“I’ve already left this place in my mind”

Petty vindictiveness and institutionalised hatred, coming atcha from my hometown. You’ll forgive me if I take a moment to go into a corner and beam with pride, right? Is it any wonder I ran from that shithole the first chance I got? Coming hot on the heels of Lastyearsgirl’s excellent post on the misjudged and frankly hateful comments recently emerging from the bile-filled mouths of Scotland’s Catholic representatives, it seems everyone in Motherwell is determined to make me so ashamed I’ll never return for so much as a flying visit. And people wonder why I had to flee in order to have any kind of life? London is not the perfect solution to any problem, but most places here I can walk down the street holding my girlfriend’s hand, or be open about my sexuality from the first time I meet a new person.  Back there I’d expect anything from insults to people still getting a kicking in the street, and I know I’m not far off the mark.

What makes me laugh is that Breeder McQuaid (male component) says it’s not intended as a slur against the gays.  No, instead it’s a mature and reasonable reaction along the lines of the “I’m no wae them, we’re diff’rent, I don’t wantae catch thur germs”.  Fucknuts.  The problem for religious wackjobs like these is that they’re so desperately insecure in their evermore fallible faith that they feel the need to lash out.  What they don’t understand (and nor does the tribunal apparently) is that legally there’s no actual difference between marriage and civil partnership (I’m forever hazy on the details, but it’s nothing significant if they do still differ).  The difference is religious, it’s just unfortunate that the religious ceremony is seen as the ‘true’ one, encoded in the law.  Would they protest if the form lumped registry office and chapel weddings in the same bracket?  No, because they already were.  So this is just the “they’ve got cooties” defence.  Hysterically, yer wummin McQuaid reckons that people would be confused about whether they were straight or gay just from these forms, but it becomes fairly obvious in any situation where it matters that if one has a dick and the other doesn’t, most likely it’s one of those splendid heterosexual unions (the ones with a nigh on 50% divorce rate, eh?).

Surprisingly, the news of this first came from my parents and for once they were outraged on my side.  It angers me most of all because by creating the distinction these backward folks are leaving gay people open to the sort of discrimination that the legal system is trying to eradicate.  It forces people to ‘out’ themselves on official forms, and while that may be nothing much in say, Brighton – Sodom of the South, it’s clearly still a big fuckin’ deal in We-Hate-Gays, Lanarkshire.  If these numpties are claiming their own form of discrimination – religious – then surely the two should be weighed against each other according to the harm principle.  Forcibly outing people, or causing them not to claim their correct legal status is far more detrimental than ‘hurt feelings’.  And if they have such a big bloody problem with it, why not ask God to sort it out?  If the Invisible Man has such a problem with us queers, then surely there would have been lightning bolts hitting ceremonies all over the place since December 2005?

I’m mostly pissed off since I’m one of the least militant lezzbians you could come across.  I don’t see an issue with civil partnerships being named differently to marriages, so long as the legal standing is equal.  It’s a final battle I’m willing to let slide where many aren’t.  Then eejits like this crawl out of the woodwork and you wonder if there’s any way to have the Catholic Church branded a terrorist organisation, and let Dubya sort them out.
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Now playing: Ryan Adams – God Bless the Week You Went Away
via FoxyTunes

“Most of our people have never had it so good”

Never So Good – 26th March 2008 – Press Night

Originally uploaded by Lola how_i_lie

It’s not often that I find Jeremy Irons charming. Perhaps it was the character’s affability that swayed me but I didn’t grind my teeth once, and that Mr Irons has rescued you from my bad books. You made a wonderful Harold MacMillan, and in watching this all unfold I got a real sense of the man’s honour and dignity. Not to mention some cracking one-liners.

I’ll be honest, although this period in history is one I’m keen to fill in the blanks on, it wasn’t until I saw the name of one Ms Anna Chancellor on the cast list that I was in any hurry to get tickets. So important an event that it was marked in my calendar weeks before, and booked within minutes of the booking period being open. It’s been a while since I felt that quiet desperation over getting to see something.

So was my excitement justified? For the most part, yes. The beginning was a tad slow. I enjoy the odd bit of warfare now and then but it takes a while to adjust to that dreadfully posh way that Etonian types have. Still, theatre is about escapism, and after the one tacky moment of the Eton fight song playing over machine gun fire, I had acclimatised to this peculiar world.

Actually, what I found slightly off-putting at first was all the ‘oh, for one’s country’ type of talk. Hearing Britons talk patriotically is a somewhat alien concept to me, unless it’s a bunch of drunken idiots cursing and swearing about football in impressive displays of xenophobia. I do feel a keen sense of patriotism for this United Kingdom (and not one just its constituent parts). In fact, I think that the only people I hear talking about love for their country are Americans, and that does sadden me just a little.

The humour of the piece is deliciously dry, in that oh-so-British way. I found the emotional repression slightly hard to swallow at first, but when it’s based in fact, what else to do but go along? I checked with the missus, and apparently she would be rather upset if I carried on a lifelong affair with one of her colleagues, so just as well I’m not Dorothy MacMillan I suppose. The effects were limited but well done, from the seamless set changes to an impressive arrays of explosions in different scenes ranging from the Somme to Algiers. Apparently it is possible to simulate a plane crash on stage in a fairly minimalist way.

The supporting cast were note-perfect, not one clunky delivery between them.  Put it down to the press night shove to your best performance, but the timing, movement and pacing of every actor was a delight to watch.  Sadly there wasn’t quite enough of a role for Ms Chancellor, but what I did get to see of her I enjoyed.  It must get frustrating to be continually cast in those blue blood roles, but this one allowed her to be tragically naughty as well.  I can believe her when she claims Harold is her true love, and given my discomfort with the adultery of her character, that’s achievement enough in my book.

It did feel a tad lengthy as second act numb-bum finally set it, but it was worth the extra minutes for the best moment, the understated and hysterical reaction to the Profumo scandal breaking (worth the ticket price all by itself). I wasn’t so emotionally shifted as I thought I might have been, but this stiff-upper lip stuff is a delightful capture of a lost time, and a type of politics Westminster wouldn’t recognise these days. Some careful and subtle parallels to the present political messes kept the relevancy quota up, although I fear even a play as clear and sharp as this one may be beyond some people. To wit, the woman at the interval exclaiming “all this time I thought Harold Wilson was a Labour man!” He was dear, and that’s sort of why he wasn’t in the play.

Never So Good a play by Howard Brenton. Showing at the National Theatre, London, SE1. Details and booking here.

“Just a fool to believe I have anything she needs”

Bloody hell, Patrick Swayze has cancer.  I’m not going to get into that mawkish bullshit, if he can get through this fantastic, and if not then grief is for those who knew the man personally. 

The part that depresses me personally is yet another sign of how freakin’ old I’m getting.  Idols are supposed to face mortality only from drugs or other forms of glorious hedonism.  The guy from Dirty Dancing, also responsible for one of the finest drag queen portrayals ever, getting sick?  That’s depressing.  If your idols are getting old, you’re getting old.  I used to have posters of Patrick Swayze and Rob Lowe inside my wardrobe door for God’s sake!  Now I love Rob Lowe’s perma-tanned self for slightly more artistic reasons, but it’s like watching entire eras slip away from me.  Surely it’s bad enough I’ve started tutting at teenagers and all too often saying things that my mother used to say to me (albeit to the cats, but still..).

All the very best Patrick Swayze, I’m sure the interwebs will be brimming with support for you, and this child of the eighties just wanted to add her tuppence worth.