maid, send the teenage boys to school and the husband to work, add a potent mix of expat women and stir. What happens next is a colourful and poignant story of a woman who gradually grows into her strange new life but faces some difficult choices and uncomfortable questions along the way. Maya’s friendship with Barb, a colourful, experienced and seemingly confident expat wife, is a fascinating development. Things are not quite what they seem.

Sunshine Soup is available on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

A Tight Wide-open Space

Once in a while a chance encounter with a stranger can change things forever. My happy happenstance was crashing into Liam one wintry afternoon after work in a pub called 'A Tight Wide-open Space'. Matt Krause, a mighty Yankee vetpat from California has recently released A Tight Wide-open Space that tells the touching tale of his own chance meeting that led to love and a journey across an ocean to follow his heart. The story is much more than a boy-meets-girl penny romance, as sweet as that is. It’s also about his struggle to adapt to the strange ways of a strange faraway land. We can all identify with that one.

If you’d like to know more, take a look at Matt’s website. A Tight Wide-open Space is available in paperback or kindle at Amazon.com or Amazon.co.uk

Jack Scott

The Dorothy Dollar and the Pink Pound

When I was in negotiation with my publisher, Jo Parfitt, she asked me if Perking the Pansies, the book, would attract a wider audience beyond a gay niche. It’s a question I’d asked of myself. It’s not a bad niche to be stuck in. By some accounts the pink pound is worth about £6 billion in the UK and the US equivalent (the dorothy dollar) is reckoned to be worth a staggering $640 billion. Even if this is an exaggeration in these recessionary times, it’s still big bucks.

The more I thought about it the more I realised that neither the book nor the blog are actually about gay life in Turkey, rather they are about a gay couple living in Turkey. This is an important distinction. I did a little digging about my blog readership. It turned out that my pansy fans are overwhelmingly British, female (about 70%) and over 45 (around 80%). Even though the blog is occasionally a bit naughty and gay boy about town, this hasn’t put off the straight reader. This may be because gay culture is much more mainstream in Britain than elsewhere. The gay scene has emerged from the dark ghetto on the wrong side of the tracks and gone very high street (or Main Street as they say on the other side of the pond), the Daily Mail has stopped being routinely beastly and the tea-time TV choices for British women of a certain age are Graham Norton and Paul O’Grady (neither of whom hide their flashing pink light under a bushel).

What do you think?


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Happy Birthday, Perking the Pansies

When Liam and I came to Turkey, we intended to retire early, put our feet up and watch the pansies grow. With a ridiculous amount of spare time on my hands, I decided to amuse myself by starting a blog. Maybe it would delay my inevitable descent into alcoholism? At the time, I assumed I would end up talking to myself.  Twelve months, 400 posts, 2000 comments, 6,000 spams and 120,000 hits later, Perking the Pansies has just reached its first birthday. To celebrate this minor miracle I’d like to share what I think are some of the major milestones (Pansysteps).

08/10/2010 - In the Beginning

Perking the Pansies was launched onto an unsuspecting public. God help them. I knew nothing about this blogging business, how it worked or what would happen. This was my debut post.

24/11/2010 - Are You Mad?

I knew something was up when the blog exceeded 12,000 hits. Shit, someone was actual reading my inconsequential, irreverent ramblings. I started to understand blog promotion and search-engine optimisation, joined Faceache and that tweet, tweety thingy to build a virtual social network. Well, it beats actually talking to people.

04/12/2010 - Clapped in Irons

My blog was banned by the Turkish Internet police just as it was taking off. I was expecting a knock at the door by a scandalised conscript in latex gloves, demanding to conduct an internal investigation. I nearly gave the whole thing up in despair.

10/12/2010 - Pooing on a Paddle

After a frantic, fretful week, Perking the Pansies shut up shop at Google and moved lock, stock and barrel to begin life anew at brand new Wordpress premises. Fear of imminent arrest subsided. This naughty little number was my first post on the revamped, re-launched site.

14/03/2011 - Hold the Front Page

Perking the Pansies was featured in the Turkish national press along with a select group of illustrious fellow jobbing bloggers.

