Our Independence Day

Our Independence Day

The fourth of July was independence day for boozers in England. For the first time since lockdown in March, pubs threw open their doors with staff waiting anxiously at the pumps. We were like rats out of a trap. First stop for a cheeky bottle of blush, the White Horse, transformed into a virus-free sanctuary (as much as anything can be) by the jolly landlord, Simon Peck, and his trusty staff. 

The pandemic revealed an entirely different side to Simon as a bumbling and uncannily accurate BoJo impersonator as you can see in this tongue firmly in cheek performance.

Simon even made it on to Look East, our regional BBC news programme. If you’re on Facebook, give the video a like if you would. Simon would be chuffed.

Next stop was the Swan for a couple and then the King’s Head for a final snifter. We didn’t quite make it up to the Angel. That’s on the menu for next time. Too early for opening time? I’m no expert so I’ll leave that to the know-it-alls to speculate. What I do know is each establishment did their bit to keep people safe and all the punters behaved. Was it worth it? You bet! We got totally tiddlypooped.

My Boob Job

Apart from clacking about in my mother’s heels when I was six (and who hasn’t done that?) I’ve only cross-dressed once – dragging up as Mary Hopkins at a fancy dress Eurovision Song Contest party back in the day. I picked up a dodgy blonde wig and cheap black dress on the Roman Road Market in London’s East End. In DMs and black eyeliner, my Mary looked like a gothed-up pantomime dame. I made sure all the photos were destroyed.

With my drag days long behind me, imagine my surprise to get this delivered from dependable ol’ Marks and Spencer, the cornerstone of the beleagued British High Street.

Not so dependable, after all. Right name, right address, wrong order. We wanted fitted sheets. We got fitted bras. And not any old bras, oh no. These were M&S bras, sumptuously soft with full cups in 36B. Still, it made us giggle on a slow day.

Here’s the real Mary doing her thing on Eurovision back when the UK had a fighting chance of winning. Not that Mary did win. Despite being red-hot favourite, she came second to Ireland’s Dana, a sweet-voiced chanteuse with fire and brimstone views.   

The Seven Sisters

Who knows what life will be like once we’re released from house arrest? What will the so-called new normal look like? What’s certain is we’re all Zooming, streaming and buying online like never before. This was already the direction of travel and it just got turbo-charged. How many bricks and mortar businesses will survive is anyone’s guess.

And then there are the most ancient of games – cruising, coupling and canoodling – and the arenas where these rituals are played out. From an LGBT perspective, swiping right had already forced many a gay boozer to call time for good. Why bother with the faff and expense of propping up a bar hoping for a chance liaison when you can order in with free delivery? But these places aren’t just about a Saturday night takeaway, they also provide a community hub and a safe haven from a sometimes hostile world.

An old friend sent me – via WhatsApp, ironically – these amazing images of some of London’s most iconic gay pubs, venues with long and infamous pedigrees. I don’t know who took the pictures so they can’t be credited but they brought back a flood of memories of my gloriously misspent past.

Ladies and gents and all those in between, I give you the seven sisters. As the old saying goes, use them or lose them.

  • King's Arms
    The Kings Arms: famous for bears, their admirers and Jivin’ Julie’s sunday night karoake
  • The Eagle
    The Eagle: the youngest of the seven sisters
  • Admiral Duncan
    The Admiral Duncan: made famous by a nail bomb which, in 1999, killed three and maimed many others
  • Halfway to Heaven
    Halfway to Heaven: where Liam first caught my roving eye 14 years ago
  • Duke of Wellington
    The Duke of Wellie: always my favourite Soho boozer right next door to my least favourite, Rupert Street
  • Comptons
    Comptons: Soho’s boozy, cruisy bar frequented by likely lads from all over the world
  • Royal Vauxhall Tavern
    The Royal Vauxhall Tavern cabaret bar and the eldest sister by far. Listed status may not protect it from demolition.
    My mother watched drag shows there in the sixties

Living Angels

Sitting pretty on the edge of our little village in a green and pleasant corner of old England lulled us into a false sense of security. Despite the chronicle of death on the nightly news, we thought the COVID-19 pandemic would simply pass us by. That was until we got the awful news that one of our nearest and dearest was struck down by it. It really was a close run thing for a while but he survived. And his message of thanks to his living angels got him on the radio.

Living Angels on LBC

The Birds and the Bees

We live in a real life Hitchcock film with Liam doing his best Tippi Hedren impersonation trying to dodge the blitzkrieg of shit from the rooks, crows, pigeons, wrens, blackbirds, robins, doves, starlings, ducks and tits great and small. Wiping down the garden fixtures with a damp J cloth has become a daily ritual.

Pansies HQ overlooks the Wherryman’s Way and so we’re well used to the endless procession of panting dogs with booted walkers in tow. Much more interesting is the sight of partridges and pheasants – though not chickens – crossing the road followed by the occasional muntjac deer.

And then there is the felonious squirrel who raids the nuts from our neighbour’s bird feeder and buries his booty in our lawn. More annoying are the wasps looking for a cosy place to bed down in our loft and the masonry bees setting up home by burrowing into the ancient mortar keeping our equally ancient bricks in place. And don’t ask me about the pesky moles tunnelling beneath our feet.

