Category: Blogging

Under the Tuscan Sun – Reprise

Under the Tuscan Sun – Reprise

With Liam away on family duties and me at a loose end, I made a brew, raided the biscuit barrel, put my feet up and channel-hopped. Mine’s a glamorous life. Quite by chance, I happened across a Sunday matinee of Under the Tuscan Sun. The last time I saw the film was also a Sunday afternoon but that was in 2011 and we lived in Bodrum. And Liam had just returned from family duties. Warming waves of nostalgia rolled over me and my eyes glassed over, not just because of the weepy but also for memories of our Turkish days.

Under the Tuscan Sun

The film even gets a brief mention in Turkey Street and I posted about it back in the day. I think the post holds up surprisingly well…

Under the Tuscan Sun

It’s All Double Dutch to Me

It’s All Double Dutch to Me

A couple of weeks ago I popped over to the low land of dykes, bikes, canals, tall thin blonds and tall thin buildings. I’ve been to old Amsterdam many, many times before. Back in the day, Amsterdam was a blesséd escape from finger-wagging, buttoned-up Britain, and a place where I could feel totally free. I won’t regale you with ripe tales of how I expressed that freedom – this is a family show, after all. Needless to say, it rarely involved a cultural troll round the marvellous galleries of the Rijks Museum.

Here’s an ancient image of me in the naughty Nineties on one of my gayfests.

scan0047

I’m standing on the Homomonument, a memorial to those persecuted for their sexuality. Opened in 1987, the monument takes the form of a large pink triangle jutting out into the Keizersgracht canal. It’s a potent symbol: the pink triangle was the badge of shame gay men were forced to wear in the Nazi concentration camps during World War Two. And we all know what happened in those places.

This time I was there on business. I was attending the 2016 Families in Global Transition Conference (#FIGT16NL), a gig that brought together people from far flung corners, all concerned with issues affecting global families. The current refugee crisis in Europe and the Middle East added an extra layer of complexity to this year’s august jamboree.

Why me? You may well ask. I’m neither an expat, nor a family in transition (not anymore anyway). In fact, I was there as part of my work with Summertime Publishing and Springtime Books, specialists in expat titles. And I was asked to lead a social media workshop for writers. It was a bit of a hit, I’m told. I even got to sell signed copies of my books in the FIGT bookshop – and was more than chuffed when they flew off the shelves and soon sold out. Clearly some people like a dash of camp with their esoteric.

Here’s me flapping my hands about in the social media workshop.

FIGT Workshop

And me on the right grinning inanely in the bookshop.

FIGT Bookshop

After a hectic few days navigating through the talkers, walkers, cars, trams and manic cyclists on a mission coming at me from every which way, I landed back at Norwich Airport at ten to nine in the evening. I was home with a large glass of Pinot in hand twenty minutes later. Now that’s the way to travel.

If you’d like to know more about Families in Global Transition and their valuable work, check out their website. In the meantime, here are some pretty pictures I took of the pretty city.

Amsterdam

The conference pictures are courtesy of FIGT.

Top of the Pansy Pops 2015

Top of the Pansy Pops 2015

It’s been a stonker of a year. In partnership with Summertime Publishing, I launched Springtime Books to provide a publishing platform for expat writers and in May, I wrapped up the saga of our emigrey days with the release of Turkey Street. The book birthing was particularly painful. Eighteen months later than planned, I fretted my comeback would be as welcome as another Spice Girls reunion, but the pain eased as the reviews dropped onto the mat. Against the blogging odds, Perking the Pansies continues to trip along nicely with a bevy of fans old and new. Somehow or other, I’ve just exceeded my 1,000th post and 10,000th comment. Not bad, I suppose, for some silly old nonsense. For all these things, I’m nothing if not grateful.

Here are the top of the pansy pops for 2015 – a fine diet of gay pride; righting an old wrong; butts of steel; relationship highs and Turkish lows; murderous intent and loose ends finally tied; the dreaded curse of middle England; bad tempered café society; and a little cottage industry to keep us out of the workhouse.