01/04/2011 - Bubba’s Gobbler

Perking the Pansies reached 50,000 hits. This was my April Fools' piece. It was partly inspired by thumbing through the gaypers in a Soho watering hole.

06/04/2011 - Perking the Pansies - Bound and Ungagged

The blog has spawned a little book which is about to go off to the publisher. The book covers some of same terrain as the blog but with much more spice, bite, depth, pace and pathos (Well, I hope so).

10/05/2011 - So You Think You Can Write a Pop Song?

This was the first mega post attracting big numbers. Pansies were bursting out all over the place. My pansymap ended up resembling a nuclear attack on Western Europe and North America. All very Cold War.

24/07/2011 - Amy Winehouse, RIP

This is by far my most popular post, 4,600 and still growing. I think it just caught the mood. It also caught the attention of some wanker who left a vile comment. It's the only comment I have ever censored.

17/08/2011 - I’m Coming Out

Perking the Pansies reached 100,000 hits and I exposed myself to the world. No, I didn't get arrested or receive a congratulatory brick through my window.

Many happy returns, Perking the Pansies. Make a wish and hope you make it to the terrible twos.

Jamey Roddemeyer, RIP

I came across this sweet video of Jamey Rodemeyer, a young American boy struggling with his sexuality. Despite vicious and relentless bullying at school, he had the strength of character to send a message of hope to all young people everywhere who are grappling to understand who they are and to make sense of their feelings. He called his message 'It Gets Better, I promise'.



Unfortunately it didn't get better for Jamey. On Sunday 18^th of September, he committed suicide. He was just 14. No one will ever really know why he took his own life. The internet abounds with conspiracy theories (as usual). What we do know is that he was gay and brutalised by his class mates. Nobody stopped them.

I know how lucky I am. I have a charmed life. I have always had the support of my family and have always felt loved. I am one of the lucky few. I know Blighty isn't perfect. I know some people harbour dark views. I know some children are bullied. But I'm glad I grew up in a country that is genuinely free, a civilised little island where political correctness has gone mad, according to the more reactionary among us.  Well, tough. I’m glad it’s not okay to say paki, nigger, queer or spastic. I’m glad people have to watch what they say and what they do. I’m glad bigotry has consequences. That’s why people died fighting Hitler. Lest we forget.

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Stand Up and Be Counted

Steve Jobs, RIP

Apple technology is not the best or always the most innovative but it is undeniably iconic with real feel appeal. Steve Jones was a genius but also a philosopher. ‘Nobody wants to die,’ he said. ‘Even those who want to go to Heaven, don’t want to die to get there.’ He knew better than most that death is the final destination for all of us. ‘Never settle,’ he said. That’s why Liam and I are in Turkey.

More on Perking the Pansies

Jack the Hack

Now that Rupert Murdoch and his progeny have hit the skids (and not before time), I’ve decided to become the next big thing in the newspaper business. I now publish my very own daily online newspaper called Jack the Hack. Now, before you start thinking that I’m turning in to a megalomaniac media mogul, spending all day at the keyboard and denying Liam his conjugal rights, I don’t actually do a thing. I found a snappy little app called paper.li that automatically garners articles from Twitter by combining my tweets with lists I follow and keywords I’ve specified. Ok, I know it's all a bit random but it's fun and it’s so easy. I don’t intend to go the way of Maxwell, Black, Murdoch and co, but I do see a gap in the market now the News of the Screws has kicked the bucket.

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Bodrum, Bodrum, So Good They Named it Twice

Post Ramazan was carnival time in old Bodrum Town. Sadly we missed most of it because of an extended visit to Blighty and La Belle France to celebrate the half centuries of my two oldest friends. The inaugural festival adopted the slogan Bodrum on the Streets, and included a choice selection of international artists, musicians and street performers, all milling around the streets of central Bodrum and adding a splash of colour to the busy, buzzy town. Each evening, the cornucopia of culture culminated in an on-stage performance in Castle Square. Good-humoured, generous crowds were serenaded on sultry evenings by an eclectic mix of music – from classical to rock, jazz to hip hop. The artistic extravaganza stretched over five nights. We caught day four which began with a small parade of painted performers as they bopped and danced, sauntered and strutted their stuff along the promenade. Hey, it wasn’t Rio but it was fun nonetheless.

