Author: Jack Scott

Imagine the absurdity of two openly gay, married, middle aged, middle class men escaping the liberal sanctuary of anonymous London to relocate to a Muslim country. I chronicled our exploits with the mad, the bad, the sad and the glad in a blog for the whole world to ignore. Then came the book which became a critically acclaimed best seller. Its success opened out a whole new career for me, firstly as an author, and now as an indie publisher. Who'd have thought it? Certainly not me. In June 2012, we ended our Anatolian affair and paddled back to Britain on the evening tide, washing up in Norwich, a surprising city in eastern England, then to the wilds of Norfolk as the only gays in the village. I’m sometimes nostalgic for our encounters with the hopeless, the hapless and, yes, the happy go lucky. They gave me an unexpected tale to tell and for this I thank them.

Attack of the Clones

Beards are back.  I don’t mean the little goatees of the early Noughties or the close-cut five o-clock shadow of yesteryear. This time they’re big, really big. We’re talking twisted whiskers of ZZ Top proportions. Sales of razor blades and shaving foam have dropped through the floor causing consternation in the boardrooms of Gillette and Wilkinson Sword. You can hardly turn on the TV without a Bin Laden lookie-likey looking back. Everyone’s at it. A case in point is the comedian, Alex Horne. He’s gone from clean-cut to shag pile, ageing 10 years overnight. Of course the truth is I’m jealous. My own facial growth has always been a tad patchy and a bit wispy, more Catweazle than Clooney. Back in the Village People day, the Frisco look was the only show in town – plunging check shirts, tight Levi 501s, chest rugs and bushy Tom Selleck tashes. Everyone looked butch, as long as they didn’t move and didn’t speak. And clones only danced with clones. Pretty little things like me didn’t get a look in. No fuzz, no way. These days all the old clones still breathing have morphed into ‘bears.’ Essentially, this just means they’ve gone to fat.

Alex Horne

The Show is Over Now

The Show is Over Now

Time to take down the Anatolian display and pack away the posters. The Pride Without Prejudice Show is done and dusted for another year and what a successful run its been. If you’d told me back in the day when I ebbed and flowed along the nose-to-nipple Victoria Line that, a few years on, I’d be showcasing a book I’d written at a bone fide exhibition I would have told you to where to get off (at the next stop and mind the gap). Did I sell any books from it? Your guess is as good as mine. At the very same time I was mounting the posters, I was featured on WordPress’ Blogger Profile site which has over 10 million subscribers. As soon as their interview was published, it all went a bit crazy for a while. If I did flog a few copies off as a result of the show it was icing on the cake.  Will I exhibit again next year with the Sisterhood? Wild goats won’t keep me away.

Booze, Birds and Fast Cars

Booze, Birds and Fast Cars

george bestMy sister’s football-crazed family has finally spawned a potential star. Tom, third boy of four, has been selected to train with Reading FC’s Soccer Academy. The Academy has a fine reputation for nurturing young talent. Tom’s only 14 (but nearly six foot tall with shoulders the width of a barn door) and his coach thinks he has what it takes to go all the way. Someone once said that to me when I was 14, but that’s another story.

Naturally, Tom turned to his wise old uncle for lifestyle advice. I told him to watch the drink (think George Best and Gazza) and avoid sleeping with prostitutes old enough to be his granny (Wayne Rooney). I also told him that, as his favourite uncles, Liam and I wouldn’t be the least bit embarrassed if he set us up in a luxury penthouse overlooking the Thames. After all, if he makes it into the Premier League, he’ll be bringing in more dosh than Denmark.

“I spent a lot of money on booze, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered.”

George Best

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Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves

Summer Madness

For the month of August only, I’m flogging off the ‘Best of Perking the Pansies’ from the Turkish Years at the knock down price of a quid ($1.54) per episode on Amazon (Kindle version). That’s just 100 pennies for Turkey, the Raw Guide (which includes invaluable advice about relocating to Turkey assuming anyone wants to these days) and 100 pennies for Turkey, Surviving the Expats (which includes my Anatolian must sees). Never say I’m not a generous soul.

Best of Mini-Series

If this special offer takes your fancy, click here for more information

Parade with Pride

Parade with Pride

Images courtesy of Norwich Pride on Facebook

By any measure, Norwich Pride 2013 was a rip-roaring, runaway success. 5,000 people flooded into the city to paint the town red, orange, yellow, green, blue and purple. Even the regal lions guarding the grand entrance to City Hall got into the act with rainbow garlands wrapped round their elegant necks and party hats propped on top of their fine heads. The BBC issued a weather warning but sheer exuberance blew the clouds away and bathed the crowds in warm sunshine. This was a Pride with a difference. Despite the large numbers, there was a touching intimacy and a genuine sense of inclusion sadly lacking in some of the mega Prides these days – no VIP areas for the cut above, no egos to massage, no fences to keep people out (or to keep them in), no faces that didn’t fit. We had a ball. Congratulations to the dedicated group of volunteers who made it all happen. You played a blinder.

