I Am Not Your Gayologist

The Courage to Deviate

I cannot say how it works for everyone, but eventually, some people must find the courage of their convictions to deviate from what is considered the norm and set their own conventions instead.

To them, their norm, whilst being different, is their existence, their expression, and their life. To choose to live that life fully as themselves, without having to apologise for it, is probably what many others might have wished they dared to do.

In my own case, I did not set out to be unconventional. In the beginning, though I knew my inclinations were different, I did not understand why, nor whether there were others so inclined and ready to explore the possibilities that such difference offered.

A Diverse Humanity

The societies in which I have grown and lived have met this situation with varying levels of acceptance or revulsion. I suppose that is the story of our humanity: we are offered such a range of diversity that keeping track of divergence can be overwhelming. Yet, we can all belong to one celebrated and richly diverse humanity.

Behind all this are stories, very personal and intimate stories of struggle, fear, anxiety, confusion, guilt, grief, or rejection, all borne without a means of sharing one's deepest feelings.

We may never get to narrate those stories if the circumstances do not present the opportunity, but when such a moment does come, even the things you thought you might never share come out in ways you could not have anticipated.

Telling Your Story

How anyone reacts to that story, once told, is left to them. They can listen to the telling or read the message, then respond in whatever way they have been affected, having been given a different perspective on the person they had heretofore thought they knew.

Understandably, we hold high expectations and too frequently are met with indifference or ignorance. Yet a few respond with understanding and empathy; they see you, and that might just be enough to know that everything which became your story is not meaningless.

A Uniquely Owned Experience

Even that premise can be challenged. Why should someone else's viewpoint change your own narrative, even when they have attempted to walk a hard, long mile in your shoes? Nobody can live the life you have lived. They can understand, comprehend, appreciate, embrace, or even endorse it, but your experience will always be uniquely yours.

I started this blog hoping to say that it is not my responsibility to explain my sexuality to anyone. I am who I am, as you are who you are. You not understanding or acknowledging it does not make it insignificant or irrelevant.

Neither is it my problem if you cannot accept me and the choices I have made, without regret or second-guessing myself, in trying to live up to the requirements or standards of others.

Not Your Gayologist

The title of that blog would have been, "I Am Not Your Gayologist." Forgive the neologism; there might well be a blog with that title when the words are fully formed for that range of expression. I guess this is it.

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Of Bus Screens and Wandering Thoughts

A Lazy Saturday's Prelude

Through Saturday, I vegetated at home as I began to binge-watch the second series of Bull, a television programme about trial science which I find quite fascinating, whilst also putting me at risk of learning things that might make me more forthright and less personable.

At the back of my mind, I agonised about getting some shopping done. This involved catching a bus to the ethnic grocer's first, then walking up to the affordable supermarket, before returning home.

As the ethnic grocer closed at 9:00 PM and the supermarket an hour later, I could spare a few more hours of lazing about until I really had to get out; otherwise, the shopping would have to wait for another day, an idea that held no appeal.

Setting Off at Last

When I did eventually leave home with barely 90 minutes to go before the first shop closed, the nearest bus stop, just half a kilometre up the street, was closed, so I had to walk further down to the next one. On another day, with enough strength and the leeway of sufficient time, I would have walked the whole way and clocked up a few thousand steps in the process.

The Bee Network buses on the Transport for Greater Manchester (TfGM) enterprise are part of a modern integrated service under the mayoralty of Greater Manchester. There is an app to check routes and timetables, along with the current status of buses at specific stops.

The Trouble with the Screens

On the buses themselves, the contactless payment method is a convenience, but it is the screens showing the route and next stops that I find most useful for keeping my bearings. Unfortunately, on the bus I boarded, the screen was stuck on stopping information from well before I got on, and that was annoying.

I thought it was a case of broken windows syndrome, with such a minor detail of keeping passengers apprised of the journey and the next stop not being attended to as part of a pre-flight checklist for bus transport. I was remonstrating quite vehemently in my mind, with a view to writing to TfGM about the malfunctioning information screens. I had seen this many times before.

