A long weekend...

With both Friday and Monday off work, last weekend was a lovely and relaxing one spent mooching in and around Manchester with Howard. I managed to squeeze in several long runs along the Rochdale Canal and around Milnrow, we camped it up on Canal St, we saw some theatre and enjoyed a lengthy walk on Sunday around the local network of reservoirs.

Following a long run along the Canal and back into Milnrow, Friday was a lazy day spent reading, drinking and eating. I've not read any fiction in a while so how wonderful to get lost in Robert Harris' book, Fatherland. It's totally compelling. The evening dissolved into lots of wine, a lovely risotto and some plums stewed in sherry with cinnamon. Who'd have thought that sitting on my arse all day could be such fun? Heaven.

Saturday was spent in Manchester itself. After a scamper past the Christmas Market tat, a quick lunch and a detour to Harvey Nichols, where we drowned each other in Terre d'Hermès, we made our way to Canal St for a drink or two (well, maybe three or four). The evening was spent watching Dickie Beau's one man show, Blackouts: Twilight of the Idols. We really didn't know what to expect but I'm so pleased we saw it. Time Out described it as, "the drag show at the end of the world". It was funny and moving and absolutely gorgeous; well worth a trip to the end of the world and certainly worth the cock stride to the Contact Theatre down Oxford Road.

After a substantial breakfast on Sunday, we headed East out of Milnrow, under the M62 and toward the string of reservoirs in the hills. The weather was clear, the skies were blue and we weren't the only ones enjoying the unseasonably good weather.

Despite being reasonably fit, after Sunday's walk I had legs like whips. You certainly use different muscles on a 4 hr walk in the hills than you do when running, cycling or swimming. Negotiating stairs on Monday morning was a painful and dangerous activity.

Monday was a mirror to Friday; after an early morning run, I spent most of the day in a chilled state of relaxation; reading, drinking and eating. In the late afternoon we set off into Manchester, for me to get my train home to Welsh Wales. We stopped for a drink or three on Canal St to toast a splendid weekend.

I'll leave you with this performance by Dickie Beau that I found on You Tube. Go see him if you get the chance.

1 Year Ago:

My inner demon...

A Berlin Diary...

+ Thursday 4th October
I arrive at Schönefeld Airport, southeast of the city, in the late afternoon amid darkening skies. After a 25 minute train journey through Ostbahnhof, Alexanderplatz and Friedrichstraße stations, I eventually arrive at the Hauptbahnhof. This is Berlin's main railway station and is known locally as the glass cathedral. Leaving the station in heavy rain and high winds, I can't help but think that were this the UK, they'd have issued a severe weather warning and cancelled the trains. This being Germany, everything runs smoothly and on time.

I walk the 5 minute journey across the bridge over the canal and down Invalidenstraße to the Adina Hotel. Thanks to an email from Howard pointing out that I turn 50 during my stay, I've been upgraded... Yay! After unpacking, I trace my planned running route for the week. I shelter from the drizzle to enjoy a lovely pasta dish (with much red wine) at Roma, a basic Italian restaurant on Friedrichstraße before retracing my steps to the hotel and retiring to bed.

+ Friday 5th October
My early morning run down through the Tiergarten and back up through the Brandenburg Gate, past the Reichstag and over the Spree is, quite literally, breathtaking. After a wonderful breakfast, the morning consists of a visit to the house in Schöneberg where Christopher Isherwood rented a room and wrote his Berlin novels. This I follow by a skip past Neues Ufer, the gay bar Bowie and Iggy Pop once hung out at.

The afternoon sees me visit every Zara outlet in Berlin in search of a check shirt that I first saw in Cardiff. My quest isn't a complete waste of time: I see Pariser Platz, Potsdamer Platz, Leipziger Platz, Alexanderplatz and everything in between. I think I even pass Marlene Dietrich Platz at one point (but maybe I'm dreaming). I'm thrilled and excited to discover that Alexanderplatz has a branch of C&A (this takes me back...).

That night I eat in Pas´Qua, a tiny basement Italian on Auguststraße. Lovely food and, again, too much red wine. As I totter up the road, I pass an upmarket fancy-dress shop called Maskworld on Oranienburger Straße. I leave 5 minutes later with a ginger afro on which I've just spent €45. The hidden costs of drinking!

+ Saturday 6th October
A very early run, accompanied (part way) by a fox along the Spree embankment, is followed by my first of 3 visits over the coming week to the Reichstag (don't ask). The weather is awful and so views from the dome are non existent, however, you cannot fail to be impressed by the building itself. This, in turn, I follow with a brisk but damp walk to Berliner Dom, taking in Gendarmenmarkt (very neoclassical) and Bebelplatz (very wrapped in scaffolding) along the way. Berliner Dom is a very big church and, other than that, I can't find much else to recommend it.

