Monday, 26 April 2010
As some of you know I've been very busy helping with the launch event for HAWCS. It's an amazing charity which aims to prevent endangered species from going extinct. Have a little read of this press release I prepared earlier. If it sounds like your thing then please feel free to buy a ticket or make a donation, I'll be eternally grateful if you do. If you don't I curse you to a life of Primark wearing and Lambrini drinking.
Habitat and Wildlife Conservation Society (HAWCS) launches on Friday 14th May 2010. HAWCS is a registered charity believing that without the preservation of habitat there is little point to conserving a species. HAWCS aims to promote the intrinsic value of wildlife and its habitat. It is the hope and belief of HAWCS that we can help in preserving the rights of the indigenous human and animal population to co-exist as they have for generations in a sustainable manner.
A fundraising launch evening will take place at The Place Hotel, Ducie Street, Manchester Centre. Guests will be greeted by the charities patron Katherine Kelly, Coronation Street’s Becky Granger. Music will be provided by Angie Brown and Manchester’s very own soul singer Victor Haynes, plus flame-haired Celtic rock-out soul songstress Mirren Leask. During the evening fundraising events taking place include a raffle with prizes such as £500 worth of medical aesthetic treatments, special occasion hair and make-up from Bricktop Salon worth £400, dinner for two and Manchester UTD memorabilia plus many more. We are also proud to display a unique Photographic Exhibition by Kirsteen Leask, providing an insight and understanding of Habitat and Wildlife that HAWCS, with your help, strives to protect and conserve.
HAWCS first overseas project is based on the island of Sumatra, Indonesia. Sumatra possesses a rich biodiversity of mammallia that are endemic to this island and an exclusive list of species that are under the threat of extinction. This threat is due to extreme exploitation of Sumatra’s natural resources. Illegal logging, mining and deforestation for the plantation of Palm Oil tress have seen 80% of Sumatra’s natural forest already destroyed.
Just some of the species which are endangered and facing extinction include; Sumatran Tiger, Sumatran Elephant, Sumatran Rhinoceros, Sumatran Sun Bear, Hairy-nosed otter, Malayan Tapir.
HAWCS aim to work both within the UK and the Indonesia island of Sumatra to develop education programmes for UK and Sumatran school children, educating the importance of protecting endangered species and conserving biodiversity. The charity will fund visits to UK based zoos who are involved in conservation projects in the wild. HAWCS have established links with a Swiss charity PanEco who have an established medical quarantine centre for the rehabilitation of displaced wild Orang-utan back into the wild. HAWCS will strive to work with the Indonesian Government of Sumatra and along with other NGOs to discuss the protection and conservation of their National Parks.
If you would like to purchase tickets or see any further information regarding the event please go to Hawcsevents.com
Friday, 16 April 2010
So many things that make me proud to be British; Chavs, Primark, the highest teenage pregnancy rate in Europe, ridiculous benefits system and now ladies and gays the over use of political correctness.
It would be nice to call a spade a spade. In this political correctness gone mad society though one would fear upsetting the masses and prefers now to refer to such an item as an agricultural tool for digging. Now this may seem crazy, I completely agree; however it now appears that the word Gypsy is now politically incorrect. We must now refer to such people as nomadic people of Egyptian decent, as one newspaper referred them this week.
It’s the little words that I love, little words like cunt. Everyone knows if you call a man a cunt the type of man that you can expect him to be. Now ladies and gays one has to waste effort using multiple words when one would suffice.
Just recently a little scandal at a certain University made my blood boil. An openly gay student had to attend a disciplinary meeting to discuss the use of his word faghag; it apparently referred to gays in a negative way. The student was forced to apologize to all staff that had been offended by his comments. The man who made the complaint is gay. I’m baffled. Perhaps this very same man would like to stage a protest outside ‘QUEER’ bar on Canal Street for their use of what was once a derogatory term for us gays. I would like to say to the man who complained that being called a ‘fag’ would be the least of your worries if you were to meet me. I could think of a few more words that could be used to describe you, like cunt, twat, and wanker.
