Category: Internet

Jail Bait

In December 2010, Perking the Pansies was blocked by the Turkish internet police. I threw a hissy fit at the prospect of a firm hand on my door knob, a frisk by a frisky conscript and instant deportation. It all turned out to be a storm in a çay cup. Tens of thousands of Google blogs were instantly blacked out because they all shared the same IP address with a couple of Turkish websites that were infringing copyright law (laughable when you think that Turkey is flooded with counterfeit goods). As a result, my inconsequential ramblings were simply caught up in lazy censorship – the scatter gun approach punished the innocent and the guilty alike. My blog became, as the Americans say, ‘collateral damage‘. I had to shut up shop at Google and move lock, stock and barrel to new premises at Word Press.

Well, bugger me. It’s happened again. This time, the idiotic censors have targeted my personal website, jackscott.info, which I use to promote my book. I’d like to make some PR capital out of this by claiming anti-gay discrimination but, alas, I can’t. The circumstances are exactly as before. This time, it seems porn and gambling sites were targeted. I found one site sharing my IP address called Jail Bait; sounds like a particularly nasty little corner of the web. Ban illegal sites by all means but it can’t be beyond the wit of these petty bureaucrats to deal with offenders individually, instead of pulling the plug on thousands of innocent sites just because it’s easier.

I’m pleased to write that the problem has now been resolved by changing my IP address with my domain registrar. What a palavar.

Have it Your Way

Are you a thoroughly modern Millie and would like to download Perking the Pansies to your fancy Kindle thingy bobby? Perhaps you’re opposed to Amazon taking over the world? (Of course, I couldn’t possibly comment). Or maybe you’re a bit of a traditionalist that likes to browse the shelves and thumb through the latest releases? Well, you can do all these things. Perking the Pansies is now available to download to Kindle, to purchase online at WH Smiths and Waterstones (and many other online stores) and to order at any good bookshop near you. Go on, you know you want to.

Alternatively, you could buy the paperback or Kindle edition through my website and I’ll earn an extra few pence. No pressure.

Pussy Lovers

Ever since I published a post called Pussy Galore a few weeks ago, hits to the blog have been inflated by people searching on the word ‘pussy’ – 1200 and rising. It’s heart-warming to know there are so many cat lovers out there in cyberspace interested in quirky moggie tales. Or maybe they’re fans of Honor Blackman, the ravishing, smoky-voiced Sixties beauty who played Bond girl Pussy Galore in Goldfinger. I hope they weren’t too disappointed to get a camp compilation of pussy-loving Mrs Slocombe from Are You Being Served?

Check out my new book:

Perking the Pansies – Jack and Liam move to Turkey

Will the Real Jack Scott Please Stand Up?

Google sits astride the internet like a leviathan. Forget Yahoo or Bing or a host of smaller search engines, only Google counts. Their search algorithms can make or break an online presence. If you don’t show up in the first few pages of Google, you may as well not be on the internet at all. It’s all about search engine optimisation (SEO) and ways to make it better. There’s an entire industry dedicated to improving it (or trying to cheat the clever geeks at Google). How’s a humble little jobbing blogger in a faraway country most people couldn’t place on a map ever going to make his mark? Well, Perking the Pansies does well. Google favours fresh, frequently renewed content and my content is frequently renewed, if not fresh. Sorted.

Little Jack Scott, though, struggles. The name is a curse. It’s eclipsed by other more illustrious Jacks plastered all over the web. Who are these pretenders to my rightful throne? Well, there’s Jack Scott, (AKA Giovanni Dominico Scafone Jr) the Canadian singer ‘undeniably the greatest Canadian rock and roll singer of all time,’ apparently. I’d never heard of him. Sorry. Then there’s the late Jack Scott, buck-teethed weather man who died in 2008. He was everyone’s favourite weather guru and brought magnetic weather symbols to live broadcasts on the BBC. Unfortunately, they often slipped down the board or dropped off altogether. My final Jack is the now infamous Mayor of the little town of Cordova in Alabama which was flattened by killer tornadoes earlier this year. Mayor Scott refused to allow trailers into the town to house the newly homeless because he didn’t want to encourage trailer trash. Sounds like a fine and upstanding pillar of the community.

