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...

Briefs...

Hailing from Brisbane, Briefs are a boylesque troupe of Australian beefcake, wrapped up in glitter, feathers and fluff; they are currently appearing at Cardiff's Blysh Festival hosted at the WMC.

Their performance is a remarkable mix of foul mouthed cabaret with an added splash of circus and a generous orgasmic squirt of camp. Muscles are flexed, eyelashes are batted, buttocks are clenched and tongues are firmly placed in cheeks. I guarantee that you've never seen anything like it!

I've been to a number of Blysh Festival performances over the past few years and I've seen a number of cabaret acts. I've never been disappointed but Briefs' performance last night moved things to a new high. They have certainly raised the bar.

I, along with everyone else at last night's performance, laughed like a drain from beginning to end; marveling at these boys' athleticism and irreverent wit whilst ogling their beefcake, buffed up bodies.

If you like a bit of camp, if you enjoy cabaret, if you've got a sense of humour or even if, at some basic level, you consider yourself to be alive; beg, steal or borrow to get a ticket to see this life affirming spectacle. They've got one final performance in Cardiff tonight before continuing with their UK tour.

Go and see them; you won't be disappointed. Promise.

1 Year Ago:

Elaine Carmody fights for your rights...

Run 20/07/2012 17:14
Distance	5:16 km	Time	29:35
Pace	5:44 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Sunny.

Run 18/07/2012 17:19
Distance	5.02 km	Time	27:33
Pace	5:29 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: 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.

Fashion accessory...

Gone are the days (by and large) of intolerance towards gay men. Time was when we checked who else was listening before we started conversations, when we avoided crowds for fear of discovery, when we lowered our voices to discuss certain sensitive subjects. We even had our own coded language.

Nowadays, we can discuss our lives in the same way heterosexuals discuss their lives: in public and without fear of reproach. However, this new found liberation comes at a cost; for some heterosexuals, the acquaintance of a gay man is a feather in their caps.

Most of my straight friends treat me like any other friend but occasionally I meet someone who wants to appropriate me and I sometimes feel like I'm no more than a fashion accessory. By way of an explanation of what I mean, here's a video entitled, Shit Girls Say to Gay Guys.

Today's run at 17:57
Distance	4.02 km	Time	21:40
Pace	5:23 min/km	Cadence	82 spm
Comments: Cloudy. Drizzle.

Camp as tits...

A friend of mine from my college days used to use the phrase, camp as tits to describe anything that he thought was really camp. I could never work out why female secondary sexual characteristics should be camp (unless some guy is wearing a false pair perhaps - which, I guess, is what he meant) but I like the phrase anyway.

Whilst most of us recognise it when we see it, defining camp is not easy. The Oxford English Dictionary gives it the following definition: ostentatious, exaggerated, affected, theatrical; effeminate or homosexual; pertaining to, characteristic of, homosexuals. In Susan Sontag's essay Notes on 'Camp', she emphasises artifice, frivolity, naïve middle-class pretentiousness and shocking excess as key elements of camp. In his book, Camp, Mark Booth defines it as "to present oneself as being committed to the marginal with a commitment greater than the marginal merits."

All of the following may be considered camp: Judy Garland, Bette Davis, Bette Midler, Carry On films, the films of John Waters, The Munsters, The Addams Family, Dynasty, Dallas, the 1960s TV series of Batman, Absolutely Fabulous, British panto, drag, retro fashion, the 1970s, musical theatre, John Inman, Dale Winton, Russell Harty, Kenneth Williams, The Eurovision Song Contest, Eurotrash, ABBA, Cilla Black, Liberace, Marlene Dietrich and, of course, Kylie Minogue. I'm sure you could come up with as many yourself in just a couple of minutes.

Search on any of the above in YouTube and you'll see enough examples of camp to make you a world wide authority on the subject. Alternatively, you might just want to watch this example I came across recently which does it for me...

Today's run at 17:17
Distance	4.07 km	Time	21:32
Pace	5:18 min/km	Cadence	83 spm

Nun's the word...

I noticed this morning that Sister Act was scheduled to be screened (yet again) on Film 4 tonight. I love Sister Act. I've seen it countless times but never from the beginning. I'd intended to watch it from the beginning for the first time tonight, however, I got stuck in work and didn't really think about it until I was home, changed and about 5 minutes into my run.

