Goodbye to the Turkish Living Forum

nooseThe Turkish Living Forum has been hijacked by religious nutters and right wing bigots. I won’t be returning. And neither will many others judging by the private messages I’ve received. The tiresome exchange (well, mostly a fascist rant from the usual suspects) on UK marriage equality was allowed to shout on for three days. I’m not talking about people who oppose same sex marriage. That’s a difference of opinion, a legitimate example of free speech which I cherish. I’m referring to those who seem obsessed with man-on-man genital acts (always suspicious) as if being gay is all about sodomy (er, it isn’t) and those who were allowed to call for the extermination of gay people (Jawohl, mein Führer). Is this what the forum has been reduced to? Are the owners just in it for the hate money?

This offending comment was eventually removed by the moderators and the thread was then closed. Too little, too late, I’m afraid. The moderators were caught sleeping on the job. I will be watching from afar and if this hate campaign is allowed to continue, I will report it to the British Police as inciting hatred on the grounds of sexual orientation, a criminal offence in England and Wales since March 2010. Political correctness gone too far? Tough. You reap what you sow.

There are other forums to join such as Turkey Central where the discussion is more measured and actually about Turkish living.

Norwich?!

This has been the loaded question from some of those in the loop. Do I sense smidgeon of incredulity? A soupçon of smugness? To be fair, until quite recently, all I knew of Norwich was the Sale of the Century from the Seventies, Bernard Matthew’s gobbling turkeys and the acronym, kNickers Off Ready When I Come Home. I used the latter in text messages to Liam when we were at it like rabbits during our honeymoon years. By common consent, the former Anglo-Saxon kingdom of East Anglia is full of in-breeds shagging their siblings and marrying their cousins (sound familiar?). This may be true in the rural flatlands of England’s gobbling breadbasket but surely not in the pretty cathedral city, a hidden gem with its student vibe, wine bars and arthouses. We are delighted to be joining the north folk of Norfolk as neo Norwichians (not to be confused with Norwegians who, as Vikings, did a bit of raping and pillaging in that part of our Sceptred Isle). And just in case you need further convincing, take a look at this:

Okay, Norwich didn’t win but we all know that Derry (or Londonderry, depending on what side of the fence you pray on) won for political reasons. Just in case you’re thinking of sending me outraged of Derry/Londonderry letters, I’m entitled to say that. I’m half Northern Irish and I don’t pray at all.

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Same Sex Marriage in the UK

Scratch the surface and stupidity lies beneath. The lunatics have taken over the asylum at the Turkish Living Forum. What is the subject that’s got the bigots crawling from underneath their stones? Why gay marriage of course. All this tedious religious claptrap from tossers who take their bible like they take their software – jump to the bottom and tick the ‘I accept’ box. They are in good company – kiddie fiddling priests, the British National Party and religious fundamentalists who talk in tongues and still murder witches. Where are the forum moderators? Running for cover and hiding behind some corrupt notion of free speech.

Personally, I have no wish to get married in church. Unlike the hettie hypocrites who keep the chapel tills ringing with their white weddings and solemn vows that only half will keep, I won’t pretend to be religious. No priest is going to make a phoney out of me. Liam and I have a Civil Partnership. That’ll do us for now. However, I would never deny the right of others to marry whoever they choose. It’s an equalities thing.

Let’s keep a sense of proportion. The proposed law in Blighty will simply give those religious organisations (the Quakers, primarily) that want to perform a marriage ceremony for same sex couples the freedom to do so. So really, what is all the fuss about? The bigots are fighting a losing battle. Don’t want to treat me as equal? Then don’t take my taxes. The days of second-class citizenship are over. Almost.

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Anyone for Tennis?

A Bodrum Beau of my recent acquaintance loves a bit of a knockabout, Wimbledon-wise. He played regularly in Blighty but has struggled to find someone to play with since his return to the land of his fathers. If you live on the Bodrum Peninsula and fancy a game or two, let me know and I’ll pass your details on. Have pity. We can’t let the poor man play with himself, can we?

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Dancing on Ice

We’ve been watching a lot more British TV these dark and damp evenings. We became a bit bored with Patsy Kensit’s woodentop acting on a continuous loop courtesy of Auntie Beeb’s international offering. This was one reason for dumping Digiturk (that, and buggering off back to Blighty). We recently caught Dancing on Ice, ITV’s trashy and less cool answer to the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing. The friends of Dorothy have always loomed large on the entertainment payroll but none so obviously as Louie Spence, the campy Gatling gun judge and leading dancing queen. Louie lispily declared to one of the Z-list contestants attempting to revive their dead-as-a-dodo careers:

“You made a short but perfectly formed homosexual very happy.”

Remember, this is prime-time terrestrial TV with the little-uns watching. While I generally find Louie a bit too much of a stereotype, this short but perfectly formed homosexual loved the fact that nobody battered a moral eyelid. Larry Grayson must be turning in his grave.