Just last week the government of Britain again made superior judgment in the trading standards case against Joan Higgins. I applaud them for the use of such little common sense and a superior waste of time. Joan, a 66 year old pensioner from Manchester, was arrested in a trading standards sting. The grandmother sold; wait for it, not drugs, but a goldfish to a 14 year old boy. The pet shop owner was fined £1000 and forced to wear a tag for six weeks. It really is beggar’s belief. I’d just like to say to the trading standards officer that I think you are a stain that has been caused from the orgasm of male masturbation on to nylon clothing.
Saturday, 3 April 2010
The night of our play came and we were the last directorial piece to go on, which I think is fitting to my diva status that I should be in the headlining act. Sure enough as expected there were gasp from an unsuspecting audience when I planted the kiss on my class mate. The night passed without a glitch and M truly made me feel like a star with all his praise, it was a bit silly really as playing a Northern puff was hardly testing my acting talents.
Soon after our masterpiece of drama M was cast as Sebastian in Cruel Intentions. He had to share the lead with another class mate and performed on alternative nights. His new role in my eyes meant he had gone from second year student to Hollywood heartthrob. As you can imagine I donned my denim splashed jeans and went to see Cruel Intentions every other night for a week.
As the end of the college year approached so did my seventeenth Birthday which brought with it a night I will never forget for the rest of my life. All my class mates went to Bar Risa on Canal Street to celebrate and in attendance were the lovely M and a selection of his beautiful friends. I was wearing a hideous green shirt from H&M that my best friend at the time, and still is today Mirren, had persuaded me to wear. As the Archers Alco pops were downed I decided I would tell M all about my true feelings.
Just after I’d spotted Anthony Cotton and the lady who plays Fizz from Coronation Street and told them how great I thought they were, they were very polite considering I was completely off my tits and no doubt the smell of amyl nitrate was following me, I was dancing with my friend Chantelle when she accidently wacked me over the head with a bottle. The force was such that it saw me with my head between my knees for the next half hour on the stairs. All I needed though for such a recovery was a blast of Sugababes ‘Round Round’ and I was back on my feet.
Another hour later and I don’t know if it was the hit to the head or the 10 bottles of alcopops but I suddenly felt very queasy. My night in shining armour M dragged me down stairs and into a toilet cubical. As I muttered in my drunken state how much I loved him, he said in his velvet voice, ‘what do you want me to do?’ Ceasing my opportunity from the build up of a three month crush I stuttered the words ‘kiss me.’
Just for a split second I thought we had a magic moment. Whether is was my knock to the head or not I believed as I looked into his eyes I saw something there. A twinkle of hope that he just might like me the way I liked him. However, before M had the chance to kiss me, which obviously he would have done as who couldn’t resist a sweating overweight queen with poppers down his top. I spun round and projectile vomited anywhere but the toilet. Our moment was ruined. I the fat faggot had vomited in front of my idol. My life was ruined.
Shortly after that eventful night I dropped out of college and never completed the course. I lost touch with M and was to never see him again. What was to come in the 18 months after that night on June 3rd would leave me a shell of the confident and popular person I was that night……
Friday, 2 April 2010
Back at college I’d started to feel even more uncomfortable, instead of fitting in and just being one in the crowed my new status of being an at ease homosexual meant that I was now given every camp part that was going in my Drama diploma. It infuriated me that I couldn’t play a normal part. Looking back on it now it’s no wonder I didn’t get to play Romeo in my newly acquired gay uniform.
One of my last projects at college was to be in a play directed by one of the second years. As the casts were decided fate must have been looking down on me that day as I was put into a cast that was to be directed by M. I’d noticed M before and had spoken to him very briefly. I was in ore of him. This was an actual living and breathing gay man who seemed to have no problem at all fitting in the world, popular and breathtakingly stunning. I followed M around like a lap dog and he was soon to be my teenage crush.
M had a sense of style that I’d never seen before. Unlike me who didn’t have a clue about style at the time it seemed to ooze out of his every pore. M’s chosen directorial piece was Hushabye Mountain by Jonathan Harvey. I quite simply loved it. I had no idea at the time that there were plays written by gays for gays, real drama, not just soft porn, which I had still yet to discover. I immediately went out and bought everything I could that had Jonathan Harvey’s name attached to it, partly because I loved Hushabye Mountain and wanted to see what other delights he had written, but more importantly so I could talk to M and impress him with my new found knowledge of Gay Literature, which up until then started and stopped at a monthly copy of Attitude.
