As my regular pansy punters know, I’ve just done a gig for the Polari Literary Salon at London’s Royal Festival Hall. I was in the company of a fine cast of literati – Rebecca Idris Hugh Mulhall, Max Wallis, Catherine Hall and Tiffany Murray. The chorus line was made up of friends and regular pansy characters – Nancy, Murat, Clive, Ian, Matt and Philip. I calmed myself with a quick wine stiffener in the Green Room before I climbed the stage to perform against a sumptuous backdrop of The London Eye and Palace of Westminster. I’m not sure who was the more nervous, Liam or me. Despite the tummy terror, I didn’t fluff too many of my lines. I was well received by the enthusiastic audience and I’m eternally grateful to the wonderful and gifted Paul Burston who made it all possible.
Category: LGBT
Written in the Stars
The frosty flurry in old London Town soon turned to sloppy slurry. Sunday was our day of rest away from commitments. We decided to do what we rarely do these days – a West End jolly, just the two of us. It was a strangely alien experience. The Sunday evening stalwart – Jivin’ Julie’s karaoke night for the hairy marys down the Kings Arms (or Kings Arse, as it’s affectionately known) was a shadow of its former self. The fat crowd has thinned to just a few old fairy faithfuls. We ventured to Comptons, the pivot around which gay Soho revolves, to find it bereft of punters except for a few lonely tourists, northern fag hags in mountainous heels and Russell Grant. Sadly, cuddly Russ hasn’t managed to keep the weight off following his stint as housewive’s choice on Strictly Come Dancing. I bet he didn’t see that coming in the stars.
All the bars told a similar sad and sorry tale. Was it the long recession or the wind chill that kept the boys under the duvet? Perhaps it was neither. Restaurants were buzzing away to the sound of glasses clinking and tills cher-chinking. Perhaps the crowd has moved on to pastures new. Perhaps the pubs should lower their beer prices. We joined the throng at an eaterie and supped Rioja into the small hours.
The Times, Are They A-Changing?
I came across an article in Gaystarnews that reported that a Turkish journalist, Serdar Arseven, and the newspaper, Yeni Akit (now called Vakit), have been fined by Turkey’s High Court for insulting the LGBT community. The case arose because the newspaper ran an Arseven-penned piece called ‘Üskül prefers perverts,’ when, Zafer Üskül, then head of the Turkish Parliamentary Human Rights Commission, attended a meeting with KAOS GL, a leading LGBT organisation. Üskül sued both the hack and the rag. The case went all the way to the High Court. The court decided that,
“The freedom of the press does not encompass the freedom to insult the personal freedoms of individuals.”
Generally, I’m not in favour of prosecuting anyone because of an insult. It seems to me that the freedom to insult (though not to incite – a very fine line, I know) is a fundamental component of free speech. Just because I’m offended by what someone says, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be allowed to say it. However, in this case, I’m happy with the outcome because the liberal traditions that I cherish have such shallow roots in Turkey that a line must be drawn somewhere. Despite the token fine (about £1,500 for the paper and £400 for the journalist), this huge leap in the right direction should not be underestimated in a Muslim-majority country where LGBT people are, at best, invisible and at worse, well I’m sure you can guess.
Marriage Equality – Much I Do About Nothing
Marriage equality for same sex couples is a hot topic in the States and many other parts of Christendom right now. As the pendulum of liberal public opinion swings towards reform, the religious reactionaries advance ever more bizarre notions for opposing the right of consenting adults to choose whom they wish to marry. It’s in the Land of the Free where the debate (if debate is the word) is at its most venal. An unholy axis is scaring the horses and the old folk with talk of a disintegrating society and the fall of America. The do as I say and not as I do Catholic Church is wielding its considerable power and marshalling its congregation; right-wing American politicians seeking the highest office in the land talk of paganism and a vomiting God; and crazy pastors across the Bible belt warn of Old Testament fire and brimstone and the End of Days. These strange bedfellows all agree that it’s the thin end of the satanic wedge. What next? Pet-wedding perverts? Marriage is between one man and one woman, they say, sanctified by God for the purposes of procreation. How do they know? Because it says so in the Bible, stupid. Actually, the Bible says a lot about marriage – about forced wedlock, polygamy and concubines. It supports all of them. Bible-bashers have selective memories.