London Pride | Pardon Me | Catching Crabs | Istanbul Pride, Turkey Shame | Death Duties | Turkey Street Uncovered | Happy Anniversary, Liam | Whinging Brits | Give Us a Quiche | Springtime Has Sprung

London Pride 2015
Pardon Me!
Catching Crabs
Istanbul Pride, Turkey Shame
Death Duties
Turkey Street Uncovered
Happy Anniversary, Liam
Whinging Brits
Give Us a Quiche

As for the most popular image of 2015? Typical!

Rowers8

Here’s looking ahead to more pansy adventures in 2016. Happy New Year to one and all.

The Whole Barry Manilow

BarrySince 2015 promises new ventures, adventures and a sequel book, I decided it was high time Perking the Pansies got a face lift. I don’t mean a little nip here, a tiny tuck there, I’m talking the whole Barry Manilow. Not that I’m suggesting the septuagenarian crooner has had any restorative work done at all. Oh no. His recent denial on the Jonathan Ross Show was so convincing (tongue in drum-tightened cheek springs to mind).

I shouldn’t be too hard on old Barry. He comes across as a thoroughly decent chap and, in our image obsessed world, what’s a boy to do? He needn’t fret. Barry’s place in the pop pantheon is assured. He’s made many ladies of a certain age very happy and his fans have remained doggedly loyal. And I defy anyone to keep their shoulders rigid to Copacabana. The camp disco classic was also the name of a seedy dive I used to frequent in Earls Court back in my heyday. Believe me, there were plenty of Lolas at the bar crying over lost love and drinking themselves into oblivion.

Last year, Barry married his long term partner, Garry Kief. Barry and Garry? What fun. Apparently, some people were surprised. But then, some people are stupid. As for Perking the Pansies, it may have a brand new shop window but it’s the same old rubbish inside.

Now That’s What I Call Really Old

Göbekli TepeThis blogging lark is a bit of a hit and miss affair. Who knows the right formula to blast a post into orbit and keep it there? Certainly not me. My random musings about the life of a washed-up ex-pretty boy are small fry when compared to the big fish in the overcrowded blogpond. I’m astounded that anyone’s still listening.

At the end of 2011, I published a post about the ancient ruins of Göbekli Tepe in eastern Turkey. Now That’s What I Call Old was a throwaway, humble little post of about seventy words, and hardly did justice to the age and significance of the enigmatic ruins. Little did I know it would be the post that keeps on giving while the archaeologists keep on digging*  – 12,000 hits and rising. One hit for every year of Göbekli Tepe’s estimated existence. There’s a poetic symmetry to that, don’t you think?

*I suspect, for the moment, the trowels have been put away while the murderous chess game is played out just across the border.

The Cheque’s in the Post

Blog2I received an out-of-the-blue windfall from Amazon when a cheque for £17.91 landed on the mat. It wasn’t immediately obvious from the statement what the money was for. After a lengthy head scratch, the penny finally dropped. It was a royalty payment for blog subscribers. Back in the day when Perking the Pansies first set our little emigrey world alight, I signed up for Kindle Blogs (along with everything else at the time), enabling readers to pay a small monthly fee to get Perking the Pansies delivered automatically to a Kindle. Why anyone would pay to read sometime they could get for free over the internet was beyond me but I signed up anyway and then forgot about it. Until now, that is. According to the mighty Amazon, I have one solitary subscriber. So, whoever you are, I thank you. You made my day.

Holding Out for a Super-Hero

Holding Out for a Super-Hero

Just like good old Auntie Beeb, I aim to inform, educate and entertain. It’s for others to judge whether I succeed or not. I find myself rather indisposed at the moment (more of this later) so my ambitions will have to be curtailed for a while. I am, therefore, delivering on the daft instead.

Superhero

Apparently, I’m Kick-Ass Destroyer. Who knew? And you?

