6. The Queeny Put-Down (1999)

Main Index

The Au Pairs
The Step-stepfather
The Simulated Wank
The Toy Store
The First Single
The Queeny Put-Down
The First Hissy Fit
The First Gay Club
The Rent Boy
The Heterosexual Phase
The Lifestyle Switch
The Empty Floor
The First Poem
The Amsterdam Weekend
The First Time
The Perfect Moment
The Year In Berlin
The Trade Years
The First Memory
The Anniversary Party
The Incompetencies
The Pricking Of The Bubble
The Club Residencies
The "Tales of the City" House
The Musical Epiphany
The Worst Thing I Ever Did To Anyone
The Royal Procession
The Parental Disclosure
The Concept Albums
The Romantic Obsession
The Failure
The Apotheosis of Queer
The Shove From Above
The Interrogation
The Professional Rut
The Rebirthday
The First Boyfriend
The "Catharsis Of Joy"
The Funeral Address
The Falling In Love

troubled diva

In the Spring, my stepmother Sally died suddenly and unexpectedly, bringing the toll of deaths in the family to seven in less than seven years, and necessitating the sale of the house I had grown up in. For some reason, there seemed to be a particular finality attached to this latest bereavement. It somehow brought all the previous losses back into focus, and the cumulative effect hit me hard.

The week after her funeral, I started a new job. I had been with Nottinghamshire County Council for over twelve years, and had inevitably become institutionalised within its gently decaying structures. I was not emotionally ready for the cultural jolt of joining the private sector and having to prove myself in a new environment. Furthermore, the job I had been offered bore scant resemblance to the job I ended up doing. I had been hired on the strength of technical skills which, on the first day, I discovered were no longer required. Instead, I found myself struggling with antiquated, cumbersome technology, in a senior technical role but with none of the requisite background knowledge. My confidence was low, my spirit was weak and my attitude was all wrong. There were times in those first few months where I would find myself suddenly leaving my desk, shutting myself in the toilets, staring at the wall and trying to calm myself down, desperately trying not to let the cracks become visible.

Meanwhile, K was having immense difficulties in his own work. He had started his own small company in 1996, and was now embroiled in a complex situation over funding. What should have been a simple operation was dragging out over many months, and the outcome was critical to the future of the company. At work, he presented a calm, capable, professional exterior. At home, the stresses were becoming ever more visible. Neither of us had the resources to support each other. The atmosphere could be tense.

Paranoia began to set in. With family ties historically weak, I had always placed a high value on friendships, and set great store by the strength of our social circle. Where were these so-called friends when we needed them? Couldn’t they see what was going on? Were they in fact only there for the good times, quick to abandon us during the bad? In truth, we were the ones who were cutting ourselves off. We were also too good at maintaining the usual façade of cheerful bonhomie, on the occasions where we did see them. No-one could have guessed.

On top of all this, I was in the throes of a classic, text book perfect, mid-life crisis. I had been papering over the cracks with fevered hedonism for too long now, and the hedonism had started to acquire a desperate edge. I couldn’t fool myself for much longer. I felt utterly lost.

Little were we to know that 2000 was to be our annus mirabilis. The funding got sorted, and K sold the company for a substantial amount, allowing us to buy a weekend cottage in rural Derbyshire. Priorities started shifting radically. Our respective values, needs and interests re-converged, joyfully. I started enjoying the new job. OK, the work itself was still shit, but the people I worked with were just great, bringing qualities out in me which had lain dormant for too long.

But none of this is really what I wanted to tell you about at all. I wanted to tell you about the queeny put-down.

One night at the very end of 1999, I was queuing to get into NG1, when I heard a gobby young queen behind me.

“I don’t know what you’re fookin doing, queuing to get in here. You’re far too fookin old for this place!”

I turned to face him, an amused eyebrow arched. His friends looked aghast and tried to defend me.

“Shurrup, yer great twat! He’s looking really good…for his age.”

Six months earlier, this could have destroyed me. Now, I just laughed and laughed.

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