Everything I Touch Is Homoerotic Subtext - Even Top Gear

I am not ashamed to say that I have always loved Top Gear. My family will very happily settle in front of the telly whenever it's on, slowly falling asleep during any bits that are actually about cars, and then instantly perking up whenever an adventure is started. I'm pretty sure we're not the only one's like this. I don't know a single person who watches Top Gear for the cars. I know about three people who know what the words 'traction', 'horsepower' and 'torque' mean in context, and I'm not one of them. However, I know about a million billion people (roughly) who can cheerfully jump start a conversation with "Remember when Clarkson crossed the channel in a flat bed truck? Ahh, I thought they were gonners that time."

Despite the general Top Gear-y love most people in England seem to share, almost every conversation about the show goes one of two ways. A) "I liked the time they raced a train through France." or B) "Clarkson's a prick, and they're just a group of offensive old men dicking* about." The second one seems to come up rather a lot these days, usually on Radio 4 - or more accurately The News Quiz, a show so daringly middle class it makes me laugh and wince at the same time. And fair enough, there's a possibility that James May and Richard Hammond do actually know what it's like living in the actual world, but the majority of the time anything either of them may have to say is drowned out by the dulcet tones of Clarkson, spouting rubbish about anyone who has a vagina, a copy of the Guardian, a different skin tone, appearance or opinion to him. 

However, after a while, and a fair bit of squinting, it does slowly become apparent that Clarkson may be a troll - spouting total and utter nonsense just to get a rise out of anyone and anything he can. But once you've squinted at him for that long, it becomes quite hard to stop. And then you squint some more, and it suddenly becomes remarkably clear that Top Gear is possibly the most remarkably homoerotic program that can be put on in front of a UKIP supporter without them noticing.  

At the end of the day, it boils down to being a show about three grown men giggling together in sheds. The go on holiday together, and buy each other presents. They drive around lovely scenery together, and if placed in one car  they usually end up in each others laps. Most of the show is seeing how many times they can say the word 'penis' without getting told off by the BBC, and if The Stig (a man not allowed to talk, move of his own accord or take off his dark mask) isn't a little but kinky, I don't know what is. 

When the show first started, it was an actual car show. Viewers wanted to know about motoring, how good the new VW was, and how quickly can that chap from Mock The Week go around a race track. Not so much any more. Where the three boys used to bicker about anything going, and be needlessly cruel, the majority of the joy from Top Gear now comes from watching them cheekily grin at each other when they make silly little jokes, or nudge each other when they get something wrong, and over react to the full extent of the script. 

So you go Top Gear. I'm proud of you. Over the years you've managed to tone down Clarkson, make James May cool, and slowly drip feed the gayest friendship after Holmes and Watson to some of the most hardcore right-wingers in the UK. I'm proud.

Point made.

*According to my spell check, 'dicking' isn't a word. I don't care spell check, it's three am and I just had to silently make a sandwich in  dark room. I'll improvise with my swearing if I want to.

A Slightly Delayed Prom Post

“Right then,” Said the photographer. “Girls sand side on, hand on hips. Oh, right, yes. That’s it. Boys, arms folded and stand at an angle good. Okay?”

I raised my hand. “Um, excuse me. Not to be a bother, but what do I do?”

He looked at the suit/high heels combo. “You do whatever you like, love.”

“Oh. Can I pull ninja moves then?”

“If you like.”

So I did. That roughly set the tone for the LMS Year 13 Prom night, at least from where I was standing. After the first glass of wine, I’d for gotten which gender I’m attracted to, and by the second I’d forgotten which gender I am. By the time I’d won Best Dressed Female (possibly the highlight of my life so far, and still did nothing to remind me that I am a woman), everything had got out of hand, and no one was safe. I have to say, I’m still slightly surprised. I’ve never heard of a cross dressing lesbian winning anything at a prom before. And I’m really glad that I did. Not so much for my sake (who am I kidding) but more because it shows what a wonderful place my school can be. We have a bad reputation for how middle class we are. We may be posh as hell, but at least we’re open minded.

I know a lot of people who were at prom read this blog; so thank you. Thank you so much for voting for me, since so many people there genuinely looked stunning. I loved seeing how many people had taken inspiration from The Great Gatsby for their dressed; the amount of sequins was divine.

Thank you to the boy who I’ve never spoken to before, who did a double take, and said “Nice suit. Respect.” Sorry I hugged you. You were not expecting it. And thank you to the girl who told me she’d nearly come with hairy pits, but then decided she didn’t have enough stubble to make it worthwhile. You’re now my best friend. In my head.  I’m very glad (and surprised) that people actually pay attention to the things I write here.

So thank you again, and sorry to anyone who I hit on. I hope you all have a lovely summer. x

The Infamous Ninja Moves

The hell do I work this chainsaw?

