Labours of Love

As a superannuated member of the grumpy grey herd, I still read newspapers, those quaintly old-fashioned printed sheets of paper that leave ink smudges on your fingers. I recently read in one daily rag that renovation, decorating and domestic chores can cause tensions in relationships. Really? Who knew? This month, Liam and I celebrate our 15^th wedding anniversary and we decided very early on in our career that the only way to avoid the divorce court was a clear division of labour in the home.

Here’s that newspaper list and how we stay (mostly) harmonious:

Flat-pack furniture: me. I’m a sucker for an Allen key. It makes me come over all butch.
Bathroom cleaning: Liam. Getting my hand round an s-bend is an insertion too far.
Painting and decorating: Liam. I’m no Jack of all trades and he’s handier with a brush.
Loading the dishwasher: both but I reload it when he’s not looking.
Clearing out the shed. Jack’s man cave – keep out! It’s where the smut is stashed.
Laundry: me. I’m happy to rinse through Liam’s knickers. That’s real love for you.
Putting up a shelf: neither. Get a lesbian in.
Cleaning the oven: Liam. Life’s way too short to drop to my knees for a cooker.
And the hardest of all… interior design choices. Have you ever seen two old poofs throw a hissy fit over some scatter cushions in IKEA? It wasn’t us, obviously.

Paul O’Grady, RIP

We awoke this morning to the sad news that Paul O’Grady, AKA Lily Savage drag queen extraordinaire, has died. Even though I didn’t know Paul personally, somehow it still feels like a big loss. Lily Savage was such an important part of my formative years as a pretty young gay about town. Before Paul hit the big time on the telly box, firstly as his alter ego and then as himself, I misspent many a boozy night of slapstick and sequins watching Lily click her high heels on the velvet-draped stage of the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, South London’s premier drag pub. Quick-witted, caustic, filthy and utterly original, Lily always brought the house down. I laughed so much it hurt. Nobody dared heckle Lily when Lily was on a roll. She was more than just drag. There have been countless drag queens down the ages, some great and some dire, but Lily stood wig and shoulders above them all. Lily was comedy royalty.

There are loads of videos of Paul and Lily on YouTube. I’ve picked one – outtakes from the Lily Savage TV Show back in the day on the Beeb. If you’re easily offended, best change channels now.

The Amazing ABBA Voyage

A big birthday deserves a big show and they don’t get much bigger than ABBA Voyage at the specially constructed ABBA Arena in London’s Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. Discretion prevents me from broadcasting the number of the big birthday. Let’s just say the lady turned 21 again. After a Champagne breakfast at the White Horse generously provided by our jolly landlord – the birthday girl’s other half – the fancily-dressed voyagers piled onto the charabanc to the Smoke. More generosity from the innkeeper saw some of us three sheets to the wind before we hit the M11.

London traffic, as always, was bumper to bumper, but we made the performance – just. And what a performance. It took my breath away. Truly the best light and sound show I’ve ever seen. ABBA split in 1982 and, unlike some ancient rockers who seem to be on perpetual tour, the quartet wisely decided they were way too long in the tooth to squeeze into those skin-tight costumes and hit the road again. So ABBA Voyage is the next best thing – or the first best thing depending on your point of view – a virtual concert featuring ‘ABBAtars’.

At first, it felt a bit weird clapping to a series of holograms, but the show is so technically brilliant, so convincing, that it’s easy to suspend belief and party hard to the fast-paced set of timeless ABBA classics. And who doesn’t like a bit of ABBA at a party? We all had a ball, particularly the birthday girl – because she’s amazing too.

Madder Mates at the Maddermarket

Times are hard and, like so many others, the Maddermarket Theatre, former chapel and the spiritual home of am-dram in Norwich, is feeling the pinch. They desperately need an injection of cash to keep the footlights on. And so to raise a few coppers for the coffers, they put on a three-night explosion of talent. We pitched up for the middle fundraiser billed as…

“Showcasing the talents of some of our closest ‘Madder Mates’, our extended showbiz family are generously donating their time for a magical one-night event ‘CAUSE YOU GOTTA HAVE FRIENDS. An impromptu gala evening of stellar performances from great local artists…”

They weren’t wrong. It was a splendid happy clappy, foot-tapping treat. And if that wasn’t enough, I won some fancy bath oil in the charity raffle.