Rather than take a trip on the merry-go-round of fables and myths, it might be more illuminating to take a look at history and absorb some hard facts. Until relatively recently, marriage was primarily a property contract. In most societies, girls were the chattels of their fathers; wedlock simply transferred ownership from father to husband. There’s a clue in the word ‘lock’. Often, the contract was transacted within the extended family in order to consolidate assets or preserve clan cohesion. It was generally best to keep it within the family. At the top of the social heap, marriage was a political device to forge alliances, strengthen authority and maintain dynastic power. The rich would oil the marital wheels with generous dowries and the poor might secure a slave bride through war. Women were booty. Like goats. The consent of the unfortunate (and often underage) girl was not required. The wife could get a raw deal; the goats might be treated better. If a woman failed in her primary role to provide male progeny, she could be replaced, supplemented or worse. None of this sounds particularly honourable or pious to me. Nor has this depressing state of marital affairs been consigned to the history books. It’s alive and thriving in many primitive corners of the modern world.
The spawning argument hardly holds water either. It’s an obvious biological fact that marriage is not required to have children. People don’t suddenly become fertile because they’ve been blessed by the shaman. Breeding is like falling off a log and we’ve been at it like proverbial rabbits since our distant ancestors crawled out of the primordial soup at the dawn of time. When Fred Flintstone first clubbed Wilma over the head and dragged her by the hair into his cave to make Pebbles, he didn’t need a holier-than-thou clergyman to stick his oar in.
Just recently, on my side of the pond, a top dog collar in the Church of England jumped on the wedding bandwagon. The Archbishop of York claims that the democratically elected Parliament of Britain has no right to change the definition of marriage. I think His Grace will find that the British Parliament has the right to do as it pleases. England got rid of meddling priests when they pissed off Henry the Eighth. Hell hath no fury like a tyrant scorned. Despite what the Archbishop may think, the meaning and interpretation of abstract concepts often evolve over time through intellectual inquisition and discourse. There was a time when the Church taught us with absolute God-given certainty that the Earth was flat and sat at the centre of the Universe. Woe betide anyone who disagreed. Stoke the bonfire and burn the heretics, they used to say. Fortunately, we now know differently. We discover and we evolve. Our religious establishments would do better to concentrate their energies on addressing the problem of empty pews and unheard sermons. Ironically, the Church of England would find it far more difficult to operate without the growing number of gay vicars in its ranks.
For an unreconstructed liberal and an unabashed secularist like me, this is a fundamental equalities issue. It’s also a love thing; and love, above all other things, is at the core of the Christian message, is it not? As far as I’m aware, no religious organisation will be forced to conduct religious ceremonies for same sex couples if they object. So, let’s just calm down and grow up.
Read all about Jack and Liam‘s life in a Muslim country
Break a Leg
I’ll be banging on about my book ad nauseum at the Polari Literary Salon at London’s Royal Festival Hall on the 6th February 2012. All my profit and more has gone on paying for the bloody airfare. I suppose you have speculate to accumulate. Anyone who has read the book and likes it, please add a review to Amazon (if you haven’t already). Every little helps, as they say in the Tesco’s advert.
For details about the event check Time Out online. To buy tickets check out the Southbank Website.
M’Lady and the Crazy Marionettes
Next whistle stop on my virtual book tour (are you still on the train?) is Liz Cameron’s blog, Slowly-by-Slowly. Liz writes with depth and poetry about her cross-cultural life as an American married to a Turk through the eyes of a troupe of Ottoman era Karagöz shadow puppets. She’s not insane. It’s a metaphor, silly. Of greatest interest to me, though, is that Liz lives in Provincetown, a pretty little New England seaside resort which is a summer mecca for gay visitors – a kind of American Brighton. Yes, I am that shallow. My invite to ogle the shocking males must be lost in the post. The shocking mail in Turkey is to blame, no doubt.