We followed the procession towards the main mosque and happened upon a small band of barefooted Turkish musicians, pouring out some great jazz. Locals and tourists alike, clapped along, whistled and applauded; ballooned and candy-flossed kids danced around the band, clearly having a ball.

We made our way to Castle Square and managed to squeeze onto a crowded table at a restaurant along the side of the sardine-packed piazza. We settled down to soak up the party spirit and to watch the free concert with a glass or three of red. The headline act was Oojami. We’d never heard of them and had no idea what to expect. The leader of the group, Necmi Cavli, is a native of Bodrum who now lives in London. They were amazing, melding traditional Turkish folk riffs, Irish fiddler’s reels, rock rhythms, rap and exotic belly dancing to create an extravagant whirling Dervish of sight and sound. It may sound like a dissonant mess to some but it was powerful and hugely hypnotic.

 

Regrettably, we weren’t around for the final day and a finale that featured a performance by three of Bodrum’s favourite sons, MFÖ. They brought down the house with their most famous song, Bodrum, Bodrum. Not heard it?

 

 

The Festival was a great success and rightly so. Plans are afoot to make the festival an annual fixture to promote a modern, progressive, cross-cultural and non-jingoistic image for the town. Şerefe to that.

More on Perking the Pansies, a comical narrative of expat life.

Sisters are Doing it for Themselves

I’ve never really got futbol. In my experience, few gay people do. Having said that, there is a Gay Football Supporters Network and London has its very own gay-friendly team, the London Titans, who play serious soccer in local leagues. So what do I know? Perhaps times are changing and the sport is finally shedding its well-trodden racist, sexist and homophobic image. I suspect the jury's still out on that one. In any case, it's too late for me. I'm set in my gay ways. The only football game I’ve ever attended was when I popped along with my sister to watch my young nephew captain his little league team in a local park. My usually calm and matriarchal sibling was transformed into a screaming harridan. Such is the intoxicating power of the beautiful game.

England gave football to the world then ruined it by exporting hooliganism. The tribal thuggery that afflicted the English game in the 80s and 90s has largely died out but is still alive and kicking in many other corners of the world. Fenerbahçe, one of Turkey’s top soccer teams, had a bit of bother with their own fans of late. Rather than play their matches behind locked gates, they decided to punish their unruly supporters by filling their stadium with women and children only. Men were persona non grata. It was a rip-roaring success that hit the headlines. The ladies electrified the good humoured ambience as they partied in the stands, sang, chanted, waved and danced. They knew all the words and all the moves. Was this a just a cynical gimmick to attract positive PR or a genuine attempt to keep the bad boys at bay and let the ladies shine? Who knows? Still, women are invading the pitch all over the world these days with their own local and national teams. Are Turkish women finally coming out of the kitchen and doing it for themselves? I do hope so. Go girls!



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We're All Mongrels Really

I was relaxing in Kahve Dünyası (Coffee World) enjoying a sütlü Americano under the welcome shade of an enormous parasol. It can be difficult to attract the attention of the waiters there. When you do, it’s better to speak in English than poorly pronounced Turkish as the lofty boys usually feign selective deafness. However, this minor irritant is worth it for the superior brew and the only place in town where a decent croissant is to be had (in fact a croissant of any sort, come to that). The complementary chocolate spoon on the side is a nice touch as well. It was Ramazan though you would hardly have known it from the chattering classes around me, sipping coffee and gorging on gossip. The café is a prime location to people watch. The marina side of town is almost exclusively populated by visiting Turks. This is where the well-heeled come to get well-oiled and the young come to party. I studied the steady stream of strollers; all ages and all types gently ambled by.

As I watched, I wondered if there was such a thing as a typical Turkish type, akin to an English rose, Celtic redhead or blond Swede. What hit me was the rich diversity of Turks, a veritable United Nations of a people, from ginger to dusky, European to oriental. It was silly of me to be surprised. Anatolia has been the crossroad of civilisations for millennia - settled, abandoned, won and lost countless times. Each phase of Anatolian history has left its DNA on the population, from the recently discovered 12,000 year old settlement at Göbekli Tepe in the East to the British yabancı marrying into the fold, and everything else in between.

