Tag: Earls Court

From Social Outcasts to National Treasures

London is a gloriously haphazard, jumbled up kind of place where the rich and the ragged sometimes co-exist cheek by jowl. The Boltons in West London is an address for the seriously loaded, thought to be the second most expensive street* in the land – you won’t get much change out of £23 million. Famous former residents include Douglas Fairbanks Jnr, Jenny Lind and Madonna – the queen of pop that is, not of Heaven. And yet, close by is an entirely different Boltons, an imposing late-Victorian pub. It’s a building with a chequered, ever so slightly sleazy history. From the mid-fifties until the early nineties it was a gay bar. But then time was called on the boozy cruising and it was flogged off to be reborn as a faux Oirish theme pub as part of the O’Neill’s chain. Finally, it morphed into a trendy, overpriced gastropub called The Bolton. That didn’t last either. Nowadays, the boozer is down on its uppers – boarded up, forlorn and flaking; the only punters at the bar are squatters.

Back in the late seventies when I was a fresh-faced young gay-about-London Town, I sometimes drank in Boltons. It was a smoke-filled and deliciously seedy den of vice frequented by assorted ne’er-do-wells – rent boys, drunks, druggies, pimps, peddlers and petty thieves – a place to keep a tight hold of your wallet, if not your virtue. Not that I ever rented out, peddled or picked pockets, of course. It was just fun to watch the action, like feeding time at the zoo.

Now I hear that the worthy burghers of Kensington and Chelsea – the local council and my former bosses – have granted the building protected status because as Councillor Cem Kemahli said…

“The recognition of this historic pub as a listed site stands not just as a tribute to its architectural importance but also celebrates its role as a cherished hub within the LGBTQ+ community. The preservation of buildings like this one echoes our history and diverse communities in the borough.”

Blimey. It’s not that long ago when the worthy burghers were trying to get all the local gay venues closed down. From social outcasts to national treasures in just 40 years.

*the UK’s most expensive street is Kensington Palace Gardens in the same London borough, not far away from the Boltons.

From Little Acorns…

From Little Acorns…

Jack and John in EphesusOnce upon a time in another life, this seasoned old cynic met and fell for a handsome young man with razor-sharp wit and a glorious smile. His name was John. We collided in a long-gone dive in Earls Court called the Copacabana. He stayed the night and never left. Eight years into our fine romance John fell ill, quite suddenly. Within just six weeks he was dead. He died in my arms. It was quite a Hollywood moment but not one I care to reprise. That was 10 years ago. Even though I’ve been given a second time around, I still miss him.

John liked a slice of Turkey. We’d visited many times. When Liam and I first pitched our yurt in Anatolia, we bought an olive sapling in John’s memory and put it in a patio pot. It did remarkably well and bore fruit in the first year – a lean harvest but a harvest nonetheless. After we decided to wade back to Blighty, I asked Annie of Back to Bodrum fame if she would take care of John’s little twig in her Bodrum garden. Annie went one better and offered a sunny spot in the olive grove of her fabulous country pile.

My old mucky mucker, Ian, and his much younger squeeze, Matt, were our final gentlemen callers in old Bodrum Town. Back in the day, John, Ian and I had been the three muskequeers blazing a gay trail and frightening the locals from Ephesus to Antalya. Annie invited the lot of us out to her rural idyll for a spot of lunch and bit of aboriculture. She knows quite a lot about both. A gorgeous sunny afternoon of feasting, wine and gay-boy banter was polished off with a tree-planting flourish. Notice me proudly holding the big spade. Don’t be fooled. Annie’s husband did all the hard graft. All I did was plop the tree into the hole and pat it down like the Queen at an opening.

Now there is a little corner of Turkey that is forever John.

Thank you, Annie.

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