Next, a visit to the Museum of Photography: If you like huge prints of 70s style glamour shots of nude women, this place is heaven. I don't and it isn't. This is followed by a visit to the Contemporary Art Museum, housed at Hamburger Bahnhof (some impressive Warholes and a couple of Lichtensteins keep me happy). In the evening to the Berliner Philharmonie for a wonderful performance of Wagner and Beethoven by the Berliner Philharmoniker led by Bernard Haitink. I float on air all the way back to my hotel.

+ Sunday 7th October

After an early run and a long lazy breakfast, a morning walk to the house Bertolt Brecht and Helen Weigel shared on Chauseestraße. Today Howard joins me in Berlin. At midday I meet him at the Hauptbahnhof and then to Hackesche Höfe for brunch together. This is followed by a leisurely stroll through the Tiergarten, past the embassies, the Sony Centre, the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, the Memorial to Homosexuals Persecuted Under Nazism, the Führerbunker (site of Hitler's bunker), the Brandenburg Gate and, finally, my 2nd visit to the Reichstag - very atmospheric in the failing light. The evening sees us eat at the basic Italian, Roma, I'd visited on my first night in Berlin.

+ Monday 8th October

A quick run and breakfast is followed by a trip to Alexanderplatz for a visit to the beautiful Fernsehturm. Great views but I'm more impressed with the 1960s GDR decor inside. Next a train to the East Side Gallery then back to Alexanderplatz for the DDR Museum and a chance to sit in a Trabant - very cramped. From here, a train to the Olympiastadion - undoubtedly a beautiful building; epic, simple, strong and impressive but ultimately, I can't help but feel, rather sinister.

In the evening we eat in Kellerrestaurant im Brechthaus; it occupies the cellar of the house Bertolt Brecht and Helene Weigel shared and which I visited the day before. Lots of photos of Brecht and some wonderful food, made all the better by the friendly staff and the fact that they cook vegetarian dishes especially for me because they have little vegetarian choice on the menu.

+ Tuesday 9th October
Today I am 50. I never thought I'd live so long! This thought occupies me as I run around the Reichstag. A shower, a long breakfast and some card opening and gift unwrapping before we head out to the Pergamon Museum. This museum is seriously impressive with its Pergamon Gate, Market Gate of Miletus and Ishtar Gate - all massive in size; they really take your breath away.

We then hot-foot it to the Neues Museum in search of the bust of Nefertiti, followed by a quick visit to the Alte Nationalgalerie. In the afternoon we trek out to the Schwules (Gay) Museum but it's closed - out and proud 7 days a week apart from Tuesdays when it's a bit closeted! Still, a pleasant walk and a welcome relief from the objet d'art. Back at the hotel for a quick dip and sauna before getting a taxi to Alpenstuek, a restaurant on Gartenstraße. A lovely evening thanks to Howard. Happy birthday to me!

+ Wednesday 10th October
After whipping around the Reichstag on my run, we head out to the excellent Bauhaus Archive. This is followed by a marathon trek around the Gemäldegalerie's 900 paintings. Ordered chronologically, the Medieval religious art is wonderful but as we progress into later eras, I have to admit, I become blind to these masterpieces. By the time I get to Rubens I give up. Gluttons for punishment, we press on to the Neue Nationalgalerie, which by this point, quite frankly, we couldn't care less about. In the afternoon we visit the Jewish Museum, which is excellent and, at times, quite moving. It's worth a visit, not only for the contents but also the architecture of the building.

In the evening we make our way to Potsdammerplatz for the opening ceremony of the Festival of Lights. It's lovely to stand in the crowd and enjoy the spectacle. We take in some of the monuments and buildings bathed in various lighting effects as we make our way from Potsdammerplatz to Pariserplatz and onwards to Friedrichstraße and eventually Pas´Qua, the tiny basement Italian on Auguststraße that I'd eaten in on Friday. We are rewarded with good food and some unexpected entertainment, as the kitchen staff argue quite audibly.

+ Thursday 11th October
After my run, we decide to pop into the Bode Museum, as we have some spare time in the morning. The building is more impressive than the art it contains. We then visit the Reichstag (my 3rd and final visit) for a guided tour, which is fascinating. The dome is closed for cleaning but we've already been there (twice!). In the afternoon we visit the Berlinische Galerie, which I've been looking forward to seeing, with its late 19th and 20th Century collection of art. Difficult and sometime bleak pieces covering some troubled times for this city.

After a shower back at the hotel we make our way to Tipi am Kranzleramt in the Tiergarten for a cabaret dinner and a show by the excellent Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. Very funny and entertaining. To bed, happy and a little bit drunk.