Sorry For My Personal Beliefs

As unlikely as this may seem, I’ve finally realized just how annoying I actually am. I’m a stereotype-y sort of way. I’ve always know I was vaguely annoying, but the other night, when I was lying awake in bed, it finally hit me. I’m a liberal, political, vegetarian, Guardian-reading, lesbian English student. That’s… wow. You do not want me at your dinner party. Plus, I don’t believe in the beauty standard, which means that I don’t shave my legs. The fact that I don’t wear tie dye is honestly beyond me. But that’s probably just because most of my innards are glitter and gin.

In my defense, I make an active effort not to try and convince meat eaters that they need to turn vegetarian.  I think that would be very hypocritical of my considering how shouty I get when anyone tries to make me believe in god.

I’m more or less a walking demographic for Radio 4. I imagine in twenty years or so, they will start using me in advertising campaigns. That’s if I carry on being a lefty stereotype. It might turn out to be just a ‘phase’ and when I’m old I’ll sit and make jokes about how I was always ‘that kid’. What am I saying, it’s happening now and I’m making those jokes. I’ve also started dressing in clothes that are worryingly close to the Dyke Uniform. I am a dyke, which means that I get to use words like that, and no one shouts at me. It’s like a gay bonus. Other gay bonuses include; not having to pay loads of money to get my nails done, being allowed to wear jeans in summer, not having to spend ages on my straight-girl hair, and it being socially acceptable for me to sit in the corner at parties with a lot of wine. Straight people bonuses include things like; not being socially and politically persecuted throughout global history.

I wrote that joke at 1am last week, and now it makes me sad. Someone go tell the House of Lords to hurry up and legalise gay marriage already.

Dressing For A Stereotype

So for my 18^th I went out with some of my lady friends, and my brother, so a gay club. We booked a hotel, and set up camp there a few hours before we went out so we could get ready. We did each other’s hair and makeup. We chose what we wanted to wear and got dressed. We did our nails. We drank wine. It was fun, and we looked lovely. Heels on. We were good to go. (My brother is excluded from this paragraph. And most of the post actually – I just thought I should get the context accurate.)

When we actually got the club, however, it became apparent within about thirty seconds that we had come in fancy dress as drag queens; compared to pretty much every other girl there. We were not gay club material; not for woman any way. We looked good, but we looked like straight girls. Which, I suppose, was totally fine for the rest of them. They’re all straight as knitting needles. Although not my knitting needles, they’re all old, knackered and bent. Which is a horrible reflection on my life.

I was unprepared for the gay club. I was not Dyke. I didn’t have the uniform. It was like I’d rocked up in fancy dress of the wrong sexuality. Although going back through the photos, I look like a rather fey Noel Fielding; not all queerness was lost.

From what I can gather, the Dyke Uniform isn’t all that hard to achieve; checked shirt and (ironically) boyfriend jeans. High tops or converse. No makeup, short nails, a lot of piercings and a leather jacket. Probably what you’d go to Tesco in, but with everything from All Saints.

It’s good to know that lesbians dress as a stereotype; it leaves less room for error. However, it is nigh on impossible to say which stereotype they’re aiming for; lesbian or Canadian.

It was a good night. Of course it was. We got this photograph out of it.

Disclaimer: At the end of this post I feel I should probably apologize so A) lesbians, B) drag queens and C) Canadians. 

Replying To Your Dilemmas With My Sexuality

It may seem odd that, being me, my all time favourite thing to be asked is:

"So are you really a lesbian?"

Oh my I'm-an-atheist-so-not-really-mine God. I love being asked this. Because the answer is yes. Yes, I am definitely a lesbian. I like making out with girls and everything. To be honest, I'll quite happily make out with boys as well, but there's a high chance I'll get bored quite quickly, and wonder off to make myself a sandwich. No sandwiches for boys. I'm not that much of a walking stereotype. 

So, yeah, I really am a lesbian. It's usually always slightly drunk, straight boys who end up asking me this, and there's a series of follow up questions that they go with, which make the initial conversation even sweeter.

1. "But I don't get that, I mean, how can that happen?"

Ok, so grammatically this makes no sense, but I see where you're coming from. I have explained it like this in the past; (this only works if you are a genuine straight male). Right, so you fancy girls, and want to touch them, and marry them. You do not want to do that to boys. It is exactly the same for me. I know this is hard to grasp - Is girl, therefore must like boys?! - but no, trust me, I like girls just as much as you do.

2."So you don't. like, fancy anyone?"

No, baby no, of course I fancy people. I just don't fancy boys. I fancy people who are the same gender as me. And Brian Cox. But apparently, fancying the same gender doesn't count in your head. Only fancying people of the opposite gender counts. Babe, that's not how fancying works. Sorry to burst your bubble. I realize this must be very hard for you to come to terms with. Yes, I definitely fancy people, but just because they are girls, doesn't mean they don't count.

3. "I bet I can turn you."

This doesn't even deserve punctuation in it's answer: AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA no baby no you can't that's not how sexuality works you cannot somehow wave your magic penis wand and make me like men (especially now you've said that) if you made out with a guy you would probably not magically turn gay now leave me alone before I punch you in the balls and drive away in my big lesbian pick up truck.