M was the first person I had befriended after coming out which is why to me our friendship was so important, he was also my first gay friend. He seemed to have real knowledge of the world and I would hang on his every sentence, soaking up all the knowledge he had to offer me. As rehearsals got on the way it soon became big news in my year that there was to be a gay kiss in our play, perhaps what was even bigger news is that it was between me, queen of the year and a poor unsuspecting sweet straight lad who was so uncomfortable with it but was to polite to say. We discussed how we could do the kiss tastefully, when all I was thinking about was how much I wanted to pounce on M and practice some distasteful kissing of my own.
To add to M’s profile he also had beautiful and witty friends. They all seemed to speak in a code language to each other which only made me admire him more. I’m sure it wasn’t their own language but their wit and intelligence was no match for the lack of my own. Even still M and all his friends were nice to me, me the fat faggot had beautiful friends, which made my heart melt for him even more.
I was even invited over to his house for drinksnsnax which for me was like being handed a golden ticket to go to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. I can’t really remember the night I went to M’s other than that I thought his student digs were amazing and cool, but then again he could have lived in a kennel and I would have thought it was one up from Buckingham Palace. All I remember from that night was that I took a bottle of Taboo and drank most of it and fell asleep wishing that M would turn over and plant the kiss of my life on my lips. He never did.
Part Three tomorrow......
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Hard to believe I know but I haven’t always been a gorgeous stream lined homosexual. There once was a time when I was hiding myself underneath 19 stone of lard. Although in the summer of 1985 I popped into the world screaming with a set of lungs that no doubt Miss Shirley Bassey would have been proud of, it took me another 17 years to truly realise the diva I was.
I was lucky enough to live in Manchester home of Canal Street and Boddingtons Bitter and fortunately for me Sheena Simon School of Performing Arts which was slap bang in the middle of Canal Street. It was at this safe haven that I came bursting out of the closet to all my class mates. I don’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that no one seemed to bat an eyelid. It was actually met by laughs and generally banter and comments such as ‘fuck Mike, we thought you’d already come out.’ Such was my diva like ways I guess there was just no closet bit enough for me to hide in, that and the fact that my weight would surely have buckled any closet I chose to climbed into.
I was so desperately unhappy back then, I’d spent years of being the ‘fat faggot.’ Instead of trying to blend in I over compensated for my insecurities and self hate and was probably the loudest in my class. I was also experimenting with my look back then and you could hardly miss someone walking down a corridor that was 19 stone, had bright blue hair and was no doubt singing a chorus with my friends from a well known musical number. All that Jazz was always my choice.
At this time I started to go to Canal Street more and more, I really don’t know why as it was like Japanese torture to my self. I lived in hope that a boy would approach me but they never did. I’d go home and simply stand in front of the mirror and look myself up and down and think of all the ways I hated myself. It was after one of these staring competitions with my self that I decided something really had to be done. I longed to be able to fit into a pair of jeans and to stop wearing horrendous Adidas tracksuit bottoms; they clearly didn’t fit in with the image that I wanted. My plan? To starve myself.
In the next six months that followed I didn’t eat. I would have a yoghurt every other day followed by a session of plugging my fingers down my throat to stop me from taking in a single calorie. I’d have ten Embassy number one for breakfast, ten for lunch and six Archers alco-pops for dinner. It’s a shame I didn’t realise that there was 10 spoons of sugars in each bottle. The cigarettes suppressed my hunger and if I ever felt faint I’d simply have an energy drink. Hunger pains became my friend. The weight soon started to fall off and the positive comments fuelled my determination. My addiction with food only stopped when I met my first true love, but by then I had lost eight stone in six months and had covered by body from head in toe in stretch marks. Unbeknown to me this wasn’t to be the last time I had such an addiction with food.
As I finally began to slide on my first pair of jeans the euphoria travelled up my body with every inch they went up. As I fastened the buttons with ease the euphoric feeling continued to travel to reach even the last hair on my head. These weren’t just any jeans, these jeans said ‘I’m here, I’m queer.’ Dark denim with white paint splashed stripes down the front accompanied by a shirt printed with the New York sky line. If I was to have worn the same shirt just two months before they would have used enough material to print the sky line from every major capital city in the world.
Part Two coming tomorrow....