+ Friday 12th October
My last run around the Reichstag. The weather is beautiful. After a relaxed breakfast, we pack and check out. We spend the morning strolling through the Tiergarten and then along the Spree in the cold and clear sunshine. By lunchtime we're back at the hotel to pick up our bags before heading off out to Schönefeld Airport.

Our flights are about an hour apart: me to Bristol then Howard to Liverpool. I leave Berlin not just a year older but having somehow slipped past a half century on this earth. It has been a lovely holiday - a time to relax, unwind and ponder what this new chapter of my life will bring. During my daily runs around the Reichstag, I have thought long about concentrating on becoming a more responsible and mature person; a thought, I'm happy to say, I have whole-heartedly rejected.

1 Year Ago:

A strange day...

Don't Rain On My Parade (III)...

And so, after a rather damp Bristol Pride and a less than sunny Manchester Pride, Yahweh saw fit to bless Cardiff Mardi Gras with wall to wall sunshine on Saturday. Surely, if God agreed with Cardinal O'Brien, the leader of the Catholic Church in Scotland, that gay marriage is a grotesque subversion, he wouldn't have given us such a glorious day.

Maybe, instead, he chose to punish us in other ways; by ensuring that the the bar prices at the Mardi Gras were sky high whilst the quality of entertainment was abysmally low. I could've endured the worthy speeches had they been punctuated by something interesting to keep me occupied in between. However, some children dancing and someone from S Club 7 lip-synching and dancing rather badly just wasn't enough to keep me going. Indeed, the only thing that did sustain me was the excellent company.

In the end, despite the prohibitive prices, the alcohol won out. I was, by late afternoon, wide-eyed and legless. The promise of Heather Small topping the bill was, I have to say, a stretch too far. I had to be assisted off the field and, in an attempt to revive me, taken for something to eat at a restaurant in the town centre where I accidentally set fire to my napkin (or so I'm told).

I look forward to a better Mardi Gras in Cardiff next year where fast track queues for ticket holders move quicker than the queues for non-ticket holders, where there's a better show of entertainment throughout the day, where alcohol is priced fairly and there's more of a choice, where the food is a little more varied than chips with everything and where I'm not getting collared every 30 seconds by someone wanting me to complete a bloody survey. Having had my bitch, I must say that I'm pleased it happened and I'm glad I went. We all had a lot of fun.

1 Year Ago:

A period of re-adjustment...

Don't Rain On My Parade (II)...

Despite some initially pessimistic weather forecasts, Manchester Pride 2012 wasn't quite the wash out we were led to believe it would be. Saturday's Parade down Deansgate was bathed by blue skies to start with but got a little greyer by the time it reached the Village. There were stretches of sunshine that saw everyone spill out onto Canal Street and sudden showers that saw everyone run for cover again. Indeed, the same on/off weather persisted through much of Saturday, Sunday and well into Monday. I'm pleased to say that everyone's spirits weren't dampened by these occasional showers.

I guess many of us take Pride events for granted nowadays. Time was when they were more of a political rally than the carnival that we see today. I for one am pleased that they have become more of a fun event rather than the heavily policed, grim marches they once were. Now the police march with us. The theme this year was ‘Queer’d Science’, in honour of the centenary of the birth of Alan Turing, who was appallingly treated by the authorities over his homosexuality. How times change.

I was so pleased to see so many families out enjoying Manchester Pride over the weekend; there were so many kids at the event in the afternoon. And I was also pleased to see some pretty big companies, proud to sponsor Manchester Pride; companies such as easyJet, RBS Group, The Co-operative and Selfridges. It's a sign of acceptance; it's a sign of the times.

How disheartening then to wake on Sunday morning to the news that Cardinal O'Brien was to lead the Scottish Catholic Church in reading out a letter in each of the Church's parishes in Scotland criticising the Scottish government for plans to introduce gay marriage. How out of touch can these people get?

You may remember that Cardinal O'Brien called plans for gay marriage a "grotesque subversion" back in March. Having been part of Manchester Pride this weekend and seeing all the smiles and laughter and fun, I believe that the only grotesque subversion is the Scottish Catholic Church and Cardinal O'Brien.

After a damp Bristol Pride and the patchy weather that beset Manchester, let's hope that God sees fit to bathe Cardiff Mardi Gras this coming weekend in glorious sunshine. I'd pray for such weather, if I believed there was even the smallest outside chance that he existed.

1 Year Ago:

A little too highbrow...

Meretricious (and a happy new year)...

Sad news today to hear that Gore Vidal is dead. He was a friend of Eleanor Roosevelt, Princess Margaret, Tennesse Williams and Leonard Bernstein. He was close to John F Kennedy and confident of Jackie Kennedy. With his quick wit and brutal frankness, he often seemed the only voice of reason and critical thought to emanate from the US.