A Curious Coincidence

I had barely put together the words and suggested tone of my missive when, four bus stops after I boarded, the screens seemed to catch up and start working. That was uncanny, as it had me wondering if I now had the means to project my thoughts, not just for registering a complaint, but for the remediation and resolution of an issue to a satisfactory standard.

By extension, this would also suggest that I ought to guard my thoughts and arrest those straying out of the bounds of reason into the outlandish.

Others might put this down to coincidence, when it seems propinquitous enough to aspire to the causative. I do not know, but I was glad the screens got fixed, and I allowed myself the wry thought of levitating my shopping bags home instead of carrying them.

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In Wine, In Play, In Anger, and In Indifference

Wisdom From the Mother Tongue

Yoruba provides a rich seam of wisdom that, even as a second language, I have mined to find gems that sparkle and light my path. “Ibi eré ni à ńmọ òótọ́ ọ̀rọ̀” is a saying that has meant so much to me; it has made friends and broken relationships. “It is at play that the truth spills out.” That would be a liberal translation, and I'll stick with it.

The Romans arrived at much the same conclusion by a different route. “In vino veritas,” they said, “in wine, there is truth.” Where the Yoruba sage observed the loosened tongue at play, the Latin observer found it at the bottom of a cup. Two cultures, two settings, one shared recognition: the heart, given any opening, will speak its mind.

What reinforces that viewpoint comes from the words of Jesus Christ in the Bible: “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” (Luke 6:45)

A Watch Over the Lips

The unguarded expression, spoken without thought or consideration, regardless of disposition, is one reason why we need a watch on our lips. So says the Psalmist, in a prayer asking for divine assistance in controlling one's speech, preventing hasty, sinful, or hurtful words, and acting as a guard over what is spoken. (Psalms 141:3)

It takes only a moment of lacking restraint, and everything comes crumbling down: the dismissing of issues consequential to others, simply because there is no background to their stories beyond what surfaces at the point of interaction.

Yet everyone has both the prerogative and the right to be unburdened and unbothered by external issues. In some cases, silence trumps expression, but that requires a modicum of discipline.

The Many Faces of Unguarded Speech

Wine and play are only two of the settings where the heart slips its leash. Anger is another: the row that begins over a small grievance and ends with a cruelty no apology can quite retrieve. Tiredness is a quieter cousin, where exhaustion strips away the patience that ordinarily holds the tongue in check. Grief, too, can sharpen words into instruments that wound bystanders who happened only to be nearby.

There is also the casual cruelty of group settings, where a joke at someone's expense earns laughter, and the laughter encourages the next, sharper jibe. Social media has industrialised this dynamic; the keyboard is a kind of wine in itself, lowering inhibitions whilst removing the face that might otherwise have stayed our hand.

Then there are moments of fear, jealousy, or wounded pride, when the words we reach for are not the ones we believe but the ones that will hurt fastest. And let us not forget the seemingly innocent slip during gossip, where a confidence shared in trust becomes currency in another conversation entirely.

Seven Words, One Covenant

"I don't have the energy for this." Those are seven words that broke a covenant, though one can be certain they would be used to castigate me as truculent, impossible, and recalcitrant. My relevance is transactional rather than in recognition of my own journey or story. I have my own issues, but everyone needs to see themselves in the mirror, too.

Going back to the verse I quoted earlier, an interpretation would suggest that a person's words reflect their inner character, thoughts, motivations, beliefs, and emotions. The "heart" represents the core of one's being, and what is stored inside inevitably spills out through speech.

The Fool in the Play

As a student of myself, and sometimes of others, I have learnt a lesson about the heart once again. It does not take drink alone to loosen the tongue; play, anger, fatigue, grief, indifference, or just plain spite are enough.

You had better be attentive to what is being said before you become the fool in the play where you are also the lead.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Essential Snobbery 101: Ritzy on Piccadilly

A London Weekend

A fascinating London weekend it was, in which most of what was intended was achieved, including the benefit that being over the age of sixty offers; a third off transport fares, if you remember to show up with the bona fides for your age.

On the Piccadilly line of the London Underground, the glimpse I caught of buttons on the back of a jacket suggested an untucked, ruffian look from the front; with a tie rather than a bow tie or cravat, it was a tailcoat of undecided pretensions to putting on the Ritz.

