Gay

Middle English

by Enormous on November 20, 2009

Living in this uninteresting village in the middle of England is not such a bad thing, even though I often complain about it. And about its inhabitants.

The surrounding countryside is beautiful here in Derbyshire and provides agreeable walks for me and Audrey; local people are generally polite and unobjectionable; the weather is mild and temperate, and – most importantly – the area is renowned for its attractive females.

There is, perhaps, a surfeit of villains and murderers residing in the Midlands, but one tends to avoid such people, as a general rule.

And you can’t really blame the area’s youth too much for their negative attitude to life, their casual vandalism and antisocial behaviour; that is more the fault of their parents and of the piteously poor education system in the country as a whole.

In fact, being verbally abused on a regular basis by teenagers in the village has had a positive effect on my vocabulary.

And I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when a boy stepped off the pavement to allow Audrey and I to pass. I thanked him but he merely grunted in reply. Anything else would probably have stretched his manners to the point of injury.

Insulting remarks and general abuse from disenchanted youngsters doesn’t always bear scrutiny in matters of reason or social diplomacy, but I have learned some new swear-words.

‘Dil’, ‘ferjino’ and ‘mo’ are pejorative outbursts I can imagine using for my own means in the future, as are the wonderfully descriptive adjectives ‘vommy’ and ‘cocking’.

Such terms are not even required to make any sense.

‘You’re a f*cking poledancer, mate. You cocking pole.’ (Or was it Pole?)

‘Is yer dog’s dildo up yer arse?’ There really is no suitable reply to such an inquiry.

‘You is goalie for rams, innit.’ (I have no idea – but the term rams is used regularly as a personal insult in Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire.)

‘Is yer dog gay?’ is a question I get asked a lot, for some reason. (She’s not, as far as I can tell.)

And: ‘Do yer lick yer dog’s lipstick?’ was a question which, when asked, had a young girl and her three friends chuckling uncontrollably with mirth, but the meaning of which escaped me entirely.

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Dish of the Day

by Enormous on September 2, 2009

I’m dishy. It’s official.

One of my mother’s friends told her after meeting me for the first time yesterday that I am ‘incredibly charming and very dishy’.

The fact that my mother’s friend is a local magistrate makes it official. I’m charming and dishy.

The fact that her friend is seventy-five years old is neither here nor there, really.

I’m just dishy. Charming and dishy.

The fact that my mother’s perceptive friend is a man and very gay – a very gay man – is also of no objective import.

At my age and long-running singular status, I have to learn to enjoy any compliments I can get.

Dishy.

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Gaiety of Nations

by Enormous on August 28, 2009

Reg has a new friend, a rather disagreeable little man with a penchant for buff-coloured nylon anoraks and greasy hair. Audrey and I bumped into them both this morning on the rec’.

‘This is Nigel,’ Reg told me. ‘He’s staying with me for a while. His wife has turned lesbo.’

‘Pardon?’

Lesbian,’ explained Nigel.

‘Oh. Well . . . right ho.’

‘Argh!’ he exclaimed. Audrey, wagging her tail in excited frenzy at the thought of meeting someone new, was trying to leap into Nigel’s arms.

‘I’m so sorry. She doesn’t bite. She’s very friendly.’

‘Get it away!’

‘She just wants to say hello to you.’

‘I hate dogs.’ Nigel was actually beginning to shake quite demonstrably. His small fat face, a puddle of blubbery abundance, was wobbling so much it seemed about to fall from his head entirely and splosh on to the neatly-tended flowerbed beside which he was standing.

Reg, smiling, interjected. ‘Have you heard, Davy? Don’t tell anyone – it’s a big secret – but there’s a new Greek restaurant opening in the village.’ Reg’s idea of a secret is something he tells only a quarter of the people on Earth.

‘Why is it a secret?’ I asked, genuinely intrigued.

‘It’s obvious,’ said Nigel. ‘All Greek people are gay, aren’t they.’

‘Are they?’ I feigned shock.

‘Of course. It’s in the Bible.’

‘Come on Nigel, let’s get going. We need to buy some red Cheddar for tea. Bye, Davy. Bye Audrey!’

I am not renowned for being overly compassionate, but I did feel a definite pang of sympathy for Reg as he led his new friend along Victoria Street towards the shops.

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Gay Abandon

by Enormous on February 4, 2009

So it finally happened: Nelson Galaxy slept with a man.

I must say, it is rather exciting to have such a sexually emancipated character in the family, but I think he is feeling rather awkward about it now.

For Nelson, waking up with a hairy man in your bed is definitely an idea conceived in the abstract – or yet another embarrassing incident that can be blamed on the intemperate consumption of alcohol, but, either way, I am convinced he is on some kind of personal quest to redefine stupidity and heedless action. When one drinks as much as he does, anything can happen.

As for yours truly, all you hairy men can keep to your side of the universe and I’ll keep to mine.

The salty and challenging things that take place in Mr Galaxy’s life would never happen to someone as brutally heterosexual as me – as long, at least, as my sobriety does not falter.

That being said, I suppose I’m more of a tri-sexual kinda guy, really.

(I’ll try anything sexual.)

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