Hop over to Slowly-by-Slowly to catch the book review and to hang out with M’Lady and the crazy marionettes.
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Mete’s World
Book Tour Intermission
We know a young Turkish man called Mete. He’s at university studying hard to make something of himself. He’s also gay. He’s not riddled with guilt. He’s resolutely out and comfortable in his own skin. He’s one of the new breed of young modern Turks demanding to live and breathe free. It won’t be easy.
People ask me why I don’t write more of the plight of LGBT people in my foster land on my blog and why my book isn’t about the struggle for sexual equality. Actually, I have touched on this in both, but neither the blog nor the book is intended to be a political or social polemic. Maybe my next project will be more radical. People who know me know I have a lot to say. It saddens me that if I do, I will have to do it from a safe distance.
I greatly admire Mete. He reminds me of a young Jack. Blighty the Seventies wasn’t so different from Turkey in 2012. Be brave Mete and stay safe.
Take a look at Mete’s World.
And check out the book.
The Ab Fab Impossibly Glamorous
I’d like to introduce American Expat returnee, Charles Ayres. Charles is funny and talented, and quite famous in his own lunchtime. He’s written for Harper’s Bazaar and Metropolis, handled the international PR for Tokyo FM’s annual Earth Day concert and popped up the big and small screen, most notably on the Japanese TV show “It’s OK to Laugh” (Waratte ii Tomo) and film “The Billion Yen Jackpot!” (Juoku-en Kasegu!)
Charles lived in the Land of the Rising Sun for 12 years and left after the 2011 earthquake. After experiencing the Big One, he moved to San Francisco to wait for the next Big One. He’s released his autobiography, Impossibly Glamorous, “The rudest book you’ll ever love,” detailing his life growing up as a raver in the American Midwest and taking over New York and Japan.
Charles has been a great supporter of Perking the Pansies, virtually from the beginning, and jumped in to help with promoting the book. He was one of the first to review Perking the Pansies
Check out Impossibly Glamorous on…
The Love That Dares Not Speak its Name Finally Gets a Voice

Blog Tour Intermission
Three hours into the flight from Istanbul to London I finally succumbed to the dubious pleasures of the Pegasus inflight magazine – all pretty pictures and shallow articles, as is the nature of these things. A piece on the current Turkish bestseller’s list caught my brief attention. The number one book in Turkey right now is Gizli Anların Yolcusu (Passenger of Secret Moments) by Turkish author, Ayşe Kulin. The English translation of the review read:
“Passenger of Secret Moments is about the kind of love that most of us would have trouble understanding and have prejudices about (speak for yourself, matey). With her usual mastery, Ayşe Kulin addresses a subject most fear to approach head-on in order to break taboos.”
According to a Bodrum Belle of my acquaintance, Ayşe Kulin is a prolific writer who has mass appeal and flogs books by the shedload to the growing middle class, just like Jeffrey Archer. And just like Jeffrey Archer, she isn’t particularly well-regarded by the literati. Who cares? I doubt I will be either. Good for her for writing a book in Turkish with a gay theme that’s made it to the top of the charts. Such people have more influence that many realise. Power to her pen, I say.
Check out my book. There’s a bit of gay theme in it too and the reviews aren’t bad either.
Amazon Bestseller
Liam got very excited this morning (not that kind of excited – get your mind out of the gutter). He woke me with a cuppa and glad tidings from Amazon UK. Perking the Pansies, Jack and Liam move to Turkey has hit the bestsellers’ lists.
- Top Ten – Gay and Lesbian Biographies (in the company of Jeanette Winterson and John Barrowman),
- Top Ten – Turkey Travel Guides (alongside the Rough Guide, Lonely Planet and Orhan Pamuk),
AND
- Number One for Gay and Lesbian Travel.
I’m rather pleased.