Vidal was an author, playwright, essayist, screenwriter and political activist. He wrote plays that were Broadway hits (The Best Man and Visit to a Small Planet), historical novels (Burr, 1876 and Lincoln), political essays (Armageddon? and United States: Essays 1952–1992) and film screenplays (Ben-Hur and the original draft for Caligula). His autobiography, Palimpsest is well worth digging out.

He was known for his acerbic tongue and lightning wit. Asked whether his first romantic encounter was homosexual or heterosexual, Vidal replied that he had been "too polite to ask". The BBC have put together a list of quotes to mark his death. They all display the man's sharp sense of humour.

My favorite quote is not included in the BBC's list. It goes something like:

The British writer Richard Adams, appearing alongside Vidal on That Was The Week That Was, called his work "meretricious" "Pardon?" said Vidal. "Meretricious" repeated Adams. In a split second Vidal was back at him, "Meretricious to you," he smiled, "and a happy new year."

You can find out more about Gore Vidal here.

1 Year Ago:

Where's the justice...?

Run 01/08/2012 17:29
Distance	5:01 km	Time	29:00
Pace	5:47 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Heavy downpours.

Run 30/07/2012 17:38
Distance	5:01 km	Time	30:15
Pace	6:02 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Grey.

Run 27/07/2012 16:57
Distance	5:06 km	Time	30:13
Pace	5:59 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Sunny and hot.

Don't Rain On My Parade...

Despite some initially optimistic weather forecasts, despite keeping my fingers, legs, eyes and everything else crossed and despite daily libations to the pantheon of gay gods, Bristol Pride 2012 was more than a teensy bit damp. Admittedly, the sun did put his hat on for an hour or so mid-afternoon but it was, for the most part, a rather moist and sodden affair.

Having said that, it was enormous fun. And the fun started before the parade got underway, with Bristol's first openly gay Lord Mayor posing for the cameras at the head of the parade. With his whistle in his mouth, a rainbow flag in his hand and the beginnings of some killer moves; the press lapped it up. The rain eased off for the start of the parade as we turned out of Berkeley Square and headed down Park Street. Spectators hung out of top floor flats cheering us on as we wended our way toward College Green; this ragbag mix of militant lefties, newly out twinks and seasoned old drag queens.

The heavy police presence, both at the march and especially at Temple Meads station made sense when we found out that the English Defence League were also marching through Bristol, as were anti fascist organisations. The Pride march was unaffected by the EDL's presence in the city and organisers claimed that it was one of the biggest pride marches for the city.

My friend Howard and I had traveled over together from Cardiff and met up with some other friends in Bristol. We were later joined by another friend, Darren, and an obliging Brasilian guy took the shot of us above. It really was a delightful day which was not marred by any showers that occasionally drifted through or any clouds that might have obscured the sun (we've gotten used to that this Summer, haven't we?).

You can see images of Bristol Pride here at BBC News and here at This is Bristol. Whilst we were there we had our photo taken a number of times and I found this black and white one whilst looking for pictures of the event on Google on Sunday morning (I'm the slaphead on the right). If Arena was still in business, this would be a poster!

And given this post's title, it seems only fitting to leave you with this...

1 Year Ago:

It's just not cricket...

Run 16/07/2012 18:22
Distance	5:30 km	Time	30:26
Pace	5:44 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Showers.

Run 12/07/2012 17:18
Distance	5:13 km	Time	29:52
Pace	5:50 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Showers.

Is Tom Cruise gay...?

Does anyone care...? Passing a newsagent's on my run yesterday afternoon, I couldn't help but notice how many front pages had Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes splashed all over them, following news on Friday that they are to divorce. With the current crisis besetting the Euro and the news that Barclays manipulated the Libor (and with other major banks under investigation for their part in it), you'd think we'd have something else to talk about. So, in answer to "Does anyone care...?", it seems that people care a great deal about Tom Cruise, his life and his loves.

Following the news of their break up on Friday, Twitter was awash with jokes about Tom finally getting rid of his beard (I should explain that a beard is a term for the pretend female partner a closeted gay man uses to conceal his true sexual orientation - a disguise, if you will). News like this is a goldmine for anyone who fancies themselves as a bit of a wit and Twitter, with its 140 character limit, is the ideal method of delivery for the pithy retort. The beard joke was retweeted until it was threadbare, along with numerous other twitticisms about Tom Cruise and Scientology, Tom Cruise and John Travolta, Tom Cruise's height and, of course, questions about Tom Cruise's sexuality.