No nation is racially pure. History teaches us that the invasions and migrations of the past rarely replaced the existing populations entirely. Ethnic cleansing is a modern invention. When the Germanic Angles, Saxons and Jutes settled in what was to become England, they replaced the Celtic elite, displaced some and bred with the rest. The same phenomenon occurred during the Scandinavian invasions right across the British Isles. Dublin was founded by the Vikings. Yes, there was a bit of raping and pillaging but much less than comic books suggest. The process has been going on ever since. The truth is, we’re all mongrels really. I was left with the impression that to be Turkish is a state of mind, not a state of body.

As I pondered this question I completely forgot about the chocolate spoon that had melted all over my saucer and around the base of my coffee cup. A concerned waiter rushed over with extra serviettes and helped me clean up the gooey brown mess. Perhaps the waiters at Kahve Dünyası aren’t so bad after all.

More on Perking the Pansies a comical narrative of expat life.

Painting the Town Pink

Gümbet is something else – Blackpool with a Turkish tan. I vowed after our last visit that I’d rather watch paint dry than spend another night there, but it does have one small enticement – a gay bar – a bone fide watering hole for happy homosexuals. It took us a while to find Murphy’s Gay Clup (sic). Presumably it was an Oirish theme pub in a previous existence. It was hidden along a sad little side street off the main drag, and we entered the place with apprehension, anticipating the heady aroma of tinsel and testosterone. We found a half decent, half-filled bar, populated mostly with young fey after work Turks huddled in camp conclave, a few off-duty taxi drivers twiddling with their tashes and the odd bemused bi-curious tourist in search of furtive titillation. Liam couldn’t stop giggling at some of the punters. It reminded me of  London in the seventies.  At least we didn’t have to knock on the door to gain entry. We stayed awhile and yes, it was kinda fun in a retro kinda way.

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All Work and No Play...

…makes Jack a dull boy. What kind of mad masochist tries to write a book in 40 plus heat? What kind of fool loses a glorious summer to the written word unless it’s Driving Over Lemons around a cool pool with a G&T, ice and a slice? That fool is me. My work is done. Well, at least the latest re-draft is. You may be surprised how different it is from the blog. It’s our full story, warts and all. Now, it’s over to my in-house editor Liam to use his big red pen to correct my flabby grammar, revise my pitiful punctuation and enrich my penniless plot. Tearing my minor masterpiece to shreads may be done with the best of intentions but I fear a few creative skirmishes along the way.

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Remembering 9/11

You’d have to be in a coma or living in the rainforest of Papua New Guinea not to know it’s the 10^th anniversary of 9/11. There are a number of momentous events that have characterised modern history and changed our world forever - Waterloo, the Great War, the Great Depression, Pearl Harbor, the Holocaust, Stalingrad, Hiroshima and then the Twin Towers. These events define the age. Almost all involved brutality and slaughter – man’s inhumanity to man. Few will forget that fateful day. Most can remember where they were and what they were doing. I know I can. I watched in silent horror. This changes everything, I thought with typically restrained British understatement. The Cold War may be over but a new ideological conflict was about to start in deadly earnest.

Not since January 1815 when 1,500 British troops attacked a thinly defended American battery on Georgia's coast* has any foreigner attacked the American mainland. To be sure there had been terrorist atrocities before but the scale of the aerial strikes on the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon were of an entirely different order using two of the most potent symbols of western technological supremacy - the passenger jet and the skyscraper. It’s made America jittery and defensive. Moslems across the West are vilified as the new reds under the bed and the loose talk of jihad and crusades makes our fragile and fractious world an infinitely more dangerous place. Be afraid.