It's ok. I realise you are a little drunk, and confused. It's probably my fault in the end, anyway. I don't own a single plaid shirt, which is probably why you're getting confused. Soz mate. 

PS Those are all genuine, word for word quotes said to me by confused, drunk, straight boys. Thank you for having the time to listen to me trying to explain this. Thank you for shutting up when I started shouting. 

Some other stuff what's going on:

My friend Lauren makes YouTube videos, go check them out!

I got a GoodReads account

Also I'm thinking of starting a side blog for my creative writing? I don't know. Thoughts please.

Dear The Tories, We Don't Burn Protestants Any More

So, roughly three minutes ago, I watched a report on the news about how parliament will vote on whether or not gay people will be 'allowed' to get married. Ah, those crazy gays. They'll want the vote next.
So, apparently, a lot of Tories are getting very upset, and refusing to support this idea, or even leaving the party,  because they think that supporting gay marriage will make them loose the next election, as it goes against the "public's view of the institution or marriage". (Isn't that a horrible term? Institution or marriage? Makes it sound like a hospital mad house. Not that I'm insinuating anything.) CLEARLY IT DOES NOT. The Yougov poll in December found that 55% of British people support same-sex marriage. If you're like me, and terrible at maths, then that's more than half. That's the MAJORITY. HOW DOES THAT NOT TELL YOU ANYTHING? According to one Tory party member, the 'institution of marriage' (ugh) is the "union between a man and a woman, who will hopefully go on to raise children". 
Which kind of makes me want to drill into my skull.
IT IS NOT THE 1800'S ANY MORE. I genuinely don't understand how the contents of one's pants changes how 'valid' your love for another human being is? And has anyone told the Tories that gay people, can in fact, have children? It's mad world, I know. Besides, I'm pretty sure the need to have children went out of the window when people stopped being executed for not being Catholic. Which was quite a long time ago. I know the Tory party has a bit of a rep for being old fashioned, but that might just be pushing it. 
David Cameron, at least, seems to be rather happy about the idea of same-sex marriage, which I rather appreciate. I'm not sure if this is because he's A) genuinely quite a nice person, B) really wants the gay vote, or C) he and Clegg have a happy announcement coming up.
A member of the Tory party, who is one of the 25 who signed a petition to push back the vote for same-sex marriage, told the BBC that "It's not about being anti-gay." Well. Hmm. See, there are two problems with this. One - if you were pro-gay, you probably wouldn't be threatening to resign unless the vote was pushed back, and two - if you didn't really have an opinion about gay marriage, well, you still probably wouldn't be threatening your resignation.
I realize I may be a little biased on this matter. I would quite like to have a wife at some point though. And, y'know, be able to call her my 'wife', not my 'partner'. That's a lie, I'd love a partner, but only if it's followed by the words "in crime". I just hate how some people who are no relation to me, get to sit around and decide whether or not it will be legal to marry someone I love. Is it really that important? I don't think I'm asking all that much, really. I kind of get the feeling that, if you don't believe in gay marriage, and you try to stop it from happening, it's a little bit like how vegans like shouting at people who eat meat. And no one ever listens to vegans. Y'see?

So no, I'm not best pleased with the Tories at the moment of course. Don't worry, I'm still very much in love with Boris, it's just the rest of them that bother me. I apologies for any hideous mistakes, I'm not entirely up to date on political terms. 
Please read a review of the Yougov poll here.

It's OK Mum, it Turns Out I'm Just Camp!

Yesterday we had the best media lesson of out lives, ever. We were learning about queer theory.
You can see where this is going.
I should mention that in media last week, I very violently outed myself as a lady lover (I like to say lezbitron, because it makes me sound like a transformer. Hands up who gets the joke.)
Anyway anyway anyway.
So we were sat in media (HB and I endlessly grinning/giggling to ourselves at either the references or the rest of the class not knowing what heterosexual meant, etc.), and we got to a conversation about campness in the media. Que lots of pictures of Graham Norton, Alan Carr, etc, etc. Someone asked what sort of things defined 'camp'. "Well, it's hard to define. It's quite general, it's usually men who are quite bitchy, make witty remarks, have good fashion sense, quite glamorous, you know?"
"Sir, is it only men who are camp?"
"No, women can be camp as well."
Oh my god. I'd never thought about that before. I had always thought campness could only be applied to feminine men, but the more I thought about it, I realized I didn't know any women who may possibly be in Ab Fab. Apart from, well, me. And I realized I wasn't just a bitch with excellent dress sense, I was camp! It was like a light bulb had been turned on, suddenly everything made sense!
This is why I have an affiliation for glitter, small dogs and sarcasm!
Now I've officially come out as camp to my Mum, everything been much easier. She now understands why I feel a need to watch Gok Wan and rip X Factor contestants to shreds.
So, this is my message for the week, if you know you are camp, do not be ashamed! Embrace the campness.