Indeed, questions (and inevitably jokes) about Tom Cruise's sexuality have existed for years; they have rumbled on ever since he first entered the public eye in the early 80s. One rumour concerned an alleged homosexual affair he had during the filming of Eyes Wide Shut, the Stanley Kubrick film he made with his then wife, Nicole Kidman. When his attorney got news that letters supporting this affair were to be used in Andrew Morton's biography of Tom Cruise, warnings of legal action were issued. Indeed, his attorney's sledge hammer to crack a nut approach to quash such rumours (and also the reporting of those rumours) has, according to many, wedded the words Tom Cruise to the word gay in the public's mind.

The other word wedded to Tom Cruise is, of course, Scientology. Most of you will be aware that Tom Cruise is a prominent member of the Church of Scientology. Other celebrity members include, John Travolta, Kirstie Alley, Lisa Marie Presley, Isaac Hayes and Chick Corea. Scientology is a religion that was started in 1953 by science fiction writer, L. Ron Hubbard and his wife. Tom Cruise was introduced to Scientology in 1990 by his first wife, Mimi Rogers. Since then he has campaigned for it to be recognised as a religion in Europe. Scientology's opposition to mainstream psychiatry was highlighted when Tom Cruise said, "I think psychiatry should be outlawed". He later went on to criticise actress Brook Shields for using anti-depressants, asserting that there is no such thing as a chemical imbalance and that psychiatry is a form of pseudoscience.

Scientology teaches that people are immortal spiritual beings who have forgotten their true nature. Hubbard's views on homosexuality were that it is an aberration and that homosexuals are dangerous to society. In its early history, the Church of Scientology claims to have cured a number of ailments, including "overt homosexuality" by the application of Dianetics - a "science of the mind" that Hubbard invented and is practiced by followers of Scientology (Cruise claims it cured his dyslexia). Has the Church of Scientology changed its stance on homosexuality in recent years? They claim not to dictate sexual preferences but the San Diego branch of the church recently supported Proposition 8, a movement to ban gay marriage in California. If Tom Cruise were gay, he would find himself at odds with a number of his fellow Scientologists.

And it's not just his pronouncements on Scientology that have attracted controversy. Perhaps the most memorable interview Tom Cruise has ever done was the Oprah interview in 2005 where he demonstrated, through some pretty extraordinary behavior, his purported love for Katie Holmes. As many have observed, his actions during the interview, such as dropping to one knee, punching the air and jumping up and down on the sofa, made him look rather foolish. In acting terms, it's a performance that's more pantomime than Method Acting; it's the performance of a desperate man - a man desperate to dispell any rumours that he might be gay? The phrase that springs to mind is, "The lady doth protest too much, methinks". Here it is again for those of you with strong stomachs.

So, is Tom Cruise gay? I certainly hope not!

1 Year Ago:

Best run of the week...

Run 30/06/2012 13:03
Distance	5:06 km	Time	28:24
Pace	5:37 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Sunny but blustery.

Run 29/06/2012 17:39
Distance	5.30 km	Time	31:39
Pace	5:58 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Sunny.

Taste the difference...

After my swim tonight I called in at Morrisons on my bike ride home. I usually go to Asda but it's further away and given that it was a bit drizzly and... blah... blah... blah... Anyway, I dropped in at Morrisons for a change.

Coasting up and down the aisles and singing along to the piped music, "...Babooshka, Babooshka, Babooshka-ya-ya. All yours, Babooshka, Babooshka, Babooshka-ya-ya..." my head was turned once, twice and once again. The eye-candy at Morrisons in Cardiff Bay is certainly attention grabbing. I don't think I've ever scored so high playing Hotty or Notty.

I couldn't help but compare it to my usual Asda experience, which, let's face it, is a little chavvy. It's not a great range on offer and the quality can be questionable - unless you happen to have a fetish for scrawny scally lads or big women in leggings. I'm pleased to say that neither appeals to me.

It was at that point that I heard my name being called. I stopped ogling and singing along to Kate Bush and turned to see a friend from work, Leah. I hope she didn't spot me totty watching...?

Tigers on Vaseline...

I traveled to London after work yesterday evening to meet my friend Howard from Manchester. After some food, a bit of gay bar hopping around Old Compton St and Brewer St and a not too late night, we were up and mooching about the capital by late morning today.

Our first stop was The Queen's Gallery at Buckingham Palace for the Leonardo da Vinci Anatomist exhibition. It's the largest exhibition ever put together of his anatomical drawings and notes; a simple but well laid out exhibition. My lasting impression was the inquisitiveness of this man and his capacity for attention to detail. Incredible and very beautiful.

A quick flit around the Buckingham Palace gift shop, negotiating the Union Flag tea towels, Diamond Jubilee embroidered cushions, royal themed crockery, Betty Windsor calendars and some tempting t shirts with "Princess" written in diamanté across them left us both feeling satiated with royalty to the brink of nausea; enough to turn anyone republican.