The Ritz and Recognition

Indeed, I did alight at Green Park and exited onto Piccadilly on the side of The Ritz London, one of the swankiest hotels in the city, opened by César Ritz in May 1906.

I could never walk down Piccadilly without being acknowledged, and I was quite dressed down, standing out simply because I wore a straw hat, carried a walking cane, and had a jacket finished with an elaborate pocket square collage.

The doormen at the Ritz doffed their top hats and even muttered a greeting, which I returned.

Heading to Fortnum's

I was on my way to Fortnum & Mason, a walk that takes you past The Wolseley Piccadilly, the Caviar House, Burlington Arcade across the street beside Burlington House, the home of the learned Royal Societies too.

Fortnum's is always busy, yet a very different busy from Harrods in Knightsbridge, which I only ever entered once at someone's behest; the less said of the garish, gaudy place, the better.

Inside Fortnum's

In existence since 1707, this shop is famous for its teas and other exquisite foods. It has been picketed many times for selling foie gras, the making of which does not greatly concern me, as the taste is as different from pâté as fish roe is from beluga caviar.

I have a predilection for Earl Grey tea, and they have many blends, of which Smoky Earl Grey wins every time. It is best to have the loose tea dispensed at a counter by weight rather than buying packaged tea bags or the ready tins, which can be more than 33% dearer.

Along with some Lapsang Souchong aromatic tea and Strawberry with Fortnum's Champagne Preserve, which takes the edge off the sweetness of the jam, that was my first visit in about seven years.

Leaving Piccadilly

As I left for the station, the doorman at the Wolseley offered a greeting; not the one who always took time to compliment my dressing, but they do see enough to know the difference between being dapper and just snooty.

He had a bowler hat on, and I had to ask where he got it, as mine, bought from a gentleman's outfitters in Ipswich some thirty years ago, was looking the worse for wear.

He recommended a milliner near Liverpool Street, but that might require another visit to London.

There is a quiet, unbothered sophistication about Piccadilly; the London tour buses gather at the entrance to Green Park just as a patron of The Wolseley urges his dog to take a pee. The carefree appearance demands a dress code enforced on the serving, whilst remaining non-existent for the served.

Putting on the Ritz

A short note on the places that punctuated this walk: The Ritz London, opened in 1906, was the realisation of César Ritz, the Swiss hotelier whose name became shorthand for refined luxury. Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707 by William Fortnum, a footman in Queen Anne's household, and Hugh Mason, his landlord, has supplied the British establishment with provisions for over three centuries.

The Wolseley, by comparison, is a relative newcomer; a former car showroom turned grand European café, it opened in 2003 and has since become a Piccadilly fixture in its own right. Burlington Arcade, opened in 1819, remains the original covered shopping promenade, still patrolled by its top-hatted Beadles. The Royal Societies along Piccadilly include the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House, where the learned and the artistic have gathered since the eighteenth century.

It is no accident that the Ritz lent its name to a song. When Irving Berlin wrote Puttin' on the Ritz in 1929, he was reaching across the Atlantic for the very idea César Ritz had built into a brand. The original lyric pictured "Park Avenue", with its "high hats and Arrow collars, white spats and lots of dollars", as the place to dress to impress.

The 1946 revision moved the scene to "up on Lenox Avenue", but the spirit remained the same; to put on the Ritz was to wear your best and walk as though the pavement belonged to you. 

Piccadilly, in its quieter, more unbothered way, has always done the same. Park Avenue performs its wealth; Piccadilly assumes it. The doormen still doff their top hats, the bowler hats still need replacing, and the tailcoats of undecided pretensions still ride the Underground, hoping nobody notices the buttons on the back.

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The Laws Being Flat: Hereditary Peers and the Monarchy's Exposed Flank

The Last of Their Kind

The news that the last 92 hereditary peers in the House of Lords were sitting for the very last time, following the implementation of reforms by the Labour government, left me quite saddened. [BBC News: Hereditary peers' last hurrah as 700-year-old system abolished]

The peerage system, which has effectively functioned as a kind of patronage, has existed for centuries, perhaps approaching a millennium. The very last hereditary peerage conferred on a non-royal was awarded in 1984 to Harold Macmillan as Earl of Stockton.