This isn’t the birds and the bees I learned about as a hormone raging teenager.

And now for the trailer with Liam in a blond wig…

Art for Art’s Sake

I don’t know the first thing about art. Like beauty, it’s all in the eye of the beholder. I do know a lot of old twaddle is said and written on the subject. The stuff we have hanging on our walls is there because of the stories and meanings behind the images – the emotional and sentimental value rather than the worth artistically or financially. And we certainly have nothing to declare for insurance purposes. Here’s a sample…

  • A Green Man fit for a country cottage
  • The lady of the house always takes pride
    of place wherever we are and has done
    so eight times to date
  • A leaving gift from our Bodrum
    landlady who embroidered it
    herself, stitching the fabric to the
    page of an old Turkish newspaper
  • No idea how I acquired this but I think
    its a piece of fancy wallpaper
  • Original oil paintings picked up in a
    shop on Mykonos
  • Photos of ‘proper art’ – massive
    metallic installations created by an
    old friend of Liam’s
  • Double exposure – Liam and the Alps
  • The first print I ever bought, picked
    up in an art shop in Covent Garden
  • A gift from a friend who knows us only
    too well!
  • One the posters featuring my book
    created for a Norwich Art Exhibition
  • A Chinese silk Liam picked up in
    Hong Kong
  • A birthday gift from a Bodrum Belle
  • John Garner
    (1967-2003)
  • Liam wanted ducks so Liam got ducks
  • An original watercolour of Norfolk
    beach huts by Jenny Parfitt
  • A gift from a waitress at the Eleonas Country Village
    in Crete, the venue for our second honeymoon
  • A leaving gift for Liam
  • The first thing Liam bought for me while
    we were on a date in Brighton
  • A photo of an original painting by
    author Iona Jenkins used as a cover
    for one of her books
  • Elton John commemorative
    stamps from the Royal Mail. I have
    all these albums

Taking the Bull by the Horns

Taking the Bull by the Horns

After a dull, damp winter, the spring has been warm and friendly – pale blue skies and wispy clouds – perfect weather for back-garden BBQs and slow walks along the Wherryman’s Way. Some readers may remember our clash with Daisy, the mad cow last autumn. On the warmest day of the year so far, we decided to return to the scene of our undoing. It was time to finally face our demons.

We took a circuitous route from Chedgrave, through Loddon, past pretty cottages dripping with wisteria and locked-down pubs looking sad in the sun, finally arriving at the riverside clearing at Pye’s Mill.

After a brief stopover for some extra vitamin D and a beef baguette, we girded our loins and wandered into the field where the evil cows graze. Keeping a watery ditch between them and us, we proved that man and beast can live together in perfect harmony, as long as they keep to their side of the moat. Job done and safely home, we chucked a couple of burgers on the grill.

Lucky Jack

Lucky Jack

Liam and I know how lucky we are. We don’t have children to feed, educate and amuse. We don’t have elderly parents to care for. We don’t have serious physical or mental health issues. We don’t live in a flat with no outside space. We don’t have money worries. And we don’t live where COVID-19 has been most deadly – quite the contrary, in fact. Some people have all these things tied up in a bow. Yes, we know how lucky we are.

The Rainbow Tree

The Rainbow Tree

If you go down to the woods today you’re sure of a big surprise. No, not teddy bears having a picnic but a rainbow tree adorned with ribbons and messages of hope for troubling times.

Glorious weather brought out flocks of lycra’d cyclists and packs of dog walkers in sensible shoes. Everyone toed the line, distance wise, and we didn’t encounter any pond life thinking the 2 metre rule didn’t apply to them.

By the end of our stroll we’d worked up quite a thirst but, as the pubs are all shut, we made do with a glass or two in the garden afterwards. Life could be worse. We could run out of booze.

Drinking Through the Crisis

I cannot lie. I was so relieved when off licences were added to the list of essential retailers. A dry lockdown would be way beyond the pale ale and, thankfully, local shops are well-stocked with the hard stuff, helping to tranquilise us through the coronavirus crisis.

We’re creatures of habit, Liam and I. And touring the village watering holes for a few bevvies is one of them. We call it doing our bit for the local economy. As they’re all shut up for the time being, we get our fix by cracking open a bottle and joining in the White Horse virtual pub quiz on Facebook every Monday at 8pm. It’s not quite the same as the real thing and it’s too easy to cheat – not that we do, of course – but it’s as good as it gets right now.

Simon, Chedgrave’s very own jolly landlord, is doing his bit to keep community peckers up and the virtual quiz really helps. He also does a nice line in colourful shirts to brighten up the dullest of days – always a talking point. Sartorially, though, he’s got a long way to go before he can compete with the nation’s all-time favourite pub landlady – bottle-blond, chain-smoker, Bet Lynch (AKA Julie Goodyear). Bet’s signature look was leopard skin. She covered everything in it, even her chest exerciser.

Brassy Bet’s tenure behind the bar at the Rovers Return on Coronation Street may be long over but you can catch her glory days weekday afternoons on ITV3. That’s what I do.