This was followed by a saunter through Soho and a beer and veggie burger lunch at Byron. Whilst eating lunch, I managed to track down the whereabouts of Heddon St on my phone. This is the location of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars album cover shot and is not the easiest street to find in London. Search for it on Maps on the iPhone and you are simply directed to Regent St. However, a bit of detective work revealed its exact location.

A quick mince down Brewer St and then across Regent St saw me standing in Heddon St, exactly where Mr Stardust himself stood some 40 years ago and a bewildered Howard forced to take photos of me doing so. It's certainly changed in that time, dotted with its cafes, bars and quick eateries. Judging by the photo, I don't think I'd cut it as a messianic, alien rock star.

We retraced our steps back along Brewer St to a bar that Howard knew called The Yard; on two floors with a little courtyard, we sat outside enjoying a couple of beers and watching the gay boys come and go. The perfect end to a lovely day out together.

As I write this, I'm sat on the train back to Cardiff. Opposite me are two Christians. I know this because they both have their New Testaments close at hand. They eye me with suspicion, as if I had 666 tattooed across my forehead. Perhaps they can smell that I'm a non believer? Well, I am wearing L'Atheist, eau de toilette pour homme by Lenthéric.

He is fat and much younger than her. He wears a red hoodie with "Playboy Mansion" emblazoned across the front with a photo of some scantily clad female to accompany it. He stares blankly; his mouth hangs open, the cavity filled by his swollen tongue. I catch him looking at me and his eyes flick to staring out the window again.

She is tiny, delicate and is pale to the point of translucence. I can see the veins in her marshmallow skin. She fingers a copy of "The Lady" as she slowly tries to eat an M&S salad, leaf by leaf, with a plastic spoon. Watching this is frustrating beyond belief. Were she a child and I her parent, I'd have to slap her and tell her to stop playing with her food.

Judy, Judy, Judy...

Forty three years ago today Judy Garland died. It was 1969 and her 5th husband, Mickey Deans (whom she'd only married in March of that year), discovered her body in her rented apartment in Chelsea, London.

The cause of death was an overdose of barbituates and debate rages as to whether this overdose was accidental or intentional. Her Wizard of Oz co-star Ray Bolger commented at her funeral, "She just plain wore out."

Garland had always had a large gay following and that increased following her death. It is said that the increased emotion around grieving for her was partly responsible for the Stonewall Riots in Greenwich Village, New York City in the early hours of June 29th (her funeral took place June 28th). The Stonewall Riots are cited as the birth place of the modern gay movement, "when the drag queens and faggots fought back" against the police raids.

Everybody has their favorite Judy film. For many it will be The Wizard of Oz, for others it will be Meet Me in St Louis. For me it has to be A Star is Born. Her performance of The Man that Got Away is perfection.

But not quite as good as mine...

All we're asking for is equality...

Shortly after publishing last night's post about giving up on reason and falling back on emotion to win the gay marriage debate, Barack Obama announced that he was in favour of same sex marriage. This is great news. The support of the President of the United States in this debate is immeasurable.

This will, I think, move the debate forward in America. This will strengthen the hand of all those who support gay marriage and marginalise all the right-wing, crackpot, Jesus freaks that see gay people as the most sinful creatures to walk this earth since Beelzebub himself.

But let's not underestimate the effect that this will have on gay rights the globe over. Take the UK, which is, like the US, debating whether to legalise gay marriage. His statement last night normalises it; it takes the sting out of the debate - if the President of the United States thinks it's OK, surely it can't be that much of an extreme idea. It places the notion closer to the hallowed centre ground.

As I swam tonight, I couldn't help but think that while I am grateful for his support and I don't wish to detract from or diminish his statement; let's face it, it's been a long time coming. Obama is, apparently, the first sitting US President to support gay marriage. Think about it; it should have happened years ago. All credit to him and his team for making the statement but really, this is a long time overdue.

The awww factor...

I've argued and reasoned why we should legislate that gay marriage be allowed. I've tried to demonstrate how short sighted and bigoted those are who campaign against it.

On the same day that North Carolina voted to ban same sex marriage and civil unions and on the same day that the Tories omitted a same sex marriage bill from the Queen's speech in the hope we'll forget about it, I'm abandoning reason in favour of manipulating your emotions...

The awww factor:

Thin ice...

I'm not into leather, denim, combat or rubber fetish wear and I'm not a bear, cub or chub admirer.  However, I would argue for the rights of those that enjoy these things. During the 1980s, when the climate toward gay people in the UK was a lot harsher than today, I did my bit to fight for equality.

I went on marches and attended rallies to protest at the prejudices against people living with HIV, to protest about Section 28 and to protest at agent provocateur, entrapment tactics by the police. Working as an actor, as I was at the time, I helped produce work that was concerned with these issues. Equality and fair play has always been important to me.


