You know how Austin Powers jumps into his MG and finds Michael York on his car video phone, welcoming him to Swinging London? That doesn't happen in real life. In real life I walk up the high street in Willesden Green and buy an all-day zone 1-2 pass for the tube. It's a bargain, really, as going from one stop to another in Zone 1 costs 1 pound 70 p, and the pass for unlimited rides is 3 pounds 80 p.
I met briefly with Danny in Soho, and then I met my penpal, W, in Piccadilly Circus. W is Asian. In the UK, Asian means Indian or Sri Lankan, and Chinese, Japanese, and Indonesians, etc., are called Orientals. In the UK, I have been told (in bed, no less) that to call anyone Oriental is to be calling them a nigger, so I guess the UK has to catch up. W and I went to one of the numerous Caffe Nero outlets for a coffee. I had an anal retentive tea. I usually opted out of tea offers, but it got too bizarre for my British friends and relations to contemplate. So I have an herbal tea or a weak black tea with lots of lemon and cooling water. Being eccentric makes sense to Brits. Turning down tea makes no sense to Brits. When I first met my beloved cousin Beryl, she offered me coffee, and then tea, which I turned down. She then blinked loudly and asked me if I ate meat. I told her yes, and she said, "Thought I should check. You seem to have a lot of restrictions!"
I strive to be a good guest and I consequently eat and drink almost everything given to me, within reason. And I don't make a scene. I casually ignore mushrooms as if they were Republicans, or in this case, Tories.
W led me to Gay's the Word, London's gay bookstore. It's on Marchmont Street near the Russell Square tube stop. Like everyone else I have known in London, W hates the tube. After buying No Bath but Plenty of Bubbles, an account of the London Gay Liberation Front's early 1970s activities, and PWA, Oscar Moore's collected columns about living with HIV for the Guardian, we took the number 38 bus to Hackney, where W lives with his partner P. No one in Britain has a lover or a boyfriend. Everyone says partner, so I will too.
P was in Switzerland on business. W is not out to his family back home, and his mother keeps sending photos of lovely 17-year-old girls who would make wonderful prospective brides and caretakers. It's sort of a British version of The Wedding Banquet. It seems like happiness for gay people too often has a dark lining. I am pretty out and accepted by just about everyone -- even my chasidic relations -- but don't have a partner. W and P have a wonderful life but a visit from someone in W's family means the closet is rolled out one more time. It's very simple to say, "just come out" but it is a different culture that he comes from.
If anything, this is all just proof that the closet is something straight people need more than gay people do. Going into the closet when someone from home shows up is not a joyous convenience for W. He is a wonderful person and almost more importantly, a wonderful cook and host. He had several friends round to meet me over a meal. It was quite extraordinary, when you think about it. Everyone around the table was from a different country--Scotland, Australia, England, America, and Sri Lanka. The three things we five had in common were that we all speak English, we're all from island (I have spent my whole life in the New York City archipelago), and we are all gay. Who says no one can get along?
Meanwhile, to my supreme embarassment, my stomach, possibly still getting over my wretching on the plane, made horrible loud noises all evening that, of course, suddenly stopped dead once I was on the tube. But it was supremely embarassing to have the noise the Titanic made when it cracked in half coming from my belly during a dinner with three gay men I had just met. It was dreadful.
During dinner one of the guests told us about how police cars can drive right into the centre of Russell Square. He learned this during a furtive grope with a bloke he met there. I asked if you can get arrested for that sort of thing anymore, and he said, "It's gross indecency!" Well, more like fun indecency. Why was I surprised?
I was surprised because before dinner W showed me a tape of a Channel Four show that just started airing. It's called Queer as Folk and it's about three Mancestrian gay men. Well, two men and a 15-year-old . The show features reprehensible characters and simulated sex. It presents a side of gay life that many object to, everyone watches, and is, to quote Patsy Stone, "pretty accurate so far."
So with gay characters and issues saturating the media in Britain, why would I expect a quick shag in the park to be an arrest-worthy offence?
Meeting my penpals has been a great experience. Everyone I have met has been very friendly and interested in getting to know me. I think, sometimes, that gay people have more of an interest in getting to know other cultures, especially since we are so often on the periphery. And don't tell me we're not. Give me full civil rights, marriage rights, and legal recourse for all sexual-orientation descrimintation, and then we can argue whether or not I am on the periphery. If you do give me marriage rights I will invite you to the wedding and even toss the bouquet in your direction.
Next entry...Red Nose Day in Camulodunum
Previous entry... Speech Impediment Wednesday