So, what’s a diminutive, washed-up ex pretty boy with his best years behind him to do? Change his name to Dick Stillhard (no wait, that’s already taken).

Thanks to Spainstruck for the inspiration for this one.

Sense and Censorship

The threat of compulsory Government prescribed filters to access the internet here in Turkey seems to have mercifully receded. According to an article in the Turkish Daily News, the use of filters is now voluntary. The article states that during the three month trial period, 22,000 Turkish internet users (out of a total of 11.5 million) signed up to the service. Not exactly a sell-out tour.

Meanwhile in Pakistan, according to the Think Progress website, the Telecommunications Authority has banned users from texting 16,000 words that are considered offensive or obscene. The list of prohibited words (a mixture of Urdu and English) include:

lesbian, virgin, homosexual, condom, intercourse, breast, athlete’s foot, deposit, flogging the dolphin (?), black out, drunk, flatulence, glazed donut, harem, hostage, murder, penthouse, Satan, and wait for it, Jesus Christ.

This has got to be a hoax.

Trolling on the Net

Fellow blogger, Yankee Garrett at A Change of Underwear commented on my post about expat forums and some of the strange people that lurk within. He tells me that the word trolling is now used to describe the mean business of writing nasty online comments. Funny, in my day trolling meant something completely different – cruising (in the picking up loose men sense, not mucking about on silly boats sense). This was part of a whole lexicon of slang words that formed something called Polari (from the Italian palare – to talk). Polari was used in Britain by sinners on the social margins – actors (when acting was considered little better than whoring), circus and fairground showmen, criminals, prostitutes, and, up to the early seventies, gay people. We deviants have always kept the best company. Back when you couldn’t get a word out of the love that dares not speak its name because of the threat of a stiff prison sentence, Polari slang was a safe and secret form of communication. It has a delicious vocabulary of wonderfully ripe terms. Here are a few of the ones I just love:

Basket (a man’s bulge through clothes); bibi (bisexual); bona (good); bona nochy (a good night); bungery (pub); buvare (a drink); camp (effeminate); carts (willy); chicken (young man); cottage (a public loo used for jollies); dilly boy (rent boy); dish (bum); eek (face); handbag (money); jubes (tits); khazi (loo); lallies (legs); mince (walk); naff (nasty); national handbag (dole); omi (man) omi-palone (camp queen); plate (blow job); palone (woman); palone-omi (lesbian); remould (sex change); riah (hair) rough trade (working class sex); slap (makeup); todd (alone); tootsie trade (sex between two passive partners); trade (sex); troll (to walk about looking for trade): vada (see).

The use of Polari began to wane when society loosened up and male gay sex was de-criminalised in 1967 (interestingly, lesbianism was never a crime). However, before it was finally consigned to the social history books, Polari had one last glorious hurrah. Round the Horne was a popular BBC radio show from 1965 to 1968 and featured short sketches called Julian and Sandy. The high camp comedy was liberally sprinkled with Polari and wicked double entendre, ultra risqué for those buttoned up days. Julian was played by Kenneth Williams and Sandy by Hugh Paddick. The back story here is that the supremely talented Kenneth always struggled with his sexuality and lived an embittered almost monastic existence, whereas jobbing thespian Hugh lived a happy homosexual life with his partner for thirty years. Sadly, both Kenneth and Hugh are now in bona heaven.

A few Polari words such as naff, camp and slap have entered modern parlance. If by chance I walk past you and remark, ‘vada the bona dish’, take it as a complement. And I absolutely love the thought of right wing ranters trolling the internet. I hope they use a wipe-down webcam; forgive them, they know not what they do. The word Polari itself lives on at the Polari Literary Salon launched by Paul Burston (Gay Editor of Time Out London), a brilliant showcase for new gay and lesbian writers.

Strictly Come Dancing

We logged on to the VPN, plugged the laptop in to the widescreen and relaxed with tucker on trays for an unadulterated pleasure night of British TV. We’re making the most of it before the dull hand of the Turkish censor bans our innocent fun. Top of our bill was the class act that is Strictly Come Dancing live on Auntie.  A gay boy needs his fix of spectacle, salsa and sequins on a cool autumn evening. For us, Russell Grant, the frockless fat drag queen, was the astrological star of the show. Mystic Meg never predicted that.