It's particularly disappointing to hear then that the Eagle, one of Cardiff's newer gay bars, has been asking women to leave the premises. To be honest, I can't understand why any woman would want to go to there; with their rubber and leather themed nights, their boot camp nights, their bears, cubs and chubs nights and their soft porn video displays on every wall. However, again, I would argue for the rights of those that enjoy these things.

There has always existed a misogynous streak in some gay men. The terms, fag hag, fruit fly, fish and a whole host of other nicknames are testament to this. And, as much as lesbians and gay men have campaigned together for equality down the years, it's never been an easy alliance. It seems some animals are more equal than others.

As a part of society that has had to fight to be accepted (and we ain't there yet), we really ought to know better. We're on thin ice...

I'm enjoying getting back into swimming...

Until last weekend I'd not been swimming for about 3 months. I don't know why I stopped swimming really. OK, I know why I slowed down and didn't go as often as I might - it was rainy and dark and cold and... a whole raft of other bad excuses but I don't know why I stopped swimming altogether.

Getting back into it has been enjoyable. This last week I've been every other night and swimming tonight was lovely. Although the pool was reduced to it's widthward 25m lanes, there were very few people in the public section and so I had a lane to myself. Bliss. As I huffed and puffed up and down my lane I could hear the furious noise of the swimming club in their cordoned off section. I felt pleased that for once the section I found myself in was relatively quiet.

After finishing my swim, I went for a shower. I'd not been in there long when about 5 or 6 lads in their early 20s from the swimming club joined me. With typical swimmers physiques and squeezed into the tiniest Speedos, I couldn't help but notice them. They joshed and japed with each other, smiling and encouraging me to laugh with them. I didn't need much encouragement. For some reason I was reminded of this scene from towards the end of the TV production of Quentin Crisp's The Naked Civil Servant.

I'm enjoying getting back into swimming...

Hear my prayer...

O Lord, if, by some bizarre and unlikely fluke, you actually exist, hear my prayer.

Could you please find a way of demonstrating to Christian groups such as the Core Issues Trust and the Anglican Mainstream that their desire to mount a homophobic advertising campaign using London buses is contrary to the central message of Christianity.

I'm not asking that you smite them or visit them with plagues; no - all I'm asking is that you find a way of firmly explaining to them, once and for all, that their actions contradict the  central messages of Jesus' teachings about love and compassion and forgiveness and the like...

So please, no afflictions, fevers, inflammations, stonings, barrenness, banishments or killing of first borns; all I ask is that you clearly tell these people to stop claiming some authority for their crackpot ideas by using your name (in vain). I'm sure they will listen to you.

And whilst you're about it, could you have a similar word with Fred Phelps and the Westboro Baptist Church, the Pope, Archbishop John Sentamu, Cardinal Keith O'Brien... I won't spell it out for you (being omniscient and all that) but, undoubtedly, you have a long list of these nutters.

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.

Amen

Today's run at 17:46
Distance	5.03 km	Time	27:24
Pace	5:27 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Sunshine and showers.

Gay years are like dog years...

In the shallow end of the gay pool, looks and age count for everything. I sometimes overhear anxious conversations about the tragedy of entering your thirties and how awful that must be. The looks of aghast disbelief are comical when someone as old as me (or, heaven forfend, even older) stumbles into their plastic playpen. The badges of gay youth are, of course, music and fashion. Loosen your grip on those and you may as well commit suicide.

Of course, I'm not describing every young gay man here but there's a large enough minority to warrant mentioning it. While out on Sunday there were two occasions where I got blanked by younger gay men. The first time it happened was on being introduced to a certain young guy; by the look on his face, you'd swear that he'd just shaken hands with Hitler. The second time was the sneering discussion in the gents about what I was wearing (as if I couldn't hear them); apparently my trainers weren't bang on trend - another crime against humanity.

When I was in my twenties I had many gay friends in their forties and fifties; I looked up to them, I enjoyed their witty conversations and their company - I learned a lot from their knowledge of the world. I'm not asking for every gay in the village to cluster at my knee ready to catch each pearl of wisdom that drops from my lips. But they could at least wind their necks back in, shut their fat gobs and stop pointing when I'm dancing to the Nolans.

Gay years are like dog years: you're on borrowed time once you stop being a teenager.

Today's run at 18:13
Distance	5.16 km	Time	29:15
Pace	5:40 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Cold & sunny.

Wow...

And so it was to Wow Bar in Cardiff last night. If you dislike noise, crowds, swearing, drag queens and go-go dancers then this won't be for you. On those occasions when I need to get out of the house and (if I had any) let my hair down, I like Wow.