The theatre has some terrific artwork hanging around the bar. It’s worth popping in for a few sherries just to have a gander. It all helps with the theatre’s bank balance. This particular piece, from Bowie’s Aladdin Sane period, caught my eye. It’s made entirely of postage stamps.

Back in the seventies, I bought Aladdin Sane – a pun on ‘A Lad Insane’ – with an original gatefold cover with my meagre Saturday boy wages. Sadly, the album got lost somewhere along the way. It might be worth a few bob now.

What’s Your Poison?

Every month without fail, Chet Contact drops on the mat. Produced by the Chet Valley Churches, the community magazine is packed with handy information about local community groups and services for believers and non-believers alike. There’s a lot going on round these parts. From bells to balls, bats to bowls, cakes to quizzes, pumping iron to eyeing up the birds, from stage to the silver screen, arts and crafts, knitting to nattering, foraging to growing your own, and much more besides – all country life is here.

I like the regular history piece in the mag. I knew Loddon has old roots – the earliest written reference to the village was around 1042 – but I was surprised to read that there’s been a pharmacy in Loddon on the same site for over 180 years. It’s now a branch of Boots. Long gone are all those jars full of potions laced with opium and mercury from the apothecary’s handbook of old wives’ tales. Maybe that’s why, back then, life expectancy was only about 57.

Back to Turkey

We were struck down with the dreaded lurgy over the festive period and it just went on and on. What’s a boy to do when he’s at his lowest ebb, snot-wise, and he needs to perk up the pansies? Book a holiday of course. And the holiday we booked is to Dalyan in southwest Turkey. We plan a week of R&R with a bit of sightseeing and beach-bumming thrown into the mix.

We all know about last month’s catastrophic earthquakes, which flattened large swathes of Turkey and Syria, killing tens of thousands. It’s truly heartbreaking. We got a small taste of it when we lived in Bodrum. It was just a minor tremor, no damage done, but it still sent us fleeing into the courtyard.

The recent disaster will put some people off visiting Turkey but I hope not too many. The last thing the country needs right now is yet another blow to the economy. As most tourist businesses are family-owned, it’s the ordinary folk who suffer the most.

The situation is desperate and will remain so for a long time to come. If you’d like to help, please give what you can. It all makes a difference. There are plenty of appeals out there to choose from. Here’s one in the UK:

Disasters Emergency Committee

On a lighter note, Dalyan is a long way from the disaster zone. This is how I described it in Postcards from the Ege, a tongue in cheek guide book I wrote many moons ago:

“Back in the day, Dalyan was a quaint and sleepy village on the banks of the Dalyan River. The town first hit the headlines in the mid-eighties when an international campaign successfully defeated a plan to develop the nearby Iztuzu Beach where endangered loggerhead turtles famously lay their eggs. Turtles and tourism now co-exist (just). The soft, white sand is well worth a visit but take a packed lunch, slap on total sunblock and don’t step on the eggs. You don’t want to be responsible for wiping out an entire species.”

And the nearby ruins of Kaunos:

“Stuck in the bog of the Dalyan river delta with a chronology dating back to the 9th century BC is Kaunos, a city lost in the vegetation for over 300 years. Originally a Carian settlement and now a UNESCO World Heritage site, the ruins are a jumble from different periods – Greek, Roman and Byzantine. Kaunos was a regional seaport of some note. However, like Ephesus, the silting of the harbour left the city high and dry and sealed its fate. The site is best reached by small boat from nearby Dalyan. You’ll gently put-put through the crystal-clear river past majestic reed beds belly dancing in the breeze. Today, the city is appreciated as much for the prolific wildlife as it is for the scattered stones. Also, as with Miletos, the surrounding swamp is particularly popular with holidaying mosquitoes. The city was finally abandoned in the 15th century following a malaria epidemic. You’ve been warned.”

The last time I was in Dalyan was over 25 years ago. I can’t wait to dip my toes in the warm waters of the Aegean again. I might even persuade Liam to take in a mud bath with me in a vain attempt to regain our long lost youth. Yes, this was me back in 1997. It didn’t work then either.

