Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Houston, We Have Lift-off
Thursday, 10 November 2011
Polari Literary Review
*For a quick lesson in Polari slang check out Trolling on the Net.
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Tuesday, 18 October 2011
The Dorothy Dollar and the Pink Pound
What do you think?

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Monday, 10 October 2011
Jamey Roddemeyer, RIP
Unfortunately it didn't get better for Jamey. On Sunday 18th 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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Thursday, 29 September 2011
Sisters are Doing it for Themselves
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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Wednesday, 21 September 2011
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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Wednesday, 7 September 2011
No Arab Spring for Syria
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Gay Marriage in New York
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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Monday, 23 May 2011
Cappuccinos and Rent Boys
I fancied a trip to the Roman agora, the largest market place ever excavated from the period. We rambled through the modern pazar and delighted in confounding the hawkers by responding to their catcalls in German, French, Spanish, and a little Turkish, anything but English. We found the agora remains on the wrong side of the tracks and gazed through the railings. Having been spoilt by the glory of Ephesus, I’m afraid an enormous hole on the ground with a few old stones randomly scattered about looking like London after the Blitz really didn’t impress. We didn’t bother going in.
Alsancak is where the few gay bars are to be found. We had done our internet research and went in pursuit of the shameful twilight world of Turkish deviants. It was hopeless. We found only one dismal little dive bar down some dark alley. It was a tawdry, dirty, virtually empty and pounded by ear-splitting techno. The drinks were absurdly expensive and even the ‘free’ bar snacks came at a price with a specially prepared bill of their own. The apathetic bar staff were so bored they poured alcohol on the bar and set it alight for a laugh. Taking a leak was a surreal experience as the entrance to the toilet was guarded by a head scarfed granny in pantaloons demanding a lira to spend a penny. The few punters were predatory, rough rent boys in cheap shell suits looking for punters of their own. As they began to circle us like a pack of hyenas, we knew it was time to leave. We sprinted to the entrance fully expecting it to be locked. Thankfully, it wasn’t. That was Izmir.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Yankee Pranks
- Me, yes really
Gay life in Washington was a world away from recession-ravaged buttoned up Britain with its grubby backstreet gay bars. It's taken London 30 years to catch up. I loved it and it loved me. I was young and handsome with cheekbones that could slice cheese. My hosts lapped me up and I let them. I wowed the randy scamps in Rascals, a popular watering hole and pick up joint for federal employees near Dupont Circle. They just loved my accent, along with my uncut assets.
Alas, I sensed I was overstaying my welcome and my reluctant landlord feared I would claim squatters rights. My low-key patriotism also annoyed him. He rather expected me to be enamoured with all things American. I really liked what I saw but I had learned patriotism from my soldier father’s knee and have never been able to shake it off. After a few weeks living the American dream I pined for the old country and flew home on BA.
To this day I remain quietly patriotic, though not nationalistic. To be proud of where you are from is fine but to think you’re a cut above is not. This is a message some emigreys hereabouts would do well to hear. I wonder though, if I had settled Stateside, what would have become of me?
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Saturday, 30 April 2011
Something for the Weekend, Sir?
Our genteel Bodrum barber is a far cry from Liam’s first skirmish with a Turkish coiffeur. The fun began on the final full day of our gloriously romantic honeymoon in splendid KaÅŸ. I persuaded Liam to join me in the exotic pleasure of a Turkish shave, an indulgence I have enjoyed many times on previous visits to Asia Minor.
The barbershop boys saw us coming, and we were mobbed by eager young bucks queuing up to service us. The routine began innocently enough – an efficient double shave with a cut throat razor followed by ear and nose fuzz skilfully dispatched with a flaming cotton bud soaked in petrol. I thought it unusual to find that we were stripped of our tops for the neck and shoulder rub. My young man asked if I would prefer a full body massage in the little room at the back of the shop. I naïvely accepted thinking nothing untoward could occur in a busy barbershop on a main thoroughfare.
He led me into the room and lay me face down on the padded table. His expert hands kneaded and pounded my torso into rapturous submission, and my mind wandered into semi-trance. The spell was rudely broken by a tug of my shorts, which were unceremoniously whipped off in a single movement. I had gone commando that day which rather startled my young masseur but which only added to his vigour. His pummelling went into overdrive. I opened my eyes fleetingly to find him standing to my side inches from my face, shirtless, scarlet-faced, sweating like a dray horse and obviously aroused. For the remainder of the rubdown, I kept my eyes firmly shut and my arms religiously tucked to my side for fear of displaying the slightest encouragement. It was my honeymoon, after all.
Meanwhile, Liam was relishing an upper body rub. However, he became alarmed when the crimper's fingers started to walk south towards the small of Liam’s back, playfully plucking the waistband of his shorts and continuing their passage into the abyss. Liam grabbed the boy’s wrist firmly giving a whole new meaning to the word hayır.
It is not hard to imagine what raced through Liam’s mind as he endured the grunting, murmuring and bed squeaking that emanated from the back room. Shortly afterwards, my tellak and I emerged into the light, me shaking uncontrollably, he drenched in sweat. We concluded our business with a quasi-post-coital cigarette.
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Saturday, 23 April 2011
It's OK to be Different
During the summer months whole caravans of young men with spring loaded libidos and the any port in a storm mentality begin their annual migration to the coast looking for casual work and casual sex. I know that in societies where there is strong gender separation and girls are expected to protect their virtue, access to sexual shenanigans is limited to a hand shandy from the boy next door. But, some of these poor fellas are like coiled springs. The frustration is palpable.