By far the best drag queen they have there is Pixie Perez. Pixie is unlike the other drag queens, in that the routine doesn't seem staged, is anarchic and it feels quite dangerous - like anything could happen (and it sometimes does). I've seen her chase passers by down the road and, although her audience have long lost sight of her, her hilarious obscenities can still be heard over the speakers via her radio mic.

On a Sunday night, the crowd is heaving, the atmosphere's great, the eye candy's pleasant, the air is blue, the jokes are course, the go-go boys are buff, the humour's cruel - and it's all done in the best possible taste! Well worth dropping in on those Sundays when you just need to blow out.

You can find more photos such as the one above on Wow Bar's Facebook page.

To the gays...

There is something about the company of gay men that can sometimes be unpleasant; a sour bitchiness that can riddle an entire evening that, otherwise, would have been magical. Of course, at it's best the reverse is true of gay company; an honest but glittering wit that pervades everything, lifting the whole mood and sparkling with a shared and humorous outlook on life.

I'm happy to say that last night was the latter. There was Mauro, the Italian who has a natural talent for doing cutting but hilarious impersonations of me; Seamus and Paddy, the Irish guys who seem to have a limitless and inexhaustible appetite for partying; Olivier, the lovely French guy who, like me, is a fan of AussieBum underwear; and Maarten, the handsome and charming Dutchman who doesn't stop dancing.

We chatted, laughed, drank, danced and flirted until 4am this morning and then all met up on the beach again today and started over again. It's at times like this when you feel so glad to be alive. We're all meeting again tonight for a last drink together as, starting with me at lunchtime tomorrow, we all fly home over the next two days.

Let's raise a glass to the gays...

Today's run at 18:28
Distance	4.19 km	Time	25:03
Pace	5:59 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Warm & sunny.

Rules are meant to be broken...

There are many rules concerned with the English language. They were a 19th Century invention created in an attempt to order the messy English language and based on the way formal Latin works. Take, for example, the one that dictates you should never split an infinitive. The reason for this rule is because it is impossible to split an infinitive in Latin, whereas in English it is very possible and often desirable - as in, "to boldly go" rather than "to go boldly".

Another so called rule that is often trotted out is the one that goes, you should never end a sentence in a preposition. I love Churchill's answer to this when challenged by a pedant grammarian, which was, "it is something up with which I shall not put".

The absurdity of applying rules from the language of one culture to the language of another is only surpassed by the absurdity of applying the rules, norms and mores of one sexuality to another. This has been in the news lately with the vinegar squeaks from religious leaders as they try to enforce what they believe to be the rules that govern heterosexuality onto a homosexual culture.

Oh, if only it were that simple! Human sexuality is a fluid and changing
matter. It refuses to be boxed in by the strictures of a set of narrow rules trying to govern the ungovernable. Witness the heterosexual couples sunbathing no more than 500m from the gay beach today; the wives read their novels in the full knowledge that their husbands are on walk about.

As I sit here on my hotel balcony I can't help but think that rules are, indeed, meant to be broken.

Today's run at 17:03
Distance	4.19 km	Time	25:15
Pace	6:02 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Warm & sunny.

Jowl flapping...

You'll no doubt remember Cardinal Keith O'Brien's homophobic outburst last Sunday opposing same sex marriage. Today saw a further development in the fantastical bile being spouted by religious groups in opposition to same sex marriages.

A letter by Archbishop Vincent Nichols (the leader of the Roman Catholic Church in England and Wales) and Archbishop Peter Smith (the Archbishop of Southwark) was this morning read out in 2,500 churches. The letter calls on people to oppose this proposed change in legislation.

On their website, The Catholic Church in England and Wales have launched a petition for people to sign called the Coalition for Marriage. The introduction to this petition emphasises the profound consequences should this legislation succeed:

If marriage is redefined, those who believe in traditional marriage will be sidelined. People's careers could be harmed, couples seeking to adopt or foster could be excluded, and schools would inevitably have to teach the new definition to children. If marriage is redefined once, what is to stop it being redefined to allow polygamy?

This rhetoric is reminiscent of those sandwich board warnings you hear of announcing that the end of the world is nigh.

I like Stonewall Chief Executive, Ben Summerskill's response to this religious jowl flapping:

"If Roman Catholics don’t approve of same-sex marriage, they should make sure they don’t get married to someone of the same sex.”

Indeed, no-one will be forced to marry anyone and no church will be compelled to offer gay marriages. It's a bit like the reasoning used against Mary Whitehouse and her National Viewers and Listeners campaigns of the 60s and 70s to clean up TV; no one is forcing you to watch - if you don't like it you can switch it off.

Today's run at 17:09
Distance	4.38 km	Time	24:10
Pace	5:31 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Sunny and warm.