I was chuffed to be asked to be the voice of Pride on Future Radio. Pity the poor people who had to listen to me witter on several times a day.

A picture paints a thousand words so check out the frocks and frolics on the Norwich Pride Facebook Page and the Norwich Evening News.

Rules of Engagement

Rules of Engagement

jack-the-hack-_writingtipsMore pearls of  foolishness from yours truly. This time about book PR. What do I know?

Exhausted? You will be. This PR lark takes a lot of graft. I know. I’ve never worked so hard. The good news is that once you’ve set the wheels in motion, you just need to keep a light touch on the tiller. Then before you know it, you’ll start getting that exposure you’ve always dreamed of and, who knows, the agents and distributors knocking at your door instead of the pretty postman. More…

Norwich Pride 2013

Norwich Pride 2013
Jack Scott on Future Radio

The marching season continues (no, I don’t mean the archaic and nose-rubbing Orange Day parades). Following a whole week of rather special events (including my very own display at the Pride Without Prejudice Art Exhibition), tomorrow is Norwich Pride day, a gift from the LGBT community to all and sundry. We missed it last year. Something else got in the way. Now, what was it? Oh, yes, watching the opening ceremony of the London Olympics from a balcony overlooking the stadium. We were torn, but the once-in-a-lifetime event won the day, I’m afraid. This year we are fully committed to the pink party. In fact, I’m going to be co-hosting the outside broadcast of Pride Live on Future Radio with the fabulous Di Cunningham from the epicentre of the knees-up on Millennium Plain, itself the epicentre of community life in the city. I’m not quite sure what to expect other than that it’ll be a scream and I’ll be the one doing the screaming. I think Di intends to wind me up and let me loose into the rainbow crowd to hunt down colourful victims to interview. Tune in on 107.8 FM (or online) and listen to me make a total prat of myself because I won’t know what’s coming up and I won’t have rehearsed my lines. Oh, sod it, who cares? It’s all in a worthy cause. Whoever you are, why not pop along and parade with pride?

And Through the Square Window

And Through the Square Window

We live in a quiet city street, a no-through road. The Weaver’s cottage stands alone in a sea of offices and sheltered housing schemes; worker bees and old folk live in perfect harmony. We get footfall but very little traffic. Then one day, the peace was breached by a pincer movement of mechanical cherry pickers – one at the rear and one at the front. What a bleedin’ racket. I was being picked at from both ends. It went on for hours. One wrong swipe and I would have tumbled out into the street in my jim-jams. I’d no idea what they were doing. The cages just seemed to go up and down, up and down, like a really boring fairground ride (or any boring ride, come to that). The big red bugger up front was only temporarily silenced when it ran out of petrol. A bit careless of the driver, I thought. How’s a penniless author supposed to write a masterpiece with that hullabaloo going on?

Art for Art’s Sake

Posters

PWP3_Poster-A3As well as running a little workshop about blogging (a chat with one man and his dog, no doubt), I’m also exhibiting the Perking the Pansies book at Pride Without Prejudice at the St Margaret’s Church of Art. The gig starts tomorrow and continues for a fortnight. Can my irreverent take on the emigrey soap opera with my carry-on capers and titter-ye-not narrative be thought of as art? Entertainment perhaps, but art? I tend not to dwell on such questions. Some people think an unmade bed at the Tate is art. Who am I to judge? I’ll just chuck up my posters and hope for a few sales. The exhibition is presented by Art of Norwich in association with Norwich Pride and the Queer Arts Club. The showcase is open to all artists and entry is free. If you happen to be in the fair city of Norwich and have some time on your hands, come along and soak up the highbrow culture and my lowbrow wit.

Life in the Old Blog Yet

Life in the Old Blog Yet

Art of BloggingThese days, I think I know a thing or two about this blogging lark but when I started in 2010, I hadn’t a clue. I learned the trade the hard way, through trial and error. It was a trial and there were loads of errors. Mine was a solitary journey. I did quite well for a while, a bit of a sell-out tour. But when Liam and I packed up our drag in our old kit bags and paddled back to Blighty, I feared that Perking the Pansies might wither on the vine like some dried-up old fruit. I soldiered on, deliberately posting less but still regularly. Much to my relief, the blog’s gone from strength to strength and I have more subscribers than ever. Now the sum of my knowledge (or lack of it) is about to be put to the acid test. I’m running a Pride without Prejudice workshop called The Art of Blogging as part of the marvellous Norwich Pride Festival. I’m about to put my money where my mouth is. But will I fall flat on my face? Help.