Born to Greatness

William Shakespeare, in 'Twelfth Night', Act 2, Scene 5, writes, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.” That, to me, has always been the story of mankind; the way greatness or privilege arrives in a person's life is sometimes an indeterminable process, yet worthy of note.

For instance, the longest extant hereditary peerage in England is the Earldom of Arundel, created in 1138, which is currently held by the Duke of Norfolk. He also bears the ceremonial hereditary position of Earl Marshal, with the duty of organising state occasions such as the coronation of the monarch and the state opening of Parliament.

The family is Roman Catholic, with the pre-eminent non-royal function of serving a Protestant monarchy.

Peers and the Magna Carta

The Magna Carta, upon which many principles of our modern-day democracies and human rights are based, came about when the peers, hereditary barons, rebelled to limit the power of the king. A charter of rights was signed in 1215. The ordinary folk would never have had the clout and facility to rise against a king who, in those times, literally held the power of life and death untrammelled and was considered sanctioned by God.

That said, I recognise that the significance of hereditary peers had been waning for well over a century before their removal. In Victorian times, some peers served as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, on more than one occasion.

Reform and Patronage

In the early twentieth century, the constitutional balance between the two chambers was formally and irrevocably redrawn. The Parliament Act 1911 stripped the Lords of the power to block money bills entirely and reduced their ability to delay other legislation to two years; the Parliament Act 1949 cut that delay to just one year.

The elected House of Commons, as the chamber that forms the government, had been established as the primary legislative authority, and the Lords' independent power had been reduced, step by step, to little more than a holding position.

The Salisbury-Addison Convention of 1945 settled what remained. Under that arrangement, the Lords agreed not to oppose legislation at second reading, nor to substantially obstruct any bill that the government had put to the electorate and won a mandate to implement. What had once been a chamber of real and rival legislative power had become, by stages, a revising chamber, its role defined more by restraint than authority.

Life peers were introduced in the United Kingdom through the Life Peerages Act 1958; this removed the hereditary component; a case of greatness being thrust upon one as part of political or influential patronage. The conferment stays with the person, and each individual earns that elevation for themselves alone.

The Winds of Change

My concern with the loss of hereditary peers, though some of that cohort have been given life peerages to sit in the House of Lords, is that the only hereditary component of the political system is now the monarchy. They stand alone, without the buffer of any other hereditary roles in our political system to shield them from the billowing winds of change. [The Guardian: Starmer restores powers to ousted hereditary peers in Lords shake-up]

The hereditary peers were, in a meaningful sense, the monarchy's constitutional companions. Both derived their place in public life from the same foundational principle: that certain roles could be inherited, carrying with them centuries of obligation, service, and a legitimacy built not on a single vote but on long continuity.

The presence of peers embedded in the political landscape normalised that principle within the constitutional system itself, making the monarchy less anomalous and less conspicuously alone.

With them gone, the Crown stands as the only institution in British public life whose authority rests on birthright rather than democratic mandate or appointment. It has not merely lost allies; it has lost the broader constitutional culture that once made the hereditary principle comprehensible and defensible.

It brings to mind a conversation in the play 'A Man for All Seasons', where Sir Thomas More was implored by his wife, his daughter, and his son-in-law to arrest someone.

Alice More (Wife): Arrest him!
Sir Thomas More (England's Lord High Chancellor): For what?
Alice More: He's dangerous!
William Roper (Son-in-law): For all we know he's a spy!
Margaret More (Daughter): Father, that man's bad!
Sir Thomas: There's no law against that!
William Roper: There is God's law!
Sir Thomas: Then let God arrest him!
Alice More: While you talk he's gone!
Sir Thomas: And go he should, if he were the Devil himself, until he broke the law.
William Roper: So, now you give the Devil the benefit of law!
Sir Thomas: Yes!
Sir Thomas: What would you do? Cut a great road through the law to get after the Devil?
William Roper: Yes, I'd cut down every law in England to do that!
Sir Thomas: Oh? And when the last law was down, and the Devil turned 'round on you, where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat?
Sir Thomas: This country is planted thick with laws, from coast to coast, Man's laws, not God's! And if you cut them down (and you're just the man to do it!), do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then?
Sir Thomas: Yes, I'd give the Devil benefit of law, for my own safety's sake!

