COVID-19 has forced many of us to reconstruct our leisure time. West End shows have been replaced by a slow shop in Waitrose whilst the car boot experience has been substituted by a meander around Aldi. The centre aisle of the budget supermarket is a cornucopia of chattels from mini flamethrowers to violin cases and the odd special – a shower curtain with inbuilt xylophone! Outdoor exercise has become the principle national pastime and our parks and open spaces have never seen such regular activity.
As the UK restrictions eased the trigger dates have celebrated the much-needed association with others. My bubble needed bursting and when a friend called and asked if I wanted to accompany him on a walk in the countryside, with water and a pub nearby the answer was heartily in the affirmative. So, two guys in their fifties with more hair on their backs than on their bonces checked out the weather and plumped for a hot one. When we excitedly shared our plans to our nearest and dearest a strange, yet consistent, commentary erupted around us. “Enjoy your date with your bum chum!” And, as the days ticked by, I was eventually labelled with the infamous insult, first launched by Will in the Inbetweeners, “Bumder!” Blimey! I was only going for a frigging walk!
When I met up with my friend Chris, he disclosed that even his daughters had asked him to explain why he had chosen to spend time with me, in the open whilst deciding to wear natty shorts and a pair of expensive shades. Even his ex-wife text him and said, “Who would have thought that you would be spending a romantic time with Kirkey when I was looking after his pussy!” Just for the record she has adopted my cat. We both laughed, but even our thinking had been disturbed by this onslaught of innuendo as we decided not to sit together on a two-seater bench. Would the same connotations have been so immediately connected to a couple of ladies who had sought company on a stroll? I can’t recall any occasions when I had to remind the women in my life to slip a strap-on into their shoulder bag. And what experience did our teasers actually have of the gay scene?
Photo by Dan Visan on Unsplash
When I was in the police, I vividly remember sitting down with my new boss who rattled through the names of my team on the Slough & District Police Area. “John, he’s destined to become a detective, Jayne is public order trained, Dave is gay, and Leigh is a probationer.” Without skipping a beat Dave’s sexuality was earmarked in the same manner as any other police discipline. Almost as if he had been on a four-week residential course at the force training centre to master the art of being gay.
My own latent prejudice came to the fore when I first met my new team and I instantly spotted Dave – the smartly groomed chap in a crisply ironed shirt. John wasn’t that impressed, and my gaydar was thrown into a tailspin when I realised that Dave was the scruffy fucker who rarely went on patrol with a pen, let alone a hat.
Dave Gates, who sadly passed away a few years ago, became a close friend. He was funny, intelligent, rebellious, and fiercely loyal. The time I spent at Burnham, a substation within the greater Slough metropolis, was incredible, made even more memorable by the cosy chats Dave and I had, often on nights, in a patrol car or over a coffee in the custody block. I recall one conversation in which Dave openly argued that us heterosexuals made hard work of sex. He explained that when in a gay club if he saw a man who was his type, he would simply introduce himself and state his intentions. If both men were matched sex would inevitably follow. However, a mismatch would result in a cordial rebuff. He had a point! How terribly British I thought. I would have to buy flowers, cinema tickets and a meal, at least, to stand a chance of the same outcome. Although he did point out that straight and gay men did have one thing in common – we had to fancy our respective sexual partners. I never had the courage to ask Dave if he fancied me. Being straight doesn’t mean that you can handle rejection any easier.
As Chris and I continued our wonderful saunter I knew that I didn’t fancy him! But what we shared that day was far more important – an intimacy of conversation about life, children, relationships, and the universe without the pre-COVID backdrop of a packed pub, a football match, or other like venue to support this liaison. It suddenly dawned on me that us blokes often need the cover of an activity to talk, a trait that isn’t so necessary for the opposite sex. It’s when us men don’t talk regularly, especially about the important stuff, that things can go horribly wrong as I reflected in my article about male suicide.
COVID-19 has been desperately destructive and cruel yet some of our new behaviours may well bestow upon us all a brighter future. I heard it said the other day that ‘health is the new wealth’ and our mental wellbeing is fundamentally fuelled by the need to talk and be listened to.
So ladies, if your fella decides to spend some time with another man it doesn’t necessarily mean that they are intent on forming a Pet Shop Boys or Frankie goes to Hollywood tribute act. And men, it’s good to spend quality time with other men without the need to get smashed, although ironically Chris and I ended the day with a glass of champagne!
Cheers to all you chaps out there!
I’m off for a ramble with Roger.
© Ian Kirke 2021