I declare this blog officially open...

And may God bless her and all those who sail in her. Or something like that. Sadly the Duchess of Kent wouldn't cut the virtual ribbon on this one (And don't think I didn't ask) but when you consider the number of old queens likely to visit this blog, the Royal thing is sorta taken care of. So what am I pondering today? Well, I'm pondering the fact that I'm having serious Wanda withdrawal and I'm pondering why I bite my nails which only leaves me with sore fingerinos. If I was a breeder this would pose a serious sexual handicap but as I'm a Homo Homeus I don't really need to worry. Though it does mean my nail varnish won't go on evenly. Speaking of men wearing nail varnish, the BBC treated us on Sunday night to the final episode of "The Naked Civil Servant", the beautiful biopic of the late, great and outrageously queer Quentin Crisp. Now, Mr Crisp was revolutionary to the gay community and was perhaps the first to publicly proclaim his sexuality in a stunning and flamboyant way that left no doubt to his preferences. Until I saw the series, I hadn't realised just how much dyed red hair makes one stand out. Thank the Lordy I got rid of mine this week and traded it for a darker shade of male. But aside from hair, make-up and a mincing step, Quentin was perhaps intentionally a trend setter and though in his early years he was beaten by straight thugs for being different, at the end of his long life he was being celebrated and indeed the gay community of the 70s had adopted the traits of the man himself. They were no longer afraid to stand out and their love for each other was now legal, even if would take a furthur 30 years to get complete equality. Yet you only have to ask a goth and they'll tell you that standing out from the crowd gets you stared at and so one has to ask oneself, how far is individuality actually accepted in the UK today?

On New Year's Eve, I popped along to G-A-Y and was immediately confronted with fabulous diversity. Whilst we bopped to "I am what I am", I kissed a drag queen for luck and slapped the ass of a naked bodybuilder wandering around in nothing but a Frank Butcher bowtie. On stage, the wannabe porn stars did their thang whilst we uglies congregated upstairs swilling old fashioned beverages and looking for single guys to go home with. I left G-A-Y with a couple of gorgeous guys from Welwyn Garden City and ushered in the new year in the only way randy gay guys can. But on the way to the great WGC, something truly magical happened. Complete strangers grabbed us and insisted on forming a conga line down Oxford Street, a woman launched herself at me and kissed me, I led a chorus of "Who the fuck is Alice?" in a crowded tube carriage and our taxi driver waved the fee. In the journey to the station, the world and his wife partied and sang without a care for race, creed or which set of goolies you go down on. It all sounds a little New Seekers I know and though it was the direct result of booze, everyone let their guard down long enough to wish everyone else well.

The next day, I got called a shit stabber and two chavs had a punch up in my carriage. Now I can't deny, I'm an obvious gay and so it isn't rare for strangers to stare or shout obscenities. Once I was trolling down Kennington Road when a kid on a bike asked me quite directly if I was a batty boy. In my grandest Bette Davis voice I said, "I am not, nor have I ever been a batty boy. I....am a homosexual". He didn't quite get it, called me a freak and drove off. Yet on New Year's night, I had a frank chat with a total stranger about whether her brother was gay or not. She offered me his number for goodness sake! There was no dirty looks when I sang badly on the Underground and when I snogged the face off of my bit of trade, there was a round of applause. Does it take mind bending substances to make people drop their inhibitions and insecurities about different types of people? If the guy who murdered a goth recently had been off his face of Pernot, would he really have cared about the two law abiding human beings who's lives he tore apart just because they were wearing black?

Now I'm not suggesting that we all become Yootha Joyce's alkihol rivals, far from it. I'm suggesting we look to the inspiration of people like Quentin Crisp and ask ourselves if we really are as accepting as we claim we are as a society. Yes we have civil partnerships, yes gays can adopt and yes, we can serve in the army - but what's the good of that if holding your boyfriend's hand can lead to you being smacked about by a gang of straight guys with something to prove? Quentin Crisp frequently got attacked because he stood out. If you dress like Quent and totter down Romford on a Friday night, the same will probably happen to you. So depressingly, we conclude that nothing's really changed. And here's where I get on my soap box and say that people like Stonewall and OUTrage have done a fabulous job in getting us legal equality but what they fail to realise is that there's still a long way to go before social equality is achieved. To be honest, I think it'll take a long long time to get that but it's not impossible. We have to integrate with the rest of society just as much as they need to integrate with us. In my recent spiritual escapades, I've been trolling off to shul every week and the stares you get if you wear a kippah in the street are indicative not of blatant anti-semitism but of inherent and very uncomfortable uncertainty.

So what am I really saying I want? I don't want the right to fuck Johnny Depp in Marks and Spencers, I don't want the right to erect statues of Judy Garland on every street corner and I don't want the right to gay-only beaches down in Brighton. In fact, I think I've got enough rights. I just want the ability to show my love and my feelings for someone who hopefully reciprocates those emotions for me, without getting burned by the glares of infuriated confuzzled people. How can I get that ability? Well, I'd be lying if I said I have a plan but maybe it's because we've always held back on the public displays of affection front. The British have moved on from stiff upper lip and now you will see straighties necking on the streets. But gay people rarely do and I wonder if it's because they somehow feel they can't. So let's show we can. Don't sensationalise it, don't make it the attraction in the newspaper - just show your affection as the straight people do. And then maybe we'll finally crack the problem that is the divide between the gay and straight communities. End of sermon. Keep it glam gals. xXx