Sketch from A Man For All Seasons about Sir Thomas More from What Delicate Balance? by John Loeffler.

A sketch from A Man For All Seasons.

When Laws Fall Flat

Taking the hereditary peers as the laws in More's analogy, the Labour Party have done precisely what William Roper threatened; they have cut them all down, leaving only the monarchy standing. When the devil of republicanism rears its head in a swell of revolutionary fervour, I do wonder how the Crown can be defended against the onslaught.

We have seen this before in England, where political conflict between the Royalists and the Parliamentarians led to the conviction of Charles I for high treason and his execution in 1649, ushering in the Commonwealth of England and the Protectorate, but the monarchy was restored in 1660.

Patronage and Its Limits

Hereditary peers were born to their positions of greatness and should not, in general, be beholden to political influences that do not serve their interests or the purposes of a life of public service, if they choose that path.

Life peers are appointed through patronage that may carry elements of nepotism, cronyism, and corruption; they are a means by which a Prime Minister could tilt the balance of the House of Lords by stacking the chamber with loyalists and sycophants. The core revising function of the chamber can easily be lost, reducing it to a rubber stamp for poor government policy.

In all, having an appointed or elected House of Lords without the hereditary element does not augur well. Even as we aim for a more egalitarian society, the source of greatness will always come by birth, by achievement, or by conferment. Hierarchies will always exist, no matter how we try to abolish them.

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The many tests of a patient waiting in patience

A Week to Fathom

What a weekend that was, or rather, let us consider the full week, because the thought of all that transpired is hard enough to fathom.

Fresh from the good news of my PSA having fallen to its lowest level, buoying my confidence in the radiotherapy for prostate cancer, I was having chest pains that led to my attending A&E first thing on Monday.

That was one unplanned visit to the hospital. The result was reassuring; it was nothing serious, just musculoskeletal pain that some bed rest could help.

Good News, Then Distress

Friday was the main day scheduled for my biannual monitoring at the Christie Hospital. Going there never ceases to be as impactful as it is critical to saving lives. It is a visit to a renowned cancer hospital to review my PSA result and discuss the attendant issues from radiotherapy.

That went well, so I stopped by Nando's for a meal and used the opportunity to call Brian. Halfway through my meal, after our call had ended, I had a choking episode. I won’t suggest this is a longer-term side effect of radiotherapy, as dysphagia, and I have not considered if it could have exacerbated it; I’ve had choking episodes going back decades.

Thankfully, I had enough napkins to contain the relief in bringing it all back up. Not a beautiful sight, and no one noticed I was in distress either. I cleaned up in the conveniences and returned home to lie down.

Saturday Takes a Turn

Whilst that should have resolved things, as I do usually have episodes of choking on food, this one was different. Some cereal before midnight did not go down, likely due to food impaction, an obstruction, or inflammation in my throat. I threw up in the toilet and decided to postpone my pills for a few hours.

The pills did eventually go down, and I had a lie-in for most of Saturday into the afternoon.

Getting up, I made a cup of tea. I thought I had drunk the full mug, but there was pressure in my throat and quite a bit of discomfort. I had to throw up again.

The tea came up with some mucous-like substance that fell to the bottom of the toilet bowl. That was concerning. I was about to return to A&E for another ailment.

A Night in A&E

Calling an Uber, I made it to the hospital soon enough, though as I alighted, I was sick in the bushes before being triaged. From then on, I was vomiting a thickened, mucous-like substance every thirty minutes or so into a sick bowl.

Just about two hours after arrival, I saw a doctor. She gave me a drink of water, which seemed to stay down. I have not vomited after that. I was then referred for a possible endoscopy and left in the Emergency Room for two hours.

Then another doctor called me in for review. We agreed on an experiment: I would have a sandwich and a drink, and if that stayed down, I was to be discharged for further outpatient review. If I could not keep the food down, it would mean hospital admission, nil by mouth, and a possible endoscopy on Monday to identify the obstruction.