And why give it away when there is a little profit to be made? Even the nicest people join the gay for pay brigade because doing it for cash rather than for pleasure is the best way to avoid guilt by association. You see, these men do not consider themselves to be gay. The thought of it would disgust them. And, in the conventional sense, few are. It seems that a familiar fumble with the boys is tolerated if absolute discretion is exercised. It is certainly not an obstacle to marriage. And so, come the end of the season, the boys return to their villages to overwinter, marry their cousins and breed. When spring is in the air they re-join the exodus back to the coast to pick up where they left off. It’s all done without a moment’s thought.
What really intrigues me is the sizeable number of older married Turks who get their jollies in hamams and the like. Perhaps, an instant and uncomplicated dalliance reminiscent of a distant youth is a welcome distraction from the never ending drudgery of domestic convention. Or, perchance, there is some truth in the old Ottoman adage that women are for procreation and men are for recreation.
There is, of course, a fundamental distinction between sex and sexuality though lazy thinkers often confuse the two. A world of difference exists between a quickie with a passing stranger and the profound desire to form a romantic and emotional bond with a member of the same gender. This is where the grief starts. Turkey provides a challenge to the free-spirited wishing to live unconventionally. Stifling social conformity redolent of fifties Britain means that it takes a very brave (or desperate) person indeed to break free. The penalty ranges from exile to death, literally. Honour killings are more common than people realise. Consequently, openly gay Turks in visible same sex relationships are as rare as ginger imams. And I don’t think it’s anything to do with class or education. In London, I know two Turkish men, both gay but from opposite ends of the social spectrum – one from an urban, middle class educated family, the other from an Eastern village community. Both felt compelled to leave the land of their birth to live a free and open life. Both lie to their families.
Soon after we arrived, we heard the tragic story of a waiter who, by all accounts, was a kind and gentle soul and a little bit fey. He had done his duty by marrying, siring children and sending most of his meagre earnings home to support them. One early morning he was walking home through pretty, sleepy Yalıkavak having finished his shift. He was set on by three teenagers who robbed and murdered him. It’s a terrifying tale and, of course, queer bashing can happen anywhere. However, what makes this case unusual is that he was raped first.
The political establishment hardly helps. In the spring of 2009 the Turkish minister responsible for children’s services called homosexuality a disease that could be cured. To be fair it caused quite a stir in the press and in the Government. Her comments were contradicted by the Minister for Health and there was a small demonstration in Istanbul – very Stonewall. At the time it made us review our decision to relocate ro Turkey. But we came anyway.
Added to this, the current Government and the main opposition party have recently made it very clear that they have no intention of introducing legislation to protect the LGBT community or to recognise same sex unions. Part of the problem, I think, is the absence of a liberal tradition within the Turkish body politic. In the West liberalism has a moderating influence on those populist politicians, both left and right who play to the gallery and appeal to the fears of the ignorant.
I am not saying dear old Blighty represents some sort of nirvana of equality. It doesn’t. Only recently during the last British general election, Tory candidate for Sutton and Cheam, Philippa Stroud claimed that the demon of homosexuality could be overcome through the power of prayer. Ms Stroud would do better to fall to her knees and pray for something worthwhile, like a cure for cancer or world peace.
I must add that my obvious union with Liam has never attracted bad publicity from any Turk. I assume, as non-Moslem foreigners, we are infidels and Hell-bound anyway so it hardly matters what we do. Ironically, the only disapproving glances we receive are from some of the expats. It is more lazy thinking to assume that Turkey, as a Moslem country, is incurably afflicted by the same fixed biblical attitudes of many of its Arab neighbours. Turkey is not Saudi Arabia. I tend to compare my newly adopted country with Eastern Europe, nations on their own journey to modernity. Being gay in the Baltic republics or Bulgaria is hardly a walk in the park either but this is slowly changing. Think Spain following Franco’s death or Ireland after Catholicism lost its iron grip. Turkey is a magical land graced by a rich culture, gorgeous people and a love of family which I truly honour. A respect for difference will not destroy that. It’s ok to be queer. It won’t bring down the house though it might bring in a little more style.
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Thursday, 21 April 2011
Perking the Pansies Bound and Ungagged
Perking the Pansies has attracted quite a bit of media interest so I decided to launch my own website as I try to launch my career as a freelance writer. You can find it here.
Are We Mad?
Just imagine the absurdity of two openly gay, recently ‘married’ middle aged, middle class men escaping the liberal sanctuary of anonymous London to relocate to a Muslim country even one that is secular and practises a moderate and state-controlled form of Islam.
Turkey is a country familiar to many Brits: the beer swigging tattooed tourist seeking cheap fun in the sun with chips on the side and those of a more scholarly hue that wonder at the unparalleled scale and depth of Anatolian culture and history. Türkiye means ‘land of the strong’ an old Turkic/Arabic compound; Anatolia translates as ‘sunrise’ from ancient Greek. Both poetic epitaphs are fitting depictions of a place blessed with striking physical beauty, shaped by the brutal force of nature and fought over, won and lost by conquistadors across all of recorded time. Turkey is a true crossroad of civilisations, the evidence of which lies casually underfoot.I decided to chronicle our exploits with the mad, the sad, the bad and the glad in a blog for the whole world to ignore. Since most Turkish travelogues we have read tend to be worthy, insipid or both, I decided I would try and stir things up with something a little less reverential and lot more controversial.
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