*The British then proceeded to sack the nearby town of St. Mary's and burn its fort before departing just weeks later. The hostilities marked the last invasion and occupation of the U.S. mainland by foreign troops. The fighting was all the more remarkable because the War of 1812 (when the British tried to burn down the White House) had ended a month earlier with the Treaty of Ghent. By the time the invaders pulled out, even Andrew Jackson's victory over the British at New Orleans - often considered the final battle of the war - was history. It had taken a month for word of peace to make its way across the Atlantic to both British and American forces.

Source: The Archaeological Institute of America

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No Arab Spring for Syria

No Arab Spring for Syria

I came across the blog of a young gay Syrian called Sami. He writes with great courage and eloquence about his plight as gay man in an Arab state and his profound worry about his family as the Assad regime continues its march of murderous oppression. At first I was a little suspicious after the hoax blog by a Syrian lesbian that turned out to be an American writer living in Scotland. Now I’m convinced it’s genuine. As with the entire Arab world, being gay in Syria is illegal and punishment is severe. Of course man on man action is virtually obligatory as access to the fairer sex is restricted before marriage, and sheep are hard to find in Damascus. Boys will be boys after all. Just don’t say gay. Well, at least they don’t string them up like they do in Saudi Arabia and non-Arab Iran so that’s alright then. Gay rights are human rights and humans rights are thin on the ground for anyone in Syria right now.

Sami writes:

The regime is still killing in Hama – yesterday they started assassinating doctors to increase fatalities. They are slowly killing my nephew, and killing me in the process. The only image that is in my mind now is of his smile when he calls my name and says, ‘You draw a cat, I draw a dog’. Syrian Gay Guy

I posted a few words of support on Sami’s blog. It was the least I could do. It’s a small, small thing I did as we watch the body count grow.

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We're All Asians Really

Geographically, Anatolian Turkey is in Asia and Thracian Turkey is in Europe. A simple glance at a map confirms it. Istanbul is not called the city that straddles two continents for nothing. For commercial convenience the whole of Turkey is often classified as Europe for such things as travel insurance and flights. Lonely Planet lists Turkey under Eastern Europe and the Caucasus when it is part of neither (apart from Thrace). Is Turkey also part of the Middle East? This is less clear since this is an ill-defined term that always includes Arabic countries but may or may not include the nations of North Africa who speak Arabic and may or may not include non-Arabic Iran. Where does Cyprus fit in? It’s closer to Asia than to Europe and the Greek side is part of the European Union (nominally on behalf of the whole Island but that’s another story).

Does any of it matter? Certainly not to long gone conquerors who marched across Asia Minor from all points of the compass at the drop of a helmet. Take a look at this to see what I mean.

It only matters to me when trying to catch the weather forecast on BBC World. The Beeb doesn't seem to know where Turkey is either and generally ignores us altogether. Consider this. Geologically, Europe isn’t a continent at all. It’s an appendage to Asia with an arbitrary border drawn along the Ural and Caucasus Mountains. Those in the know describe the entire landmass as Eurasia. We’re all Asians really.

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Letter to America

I’m forever amazed at the growing popularity of Perking the Pansies across the pond. My inconsequential witterings tell the tale of two middle-aged gay men in a faraway Moslem land written in a peculiarly British carry on style laced with low wit and attempted irony. Let’s face it it’s a minority sport. I’ve published the odd piece about my visits of yesteryear to the Land of the Free but beyond that I can’t see the appeal. So who are you my Yankee pansy fans? Are you mainly expat Brits living in America or genuine Yankee doodle dandies attracted to the semi-gay theme in a fag frat pack sort of way? Does the expat perspective resonate for global nomads wherever they are? Perhaps you just like it because it’s funny or well-observed (or both or neither). Or maybe you’re just waiting for us to be clapped in irons for outraging public morals, or worse (as would happen in some other Moslem countries).

You may have read that I’m writing a book that’s due out at Christmas. God knows I'm been banging on about it enough. It’s the best of the blog and mixed with the same ingredients but tells our emigrey tale with extra spice and more depth. I doubt it’ll make my fortune but I’d like it to do well. Of course, I’d love it to fly off the shelves. The trouble is I don’t know what American shelves it might fly off from. I’d really like to know why you read my inane and irreverent ramblings. If you have the time and the inclination please leave a comment on this post, add a few words to my Faceache page or drop me a line at jackscott.bodrum@gmail.com. I’m not fishing for complements (though all will be gratefully received). If you have any marketing tips I’d like to hear about these too.

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London Cleans Up After Riots

The nasty riots that raged across London and other cities seem to have thankfully abated. There’s been a lot of easy talk about Broken Britain and knee-jerk reactions from here today, gone tomorrow politicians with their silly sound-bites who play to the gallery. What’s broken can be fixed but it takes everyone to do their bit. The indomitable spirit of the overwhelming number of Brits of all hues will overcome those who trash their own.

This is an incredible amateur video of a brave woman who challenged the rioters. If you don't like swearing then I suggest you don't watch this clip.

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Turkey Then and Now

Majestic Turkey is simply sublime. For countless millennia, the noble landscape has been wrought by Mother Nature at her most pissed off. A couple of weeks ago we felt a couple of minor tremors that for just a split second rocked our little stone cottage in the heart of old Bodrum Town. It was a gentle reminder about who’s boss. My first impression of Turkey way back in 1995 was how green it was. I was expecting tectonic drama but not iridescent lushness. That was my ignorance. I should’ve done my homework. We’d booked our introduction to Asia Minor through Simply Turkey, then a top-notch independent travel company, now just another part of a multi-national faceless cattle-conglomerate. We lodged in a modest whitewashed villa adjacent to the tiny hamlet of Taşbükü on the Datça Peninsula about a 30 minute drive from Marmaris. Our rep was a gorgeous young woman called Ruth who’d married a local lad and knew her stuff. Her enthusiasm was infectious and her knowledge encyclopaedic. We wallowed in rapture for two weeks, bathed in the gulf of shimmering turquoise, breakfasted in the tumble-down amphitheatre on Cleopatra’s Island (Sedir Island) and star gazed on cheap plonk. Well it was cheap back then. Ruth helped us plan a two day excursion to Ephesus stopping overnight in sleepy Selçuk and buzzing Bodrum. Turkey gently seduced me with a warm welcome and an incomparable backdrop. There started an unlikely chain of events leading me to the here and now. Ruth, I wonder where you are now?

Turkey today is a different place, still welcoming with an incomparable backdrop, but different. I now live in a politically resurgent and economically vibrant nation. I’m delighted my foster home is no longer a financial basket case with rampant inflation and a dodgy currency with more zeros than the Greek bailout. I’m pleased there are growing economic opportunities for the young and better security for the old. However, progress inevitably comes at a price. I’m irritated by the runaway and poorly focused over-development, half-built ugly erections and piles of builder’s rubble that are fly-tipped along pretty country lanes. It seems paradoxical to me that Turks who are so rightly proud of their country sometimes show scant regard for their countryside. Every now and then I feel that I’ve left a place where people casually chuck their rubbish out of car windows only to move to a place where people casually chuck their rubbish out of car windows. Okay, it ain’t murder but it ain’t pretty either.

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Riots in London

London's burning and the rising anger felt by most about the three nights of viral riots that escalated across the Capital and other major British cities is understandable. It’s easy to take a lock ‘em up and throw away the key attitude to those stupid people binging on recreational looting and casual arson. Even a bleeding heart pinko liberal like me feels a sense of revulsion when witnessing inner city hoodies in designer trainers, wielding iron bars and Blackberries and rampaging through the streets. I’ve read calls for social networks like Twitter and Facebook to be closed down as if this was the problem. It isn’t. I’ve heard people ask ‘Where are the water cannons?’ There aren’t any. I’ve read calls for the army to clear the streets. I’ve even heard calls for the imposition of martial law. Britain isn’t Syria. However, Britain is France and these riots bear an uncanny resemblance to those that engulfed Paris and other French cities in 2005. Let’s try and keep a sense of proportion. Of course, law and order must be firmly restored but then we need to examine the why. Is this a case of sub-class, out of control feral kids with little care for their families or communities? Or is it a case of a lost-generation, disenfranchised youth with few prospects and a bleak future? Like most things the truth lies somewhere in between.

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Welcome to Pansyland

I completed the Ultimate Blog Challenge which was to post every day during July. I blog daily on my main Perking the Pansies site anyway so it wasn't much of a challenge to be honest. Well done to everyone who participated. A pat on the back from Jack to one and all. I came across a couple of interesting sites and may have picked up a few extra pansy fans along the way. It's difficult to be certain about numbers as my posts on Amy Winehouse and Gay Marriage sent my hits through the roof - 4,500 for these two posts alone. The Amy Winehouse piece was so successful that I'm thinking of concentrating on obituaries from now on and will be scouring the pages of the London Times for the recently deceased. The posts also attracted some great comments. However, there was one that I didn't publish. Some sicko wrote something truly vile about Ms Winehouse. I trashed it. I can do that. It's my site. Hopefully one or two of these  pansy novices liked what they read and will come back for more. Not the sicko, though. He's not welcome in Pansyland.

Brassed Off

The Turkish top brass have resigned en-masse. Is this a sign that the days of military coups are over or an indication of trouble to come? In a mature democracy elected leaders appoint the military leaders not the other way round. The New York Times has published a piece on this unprecedented event. The article itself is well balanced as would be expected from a well respected newspaper. However, the comments from some of the readers show a staggering level of ignorance.Also from across the pond, An American think tank, the University of New York Centre for Global Affairs, has just published a report of its predictions for Turkey’s political situation by 2020. They see three possible scenarios emerging:

Scenario One - Illiberal Islamism
The Justice and Development Party (AKP) consolidates its power by capitalizing on the weakness of the secularist opposition, responding to the demands of the conservative urban lower-middle class, and building an alliance with the Islamist Felicity Party (SP). By 2020, Sunni Islam is the most powerful force in domestic and foreign policy, to the exclusion of minority views.

Scenario Two - Illiberal Secularism
The AKP faces socio-economic challenges, increasing resistance to its Islamist tendencies, and a deteriorating security situation. This creates an opportunity for the Republican People’s Party (CHP) to come to power, with the support of the military and the National Movement Party (MHP). The new coalition espouses a strong, secure, and secular Turkey. In pursuing these goals, however, it tends toward authoritarianism.

Scenario Three - Political Pluralism
The AKP loses support when it fails to mitigate Turkey’s socio-economic problems. Dissatisfaction prompts civil society and political parties to begin coalescing around new approaches to the economy, corruption, regional development, and governance. Politics becomes more competitive, forcing parties to compromise in order to build governing coalitions, and the polarization between secularist and Islamist forces gives way to pragmatism.

Their analysis, it seems, is that Turkey may slide towards religious authoritarianism or secular repression or become more democratically progressive. Talk about covering all the bases. I’m no political pundit but really, I could have come up with this myself on the back of a fag packet. To think people pay good money for this. I'm in the wrong game. Should we be worried? Don’t ask me.

Gay Marriage in New York

I’ve been following the debate about civil unions across the pond with interest and bemusement. America was founded on the noble principle that all men are born equal (although, at the time this sentiment didn’t extend to slaves or women). The States is not called the Land of the Free for nothing. Last month New York State legalised same sex marriage, the most populous state ever to have done so. New York has now joined a small select group that includes Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont, as well as the District of Columbia. Because it’s New York, New York where Lady Liberty shines her torch the event has been widely reported across the globe. It’s even hit the media here in Turkey.

I assume I’m correct in thinking that a same sex union registered in New York has no legal standing in those states that do not recognise such relationships or have positively banned them. So it’s okay to be a child African bride, a forced Pakistani bride or a polygamous Arab but it’s not okay for two consenting adult Americans to decide who their significant other should be. What a strange situation. There will always be people who object to same sex relationships on moral or religious grounds. They are entitled to their views but are not entitled to force them on others. The wish of some to form a romantic bond with a member of the same sex is a personal issue. The legal recognition of it does not lead to anarchy and Armageddon.

What of my homeland? Civil partnerships were introduced in United Kingdom in 2004 which give same-sex couples rights and responsibilities identical to civil marriage. New Labour may well have put the country in hock for the next century but they did deliver a radical and comprehensive equal rights agenda. This was truly historic and I believe history will judge it so. About time too. I had become thoroughly fed up with a society that expected me to pay all my dues in return for second class citizenship and semi-rights. Liam and I married in 2008.