The food stayed down, but it was left waiting for a few hours before I received an email notification; an after-visit message; it was sent 30 minutes earlier. Apparently, I had been discharged, and no one had bothered to inform me. I left the hospital over eight hours after arriving. It was almost 2:00 AM.

The Weight of Being Alone

I appreciate that these matters take time. Anyone attending A&E is busy juggling the precarity of their situation that brought them to the hospital with the need to keep others informed, especially if they are alone in that predicament, and that is just the way it is.

I have every reason to want a better situation, to be in a hospital with someone. Everyone else seemed to have someone with them, but as one person, you are a container of the reflexes of concern, anxiety, or even panic of others about you. You must wonder whether it is necessary to inform anyone during the crisis or only after it has passed.

There is an emotional toll involved in the desire for information and details. I have had calls whilst a doctor's stethoscope was feeling around my body, calls I have had to ignore.

My going to the hospital should be part of accepting that the right decision has been made and that I am in good hands. Not much can be helped beyond everyone holding their nerve, thinking good thoughts, and praying for the best outcomes.

Everything takes time, and the patient patiently waiting for answers and assurances, first for themselves before finding the form of words for dissemination to others who duly need to be informed, is probably the most impacted by it all.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Thoroughness Is Not Stalling

Caution Gets the Cold Shoulder

I sometimes find myself receiving the cold shoulder because something I have been asked to do requires a bit more investigation and understanding before considering implementation.

One such situation came up towards the end of last week. A deployment from a utility set was being knocked out by a security policy. We did not realise this was an issue until an urgent investigation for actionable data could not be completed, as the tracker had already been removed by that same policy.

In layman's terms, take, for instance, a sophisticated radio jamming implementation that stops all mobile phones from communicating, except for selected phones with particular identities.

One essential phone is then brought into the environment, but not exempt from the jamming signal; it might appear to operate, but it goes blank when a call is about to be made. This is not entirely accurate in technical terms, but it paints the picture of what the situation was.

A Policy in the Way

We had blocked everything except for select elements, and another system was sending out an element that was not on that list. The element was installed, but within a set timeframe, it was removed because it was not on the list.

Obviously, this put my colleague in a quandary. They had to explain why information they assumed would always be retrievable was suddenly unavailable, and this stymied the investigation another team was trying to commence.

In the broader scheme of things, there was always a security policy, but for investigatory purposes, the tool needed an exemption to allow it to install and remain installed. The end-to-end facilitation chain had not been engaged, and hence, the failure of intent at that stage.

Rushing Ahead Without the Facts

The obvious next step was to remediate the issue by allowing the tool to install, but neither of us had full knowledge of the facts of what other parameters it needed to perform as required.

While my colleague wanted to rush out a fix, I was not convinced we had the right one. We had some knowledge of what should be done, but no guarantee it would work. In cases such as this, I would find a subset of users and/or devices to test the premise on, ascertain that everything works as intended, and then implement it under change management processes.

However, to my colleague, I was impeding the process and stalling rather than being proactive, despite my concerns and feeling that we did not have sufficient information to proceed.

Their next act was to extricate themselves from the communication chain, leaving me to face the pressure of urgent implementation without the full set of data required to have the confidence that we were doing the right thing.

Right the First Time

Earlier today, I gained some clarity on the fundamentals of the implementation, including what the sources were and where the conflicts occurred. With this, I was sufficiently informed to test the premise of my findings and, beyond that, gain the full information needed to fix the problem once and for all.

I recognise that I could be pedantic, and at times, some have suggested I am a perfectionist, which I would immediately deny. I am thorough, sometimes quite particular and meticulous; it is simply the nature of the responsibility this job carries.

An accidental deployment can so easily close down a business, and whilst this particular activity does not carry such a critical risk, there is one thought to always keep in mind.

I'd rather do it right the first time, even if it takes longer, than rush it now and have to fix the issues that arise because I did not devote the necessary time to understanding what was involved. For that reason, I make no apology. The world is not ending; it is impatience clouding better judgement.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog