Leaving Les Straights

Pack your glitter, ridiculous rainbow accessories* and boot polish. Fill your suitcase with combat trousers, tank tops or cocktail dresses and stilettos. Flag down your local gay friendly taxi service and meet me at the airport.

I believe the time is now, the countdown is over and our day is upon us. It is today that we leave the straights to fend for themselves, and watch through our giant telescope from the moon, as they flounder, drowning… Lifting their fingers to point and say ‘Look Gary – a big dyke’, but realising their voice is caught in the vacuum. That the dykes in leathers and pretty girls that they saw kissing in the corner over their beer are no longer there.

Who will they point and stare at? Who will they raise their eyebrows and narrow their eyes (an unintentionally humorous facial expression) at? Will the terms ‘dyke’ and ‘lezzer’ pass into disuse with the ‘thee’s and ‘thou’s of former days?

On second thoughts… To ensure the future cohesion of the universe – we should stay put.


* that you’d never own, let alone wear, if it wasn’t for their gay connotations and the hilarity of watching extended family commenting upon the ‘gay chap at work’ who has a belt just the same.