Homo Culture

It almost time for Pride again – hurray! Toblarina and I were going to dress up for the march but we can’t be bothered (too scared) to take public transport into town on our own in silly costumes, so we’ve bottled it and will just be turning up our Sunday best.

I’m planning to join in the march with Buck Angel this year. He’s going to be with the Fetish Lad crew and will reportedly by riding on a chariot pulled by 40 slaves. I messaged him on MySpace to offer my services but he’s not replied so I guess I’m not slave material. I’m quite glad actually, I’ve got a dicky knee and I’d probably be knackered by the end.

I’ll be stalking him like crazy for the next week anyway. I’ve been *personally invited* to a meet and greet he’s doing at Kudos next week. I am RUBBISH at networking so will no doubt just sit in a corner with a half of lager looking sheepish, but at least I can say I was there. Hoping Joan Dairy Queen will come with me, his gob is big enough for the both of us.

To get in the Pride mood, we went along to Drill Hall at the weekend where the House of Homosexual Culture were putting on 57/67 – an exploration of what it was like to be a shirt or skirt lifter in the 50s and 60s.

It was an interesting mix of speakers sharing experiences from their lives – we particularly liked Peter de Rome, an elderly man who talked about being arrested in the 50s when he was following a young man he took a shine to who had ducked underneath a railway bridge for a piss and a quick hand shandy. It seems the police didn’t actually realise he was following someone so he managed to escape arrest by claiming his “suspicious behaviour” was due to a compulsive disorder that led him to believe he had buses following him and he had to run to get away.

We also liked Linda Wilkinson who talked about Diamond Lil, a tranny who lived in the East End in the 50s whose cross-dressing was quite calmly accepted by the neighbours and who was widely respected by her peers.

From 60s we had author Maureen Duffy who I liked especially as she questioned the need for the word “lesbian” and said she never understood why there had to be a different term for gay women and why we couldn’t all just be called homosexual and get on with it. It seems she used to hang out at the Gateways club that Maggi Hambling used to go to, but she lost points with me for not smuggling in drag queens like Maggi did.

Some of the conversation was about the 40th anniversary of the Sexual Offences Act which was passed in 1967 and decriminalised male homosexuality. I was amused that it was met with the same mixed feelings within the queer community as the Civil Partnerships Bill last year. Some people were happy they had gained acceptance while others liked it all much better when it was underground and seedy and didn’t really care whether the rest of the world approved or not.

Both the 50s and 60s sections of the performance ended with a bit of traditional drag from Tony Page– a rough old Northern performer who came on chewing gum and wearing feather boas with sensational sequined dresses that didn’t quite fasten at the back. He ran through a medley of classics while making Phoenix Nights style quips at the crowd. I’m not saying I’d pay to go and see him for a full length performance, but he was just the thing for a lazy Sunday afternoon.