Inevitably, the resort will have changed but I hope not too much. I’ll keep you posted.

Matilda, the High School Musical

The last time I was at a school play, I was in a school play. That was 1976 and it was Midsummer Night’s Dream. No, I wasn’t typecast as one of the fairies. Shame on you for thinking it. In fact, I was ‘Snug, a Joiner’, who was also ‘Lion’ in the Bard’s play within a play. I was terrible. My lion’s roar was particularly lame. Roll on nearly half a century and school plays have come a long way. Back in my day, there was no technical wizardry with lights, mikes and music, just a few spotty teens mooching and mumbling.

And judging by the recent production of Matilda, the Musical, at Hobart High, our local secondary school, the quality of the performances has come a long way too. There was some real talent on that stage and the complicated ensemble song and dance routines were a pleasure to watch – harmonious and pretty much step perfect. The enthusiasm was infectious, warming up the audience on a cold midwinter’s evening. And the fact we knew some gifted kids in the cast made it even better. Mothers cried with joy.

Kinky Boots

A glitter bomb of drag queens in outrageous slap and the highest heels sashayed onto the stage at Norwich’s Theatre Royal to add a little glamour to the naughty but nice musical Kinky Boots, the very latest thing from the class act that is the Norfolk and Norwich Operatic Society. The show is based on a 2005 British comedy* of the same name, which itself is loosely based around the true story of a Northampton cobbler struggling to save his family-run factory from closure by producing fetish footwear for men.

With songs by Cyndi Lauper and a book by Harvey Fierstein, the show is a glorious celebration of diversity and acceptance. Despite being set against the grim reality of deindustrialised Britain, it’s a heart-warming tale of hope and salvation, and strangely resonant given Norwich’s own long history of shoe-making. The dazzling cast did Cyndi proud, and dowager drag queen Lola was simply fabulous. The show ended with a well-deserved standing ovation.

Richard Jarmy Photography – @richardjarmy

I’ll leave the last words to that camp old crooner Barry Manilow and aptly named sixties supergroup The Kinks.

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl

With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there.
‘Copacabana‘ by Barry Manilow

Well, I’m not dumb but I can’t understand

Why she walked like a woman but talked like a man
‘Lola’ by Ray Davis

*A film directed by Norwich’s very own Julian Jarrold. The Jarrold family are big round here.

A Man Called Otto

A feel-good flick is the surest way to chase away those midwinter blues and they don’t come more feel-good than A Man Called Otto, with an unusually brittle Tom Hanks in the title role as the eponymous grumpy old fart living life on a short fuse. A remake of an earlier Swedish film and adapted from a best-selling novel, check your cynicism at the door before you take your seat.

Newly widowed Otto likes things done right and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Surrounded by idiots and utterly consumed by grief, he sees little to live for. And yet his meticulously planned attempts to re-join his dearly departed are constantly thwarted by do-gooders and doing good, proving that his number isn’t up.

Liam sees a lot of Otto in me. I can’t think why. All I can say is I loved it. But then, who doesn’t like a Tom Hanks film? Here’s the trailer…

Then and Now

Back in 2008, the eccentric old fella next door bought my London Victorian terrace in Walthamstow. One fateful evening he popped round with his chequebook and asked, “How much?” And just like that the deal was done and we were on our way to Turkey for a new life in a foreign field. I wrote about it in that book. Cue the shameless plug.

perking-the-pansies-chapter-2 Download

I’ve been pretty lucky with buyers. My gaff before Walthamstow was also flogged off to a neighbour. Both sales saved me a king’s ransom in estate agent fees.

Last year, my old Walthamstow house came back onto the market for the first time since I sold it. Despite being in a very sorry state, it went for more than double the 2008 price tag. London prices really are crazy. I don’t know what happened to the eccentric old fella next door but it was really sad to see my pretty Victorian terrace with all the vivid memories of good times past looking so unloved and unlived in. I really hope whoever’s got it now will sprinkle a little fairy dust to bring it back to life. Because it’s a cracking little place for the right person.