The Sisterhood

Expat GlossaryI first compiled my expat glossary in 2011 as a tongue-in-cheek classification of the various expat types Liam and I encountered during our time in Turkey. The idea started with ‘emigrey’ to describe silver-haired retirees living out their dotage in the sun. It was a play on the English loan word from the French ‘émigré,’ the past participle of ‘émigrer’ – to emigrate. The glossary caused quite a stir at the time, striking a chord with most but hitting a nerve with the humourless. It’s remained a perennial favourite, often quoted and plagiarised, and not always with a credit – naughty, naughty. Over time, the lexicon has grown, with additions by me and suggestions from others. And now, I’ve added a new category. So, ladies and gents, I give you…

Turkey StreetThe Sisterhood

The antidote to the VOMITing sickness that afflicts the Shirley Valentines who wash up like driftwood on the beaches of Turkey. Many of the Sisters are reformed VOMITs who’ve been through the ringer, some more than once, but have emerged to tell the tale stronger and wiser. The Sisters stick together (like birds of a feather), because men are rubbish.

The Bodrum Chapter of the Sisterhood play a central role in Turkey Street, the sequel to Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey, due out in the Summer of 2014.

Desperately Seeking Doreen

Desperately_Seeking_Doreen

A cursory glance at my stats shows that Perking the Pansies pops up on the internet in totally unexpected ways. My irreverent ramblings seem to attract the lost, the lustful, the inquisitive and the ignorant – and from the four corners of the world. These are a few of my favourite search terms:

  • Pussy lovers (for feline aficionados, obviously)
  • Gran Canarian Sex (for a bit of bump and grind in the sun)
  • Rent Boys (believe me, my street-walking days are over)
  • Hardon All Day (hit it with a stick)
  • Is Marti Pellow/Gary Lineker/Kate Adie gay (they seem happy enough to me)
  • Gumbet Love Rats (for the ladies who never learn)
  • The Turkish Living Forum (keeping my 2012 rant right up there in the rankings)

And then came:

  • Doreen Dowdall

Doreen Dowdall

Now that one completely threw me.  Dowdall was my old girl’s name before her soldier boy popped his ring on her finger. Who was the mysterious surfer?  I don’t know, but if s/he ever surfs back, do drop me a line and put me out of my curiosity. And yes, that is me in the picture (the one in shorts, not the fabulous Sixties frock). Bless.

P.S. It’s Doreen Dowdall’s 85th birthday tomorrow. Apart from being a bit mutton with a touch of arthritis and a dodgy hip, the old girl’s in fine fettle. I just hope I’ve inherited her genes.

Oo-er, Missus

Most_PopularLet’s face it, the days between Christmas and New Year can be a bit of a damp squib. Unless you’ve been forced onto the tills by the hordes of hysterical bargain hunters flashing the plastic, it’s a time to tread water. The entire western world is stuck between the over-bloated, over-indulgent and sometimes over-wrought Noel (a time when suicides soar) and the over-bloated, over-indulgent and sometimes over-wrought New Year’s knees-up (the most popular time to get dumped). Even the desk-bound know that it’s the graveyard slot with only the filing to do.

Sadly, Liam and I both succumbed to the dreaded festive lurgy. Our inter-feast days were spent on the sofa under a duvet with a keg of Lemsip and a crate of Kleenex extra absorbent. Sadly, there were no hide-the-sausage shenanigans either: we had neither the energy nor inclination for a furtive fumble beneath the eiderdown. Still, I did manage to get my stiff little digits moving and before long I was fingering the internet with gusto, a willy-nilly and desperate attempt to amuse myself. Judging by Perking the Pansies, I wasn’t the only one who swallowed the boredom pill. And what a fruity lot the pansy readers were. On 28th December, four out of the eight most popular posts (as revealed by my sidebar) featured racy images. The lean, semi-naked scaffolder was particularly popular. I hope my thrill-seeking surfers weren’t too disappointed by what they actually found. To quote the late, great Frankie Howerd, Oo-er, Missus.

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