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And the Winners Are…

All medieval Gothic cathedrals look the same to me – all those lofty arches, graceful buttresses, elegant cloisters, grimacing gargoyles and more effigies of martyred saints than I could shake a stick at. Thank you to everyone who entered the spot the Goth competition. Some were stumped and plumped for Chichester, Durham, Oxford and second favourite, Salisbury. All fine buildings, but nil points to you lot. Yes, the next exciting whistle-stop on our pansy trail is the fair city of Norwich, the handsome capital of East Anglia and former home to the quiz of the week with Nicholas Parsons.

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We decided to alter the competition rules a little (we can do that) and pick a couple of winners at random instead of just the one. Liam selected one and I chose the other. Congratulations to Niki Fowler and Paul Hard. A pristine copy of Perking the Pansies will be with you very soon, signed, sealed and delivered. We hope you enjoy it. And if you do, tell your family, your friends, strangers in the street, shout it from the rooftops and maybe add a review to Amazon. As they say at Tesco’s, every little helps.

Off to Norwich we shall plod and that’s where I’ll write the sequel. Emigreys beware. Just when you thought it was safe to dip your toes in the Ege, I’ll be tying up the loose ends of our extraordinary time in old Bodrum Town and moving the story along to its bitter end. I’ll also keep on blogging, reporting on the Motherland and our foster home through my veracious, liberal eyes. The uncensored safety of Blighty will allow me to write more honestly.

Have a look at No Going Back on Going Back for all the competition entries (those not published elsewhere). It’s my most commented on post.

Retail Therapy

I’ve started a little shop to add a few coppers to our coffers. It takes me back to the distant days of my misspent youth when I was a store boy on Chelsea’s trendy King’s Road. Days on the tills and nights on the tiles were the best probation for a young gay boy about town. My shop is stocked with a few hand-picked items that you never knew you couldn’t do without. Naturally, my book takes centre stage in the window display. So, if you’re looking for great deals on hotels, flights, books or anything on Amazon then visit Jack’s shop. It costs you nothing and I need the money. No pressure.

From Russia with Hate

I’m incensed, really pissed off. The parliament of St Petersburg, Russia’s cultural capital and second largest city, has just passed a law making it a crime to write, speak, discuss or meet about anything ‘gay’ (and I don’t mean happy). Offenders face a fine of up to $16,700.  Is this the action of a sophisticated, civilised, European nation?  I hardly think so. And some people think Muslim nations are backward. I can’t see this nasty little law ever being proposed in Turkey.

Take a look at the clever video below from the people at All Out. I hope it persuades you to lend your support. There is a chance that the Governor of St Petersburg will veto the bill. Please do what you can to convince him that this stupid law damages the international reputation of this great city, a city that I visited when I was 14 years old.

Bodrum Reborn

Barring a few meteorological mishaps and last-minute mayhem from Mother Nature, I think spring has sprung. We’re not leaving until the summer, so we intend to make the most of what we have left. We’ve washed down the patio furniture and shampooed the cushions, wiped the windows and showered the courtyard. Patio doors have been flung open to freshen the musk and murder the mould. We were regaled by the call to prayer at full volume and the first row of the season between our Turkish neighbours. It was a corker of a commotion with Beril’s throat at full throttle. Welcome to Bodrum reborn.

I’ve suffered a premature exclamation. Since I wrote this we’ve had that meteorological mishap. An instant cold snap has slapped us about the face like an icy flannel. We lunched with the Belles today at a modest promenade eaterie. Over the pide (Turkish pizza), Jessica gazed up at the uniform blanket of light grey and remarked ‘I think it’ll snow today.’ And lo and behold, it did. It was just a weak little flurry of flakes and was over in a jiffy, but it was a bona fide blizzard. Our first and probably our last.

Yum!

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Dumping Digiturk

We’re busy planning our repatriation to Blighty. We’re not actually leaving until June but it pays to start early. As my project guru, Liam has drawn up a long list of ‘must do’s’. Top of the agenda? Ditching our account with Digiturk, the national satellite TV broadcaster. We won’t miss it, not because it’s a bad service per se, but because more often than not we watch British TV through our VPN.

Liam rang Digiturk’s all singing, all dancing English Language call centre to cancel. The rude little runt on the end of the line was having none of it. Liam was given a cock and bull story about ‘applying’ to close our account by fax to Istanbul. We would need to provide another photocopy of my passport together with a notarised copy of my grandmother’s bra size. ‘You want to complain? Tough. My manager doesn’t speak English.’ Was the rude little runt having a bad day?  Maybe he was fed up dealing with rude little emigreys. Liam rang a second time – different rude little runt, same rude little script. Digiturk’s tone deaf one-stop shop for expats seems to have developed two left feet. Liam kept his cool and thanked the brick wall for his help. There’s no point losing your rag with the hired help.

Eventually, we managed to close the account via an exchange of heated emails written in English and translated into Googled Turkish. Liam kept the message simple ‘I am moving to England. I am cancelling my service. You can’t stop me.’ It worked. Tick. Next?

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