When will I learn my lesson about Token Gay Plays? Blowing Whistles was two hours of gays screaming at each other, with the odd brilliant one-liner. At times it wanted to be The Doll's House. At times it wanted to be Pinter/Orton/Victoria Wood. But mostly it just settled for tackling serious gay issues while ensuring the blonde one took his top off.
Despite international acclaim, Tim and I hated it. So, we decided to shove its message about the true meaning of Gay Pride and instead go for a sneering drink in 79 CXR. If you've never been, imagine the Queen Vic after a gaypocalypse. This is where the zombies would drink. It was dark, two old skinheads snogged up against the fire escape, and the toilets offended every law of hygiene and morality. People are either looking for a late drink or late sex. "This is the true meaning of Gay Pride," said Tim, and we clinked our glasses.
And then I started to laugh. When I was 21 my heart was broken by a model (It's an epic saga involving murder, drugs and the yellow trousers of the Junior Dean of Manchester College Oxford). Anyway, he was beautiful, he was nasty, and he never stopped with the impression that he was too good for me (his nicknames for me were "baldy", "fatty" and "pencil dick" - grrrr). He was the boyfriend who taught me that men aren't actually that good for you.
And there he was. After all these years. Standing in a dark corner of 79 CXR, between the fruit machine and a man with piercings and a comb-over. He's aged - well - but he's aged. He was wearing a jumper with a knitted snowflake pattern. And he was there!
Tim and I raised our glasses and smiled over at him. There we were, having an ironic late drink in the worst place we could find. And there he was. This was the best he could manage for his evening. Unsuccessfully cruising for sex in the last, last, last chance saloon. The man who'd been in magazines and Tara Palmer-Tomkinson's sister. Who'd been flown across the world by rich young record executives. And now he was having to shuffle aside so that a drunk lumberjack could spill his pint over the slot machine.
Sometimes, revenge may take a decade. But it comes. Of course, Lee will just say this proves that my taste in men has always been rubbish. And I'll agree. But I'll argue my timing has never been better.
Sparkling Cyanide (1945)
1 year ago