What of my fosterland? Homosexuality is not mentioned in the Turkish legal code and so gay people live in a kind of legal limbo neither protected nor persecuted, officially anyway. The Turkish Government has made it abundantly clear that it has no intention of introducing equal rights for lesbian and gay Turks. I have to add, our obvious union has never received a bad vibe from the Turks around us. If anything the reverse has been true. As non-Moslem heathens we’re Hell-bound anyway so it matters little what we do.

America is not perfect, no country is, but it is a beacon of freedom and hope for people from less blessed lands. Some people are gay. It’s just the way it is.

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I Believe the Children are our Future

For all the fast talk of political Islam and a return to piety there truly are two sides to this magnificent resurgent nation. Istanbul’s Kadir Has University clearly has a modern, progressive curriculum that allows students to express themselves in words and music in a fun and inclusive way. I’ve picked three great examples of this. The first two are uplifting romps that had us rolling in the aisles. The third brought us to our feet.


Yes, this really is a duet with Jennifer Saunders, presumably remixed from Shrek 2.


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Amy Winehouse RIP

I’m off my Turkey message to commemorate Amy Winehouse who died yesterday of a suspected drugs overdose. Her meteoric rise to fame and rapid descent into Hell was tragically predictable. Her seminal album Back to Black is work of a genius with lyrics laced with sorrow and utter desperation. Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and Janis Joplin and now Amy - all died at the same age. It’s not called the 27 Club for nothing. She just couldn't come back from the black. Let’s hope she’ll be remembered more for her art and less for her addictions.

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Deliver Us From Delirium

I really don't know how the empire builders did it. Those buttoned up Victorians in heavy drapes must have been made of sterner stuff. It's 103 in old money and we've like a pair of camp vampires only venturing out between the hours of sunset and dawn. Our sofa radiates heat like embers from a dying grate, the home entertainment system has gone on strike and the top floor of the house has become an oven which our useless ceiling fan only assists. It’s been completely abandoned save for our clothes which radiate heat as if just removed from a tumble dryer. We take regular cold showers and Liam’s only bound copy of his treasured composition for string quartet is employed as a fan stand in an attempt to dry our clammy old hides. We move slowly. This is not the climate in which to do anything quickly. We've never been keen on air conditioning. In our old Yalıkavak house on the hill we were able to leave our windows ajar to be cooled by the constant sea breeze. The mozzie net protected us from assaults by the squadrons of bloodthirsty bugs. Bodrum is a different kettle of fish. Twenty four hour traffic and a constant throng demands that windows are kept firmly shut at night. We can bear no longer our glowing bed and the nightly rite of sleepless sweats so we've relaxed our aversion to air-con. We procured a unit from a local store. The following day a child arrived to install it. The pre-pubescent boy stared at our 18 inch thick uneven stone and concrete walls in absolute horror, shaking his head and fumbling despondently with his woefully inadequate tools.

Liam rang our landlady for assistance. Canny Hanife arrived with plums in hand, quickly followed by husband and son. For good measure our neighbours also joined the jolly fray. A Typically Turkish passionate and gesticulated debate ensued around our marital bed. We left them to it and put the kettle on. Eventually, the Turkish Jury awarded nil point to the child and his woefully inadequate tools and cast him out into the street. Off we went on another flight of fancy. The wall mounted unit was exchanged for a mobile machine which is vented out of a window. Another bloody catastrophe. The contraption did reduce the ambient temperature to almost sleep-able levels but it was like berthing next to the engine room of a cross channel ferry.

After weeks of sleep deprivation, we finally solved our debilitating predicament with the installation of a wall mounted air conditioning unit in the ground floor spare room where the walls are of standard girth. We’ve abandoned our marital bed with its superior sprung mattress for the rest of the summer. No matter, the gentle cooling hum has delivered us from delirium.

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Turkey's Got Talent

Sit back and enjoy a joyous discovery brought to you by You Tube and Yankee Istanbul blog Death by Dolmuş


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