Footballer comes out as full blown homosexual to rapturous applause from the Terrace and chants of ‘I Am What I am’

In a break with tradition in the supposedly macho heterosexual world of the kicking game known as football, the first premier league player has declared his Gay Pride on a live televised match. Pedro ‘Mary’ Streisand of Dolly Rovers twerked his way around the pitch wearing a sequin emblazoned jacket bearing the words ‘Out and Proud’ after he finished the match against Manchestford CityUnited last Saturday. Dolly Rovers won 1-0.

The Institute of Kickyball Studies claims that as many as 100% of the Premier League players might be gay or bisexual, despite appearances. ‘They certainly play like girls, and many of them even have manicures’, a spokesman said.

Pedro’s former girlfriend, Cazza Broomsweep-Longthorne, exclusively told us ‘I just thought his Liza Minnelli, Queen and Pet Shop Boys record collection were indications of an eclectic musical taste. We had a perfectly normal sex life that I could tell – I would go out with the girls for a prosecco and Pedro had a pint with the boys.’

Fans have enthusiastically welcome Pedro’s coming out. ‘It’s great news for the sport. It’s 2017, and of course nobody really believed that there were no gay players’ Fan ‘Dogger’ Grimes told us. ‘We’re pleased to see him show such strong self-esteem, and to act so courageously in the face of discrimination. As far as fans are concerned, the whole England team could come out, and the fans would be welcoming and supportive. Some of us might even find a date!’

The FA have not made any  comment.

*In case you haven’t noticed, this is allegedly an example of ‘satire’ I’ve written as part of a writing course. No animals were injured in the writing of this story, and any resemblance to persons and Football Legends living or dead is entirely a matter of unlikely and ludicrous coincidence

An Easter View From A Fridge – hot buns, loincloths, charlatans and coming out


I’ve made buns. Hot and cross for Easter. Today I received a card from an uncle, a chaplain, encouraging me that this year I might ‘consider resurrection’. I was terribly flattered, but think that might be beyond my powers.

But Easter is a celebration for me, a resurrection of sorts. It’s the anniversary of my own coming out, many years ago when I was a student. I celebrate it still – coming out is a life changing event without formal celebrations to acknowledge it. Lots of people now take it for granted, and in many ways now we’re encouraged to think we don’t need to come out, that it wasn’t or isn’t important anymore. A social move towards ‘uncoming out’, invisibility, assimilation, the backlash against equality and getting the message tom just shut up with the gay thing and not ram it down throats anymore. Be grateful, you’re nothing special or different.

It felt felt very different as a Catholic teenager with a crush on a best friend at University. There had been clumsy attempts at coming out before – a furtive purchase of Gay Times, an embarrassed confession to a priest who explained, as a former Rugby player, that all young men went through such a phase. And there was the punk girl who chatted me up on the top deck of the no 2 bus from town, who concluded I must be gay because I didn’t want to get off at the next stop  have sex with her. ‘The house is empty’, she told me with glee.

But one Easter I blurted out to a guy from Kansas who was on overseas internship that I thought I wasn’t 100% straight. I don’t know how I got round to it, and didn’t mention I had  crush on him til months later. But I got a hug, and all of a sudden I felt acceptance for something I hadn’t been able to accept for myself for so long. And that was it. Easter. Renewal. Rebirth. The rock had been rolled away from my tomb.

I’m reminded of a another coming out at easter. It involved an alleged tax avoider from the continent, who pretended to be a member of clergy at school. There were no CRB checks back then, and even if you were clergy you got away with all sorts. He was terribly camp, terribly outrageous, got away with calling us all ‘fuckin sheeeetheads’ in his unlikely foreign accent when teaching foreign languages, and decided it would be simply marvellous to produce a musical based on the gospels – but, naturally,  to the songs of Diana Ross. So the Crucifixion had Our Lord tied upside down on a crucifix as they played Diana’s best selling ‘Upside Down’. And in a self effacing act of humility, he cast himself as Jesus Christ. In nothing but a very short, skimpy and rather sparkley loincloth. As Jesus would wear.
The highlight, of course, was the Resurrection. At which point out charlatan friend appeared  rolling back the stone from his tomb, to the tune of Miss Ross’s ‘I’m Coming Out’. Which nearly happened with the loincloth, it was so skimpy. He was eventually spirited away to the continent on a one way ticket in the dark of the night. Faithful reader, I’m never sure how much of this true story could ever be true. But it happened.

So, whatever Easter might mean for you, I wish you the surprising, the unlikely, the unbelievable, and your own experience of renewal and rebirth. And some hot, sweet, sticky buns.

There Were These Two Nuns In A Bar ….

I’ve just added a bit more of my writing/directing/performing portfolio on my page for Other Projects.  There’s an anecdote in one of the books about Sister Beladonna and Sister Frigidity,  two Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence, in the Coleherne Bar in London.  And, faithful reader, it’s all true. I know, for I was that sister …

So it happened that Sister Belladonna was in his rubber habit and I was wearing my mini with fishnets, and we were having a pint with the regulars at the Coleherne in Earl’s Court, London. Exactly a year ago, we had first worn our habits at the same pub, to join a demonstration against the local police who’d raided the Coleherne and harassed customers. While we were supping our bevies, a leather queen started chatting to us. All of a sudden, he burst into tears. ‘Why me?’ he asked. ‘I must deserve it.’ ‘Bullshit,’ we replied, bought him a drink and discussed the effects of moralising, guilt and stigma surrounding HIV. After drying the tears and a drink or two, like a phoenix he clambered up onto a pool table, which had been used for a stage by a stripper earlier that evening. Once upon a time, the leather queen had been a drag performer, and he started to dance one of his routines. Salome could not have been more beautiful. So there were two gay male nuns and an ex-drag queen, surrounded by butch leather clones. It may not have been Kansas, but it was some kind of home. Dolphins can swim, drag queens can dance, but we can all be heroes.


Preface, Impertinent Decorum: Gay Theatrical Manoeuvres (Cassell, 1994)