Liam and I were fascinated by Lulu’s fabulous facelift, so much better than the trout pout sported by Felicity Kendall last year (to who, by the way, I used to sell light bulbs to in Habitat circa 1979). You really do get what you pay for.

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Strictly No Dancing

Wild About the Oscars

X Factor Ads

It’s Sod’s Law. Just as I posted about gorgeous autumn weather in Bodrum it started to rain. And, Christ, did it rain. We’ve spent a couple of drizzly evenings watching the first two live episodes of the X Factor (that’s the British version of American Idol to those across the pond) through the internet using a VPN (virtual private network). I know, I know, it’s shallow, exploitative nonsense but it is entertaining. We plugged the laptop into the TV. It’s not the greatest picture but beggars as they say. We hear unconfirmed rumours that VPNs/proxy servers will be illegal when the Turkish Government eventually introduces its new internet controls and we’re beaten down by the heavy hand of the censorious State. If this is the case they’ll be no more British TV for us. And they’ll be no more British adverts either.

I’ve often thought that commercials are more entertaining than the programmes they rudely interrupt. Yeo Valley, purveyors of all things dairy have commissioned a costly class act for the X Factor. It’s bubble gum fun. The men aren’t bad either.

It’s not a new idea, of course. I remember the 70s Coca Cola ad that spawned the worldwide hit single I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing for the squeaky clean New Seekers (not a patch on the old Seekers).

A Day in the Life

I’m supposed to be resting, putting my feet up and watching the pansies grow. Instead I’ve jumped onto a blogging and writing treadmill. It’s taken me by surprise. I had no idea this would happen when we left Blighty. My mornings are spent doing what I call my admin – checking my emails, approving comments, deleting spam and catching up on the weird and wonderful blogs I’ve come across in my new vocation. My personal favourites are listed under Jack’s Favourites – take a look at the side bar. My admin takes a couple of hours each day. I have to be ruthlessly single-minded, otherwise I’d be overwhelmed. Liam says I’ve turned into a geek. Just like the bad old days, when I returned from holiday to hundreds of emails that took days to clear. My major irritant is the number of spam emails I get, urging me to buy slimming pills or viagra. These days I may no longer have a 26 inch waist and my tackle may take a little longer to fire up, but for the record, I am neither fat nor impotent (important yes, impotent, no).

I’m really grateful that people take the time to say a word or two about what I have written. I do get the occasional strange message, nothing offensive, just odd. I don’t mind at all. It adds to the rich tapestry of life in pansyland. Thank you to one and all.

I tend to dedicate a couple of afternoons a week to my posts and write three or four at a time. If I didn’t block write in this way, Liam and I wouldn’t have a life and I’d have nothing to write about. My summer is being spent finishing my book (have I mentioned I’m writing a book?) which is curtailing our social activities a little. Not too much though, we’re determined to enjoy our balmy days in the sun.

Liam is my greatest fan and fiercest critic. He cracks the whip and damns my sloppy words, but lavishes praise when I get it right. He’s also a domestic marvel, keeping me fed and watered and doing most of the daily chores (in Liam’s world, that’s sweeping the dust under the rugs). I do the laundry and stack the dishwasher, both of which, of course, require greater skill.

Is my new career worth it? You bet it is.

Don’t forget to nominate me in the Cosmo Blog Awards. Only if you feel like it, of course. See the oversized badge on the sidebar.

You might also like Perking the Pansies, the Book.

Are You Up For It?

Now that the season is in full swing we’re receiving messages from across the World through Gaydar. Gaydar is a rare British internet success story – a social networking site with global reach. The site is banned here in Turkey but, of course, there are easy ways to circumvent this. We’re asked about Bodrum life with the occasional implied offers of comfort. I’m flattered that some people out there still think there’s life in these old dogs. However, I’m mightily relieved that I’ve locked away my stall. I’m happy at home.

I have prepared a stock response which I cut and paste into a reply. It goes:

Hi there,

There aren’t any gay bars as such at the moment. It hardly matters as Bodrum is a laid back, gay friendly kind of place, and you will be made to feel welcome wherever you go. We live in the heart of town and I assume the people around us have got our number. We never get any bad attitude. So enjoy.

We rarely hear from the enquirers again.