What is it about nuns that I find so funny? The nuns in The Sound of Music are often the butt of jokes. There are other films; serious films that feature nuns which make me smile such as, The Nun's Story, Black Narcissus and The Song of Bernadette. That's without naming the numerous comedy films to feature nuns. In fact, the only nun film that I haven't ended up sniggering at is The Magdalene Sisters; a harrowing experience from beginning to end.

There's an order of nuns called the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. They were founded by gay men in San Fransisco in the 1970s; they use drag and catholic imagery to draw attention to LGBT issues and to raise money for related causes. Often to be seen in an outlandish wimple, complete with full habit and on rollerskates, the order has a structure, including a Mother Inferior, and a number of saints. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence rollerskate but I wonder if real nuns jog?

By the time I returned from my run, Deloris Van Cartier had transformed into Sister Mary Clarence and I'd missed the beginning of Sister Act, yet again. However, as I sat down to eat my dinner they started to sing Oh Maria and as I continued to eat the film played out before me. I finished eating just in time to sing along to I Will Follow Him.

I'm in rapture now...

There is Nothing Like a Dame III...

Just this last one then I promise I'll shut up about Maggie Smith. Honest...

Re-reading my previous two posts about Maggie Smith, I notice that I allude in both posts to the fact that she is liked by gay men and that this liking is to be expected. But is this fact; is there any truth in this? Well, if tweets by the gay tweeps are anything to go by, then yes. And of the gay friends I've spoken to, I seem to be the only gayer on the planet who hasn't got Downton mania and missed the series when it was first broadcast.

Let's assume that Dame Maggie does have a sizable gay following. The interesting question for me is, why is that so? What is it about Maggie Smith that a lot of us gay boys like; what has captured our imagination? I think as good a place as any to start looking is in Maggie Smith's own assessment of some of the roles she plays. These are roles such as Lady Hester in Tea with Mussolini, Constance, Countess of Trentham in Gosford Park and Janet Widdington in Ladies in Lavender; roles that Maggie Smith herself refers to as her "gallery of grotesques" - formidable, redoubtable, rather grand, sarcastic and sometimes rude characters.

I think that gay men such as me are drawn to such characters; drag fascinates us with its broad, almost cartoonish and muscular (sometimes vulgar) portrayal of women and how those female characters survive in (what is still) a man's world. Look at Dame Edna, Lily Savage, Divine, RuPaul and Hedwig (from Hedwig and the Angry Inch); all formidable, redoubtable, rather grand, sarcastic and sometimes rude characters. Of course, drag isn't the sole domain of gay men; I think that some women such as Bette Davis, Liza Minelli, Joan Rivers, Bette Midler, Alison Steadman, (even) Dolly Parton and (yes, sometimes) Maggie Smith play that broad, almost cartoonish and muscular (sometimes vulgar) portrayal of women.

What is that fascination about? I think there's an enjoyment in watching a female character have the balls to take men on at their own game and a delight in the elegant and devastating put downs they employ. For me, I think it's about role reversal and flipping the world on its head, where the minority role is given all the best lines. Let's face it, you don't heckle a drag act; not if you want to escape with your dignity intact.

Such a drag...

The beauty of the weekend weather on a school day such as today soon turns sour. Sentiments such as this are borne out of envy; envy as a cloudless sky beckons whilst a corporate life demands. I gazed out of the office window feeling listless and fatigued, wishing I was elsewhere... anywhere else! I tried to concentrate on my work but failed miserably; the unfortunate twist of meteorological circumstance.

The only good points about work today were the blissful ride in and ride home; a cooling and calming cycle in the breeze coupled with dappled sunshine through the leaf cover. Perfect!

Given the space my head was in, it was an inevitability that tonight's run was going to be a lardy legged and panting affair - despite the new running vest, good weather and the trainers bedding in ever more with every run, it was destined to be heavy going. I did my counting trick and tried to zone out but failed. I remained painfully aware of every rasping breath; a run that should take 25 minutes felt like a marathon.

I needed to lift my spirits if I was to finish this run. When I broke my leg in 2007, I swore that if ever I ran again I would enjoy every bloody step of it. Thinking about this usually does the trick instantly for me. I just have to picture myself in that hospital bed and the difference between now and then usually gets me grinning from ear to ear. To be fair it pulled me out of glums today but, dear God, it wasn't easy.

Smiling was a long and hard won battle tonight but I got there eventually, partly thanks to the memory of sitting in a hospital bed with a melon sized ankle and partly thanks to the memory of the fun I had recording this on Friday night.

Bonkers!