Dear homophobic (and/or religiously bigoted) fuckturds of the world...

'Gayness' cannot be taught. It is not a disease that you 'catch' just by hearing about it. Nor is it a choice, unlike the way that your RELIGION and fucking INTOLERANCE is. Quite simply: you chose to be odious, they didn't.

People struggle to leave religions fully after they have grown up within a particular religious culture. The 'culture' bit of the religion - not the indoctrination, not the abstract theorising (though it may to some extent stick) - but the culture bit sticks. These slices of ritual offer people familiarity and comfort. Rip them out, and you are left with a tottering, hollow shell. It is a part of identity that they struggle with for peace.

Now, think about gay people. Gay people struggle to accept their sexuality fully, having grown up (in most cases) within a particularly heterosexual culture (do you see what I'm doing here? Yeah? You better). The 'majority' bit of the culture - not the lack of attraction to women, not the society-assigned 'effeminacy' (though it may to some extent stick) - but the 'majority' bit sticks. This awareness of being suddenly and inadvertently 'outside the norm' offers people self-loathing and misery. Rip them out, and you are left with a possibility for self-development. It is a part of identity that they struggle with for peace. Graham Greene (a Catholic at that!) got it: suffering is identity.

Now many, many people in this country are somewhat unshowy by nature. They personify this verse, from Coventry ska legends The Specials' classic and angry hit, Concrete Jungle:

I won't fight for a cause
don't want to change the law
Leave me alone, just leave me alone
I want to get out on my own

Many of the gay folks I know, even if they might be out on a Gay Pride march, are hardly Peter Tatchell. Stop trying to turn them into your radical, minority 'Other.' You must feel so fucking pleased with yourself that your harassment ends up producing enemies that weren't even there to begin with. They're not paedophiles. They're not interested in your sex life (so why are you so obsessed with theirs?!) and they sure as HELL aren't interested in you.

Johann Hari's article is apparently about the Daily Heil's (formerly Hitler-supporting paper and online messageboard home-away-from-home for BNP knobs) 'vile campign against teaching kids about homosexuality.'

Oh, let me see. The Heil considers itself a 'Middle-England' paper, and by the look of the lobster-hued, jowl-and-froth 'I love herd mentality' types I've seen reading it (though, let's be fair here, there are plenty of moronic Asians and Blacks who read it too. My own fucking SISTER brings it home from the gym, sssssssssss), it unfortunately is. I have been holding my Listerine-laced breath with anticipation of the day when hackers set their sights on its website (goodbye Femail! Goodbye faux-concerned pictures of women naked/gaining/losing weight, with subtle bitching from fellow females! GOODFUCKINGBYEHAHA). In the absence of that, I'll settle for some mild hypocrisy-debunking.

If some of the Heil's target audience's precious little darlings wanted to study Performing Arts, they would probably prematurely expire at the chance of having even momentary contact with Sir Ian McKellen. Sir Ian McKellen, aka Richard III. Aka GANDALF. GANDALF is the God of wise-old-man dramatic roles, thanks to Sir Ian McKellen. He kicks Dumbledore's ass (both of them - although one of them died, so I am sorry if that is horribly offensive).

BUT - BUT - what will Jean "How about LESS sex education" from Blackburn,Lancs (no, I will not correct the fuckturd spacing error there, much as it kills me to refrain) do when she finds out...

*tremble*

... when she finds out he is A POOF!

That's right! Like so many other successful and admirable individuals on this Earth, Ian McKellen does the naughty with other men!

When you watched him, in Richard III, or Lord of the Rings, did you sit there, thinking 'Wow, sir Ian McKellen acts so well, despite his GAYNESS' or 'Wow, I would've expected Richard to start commenting on how well-coordinated the army's uniforms were, because the actor that plays him is GAY, but he didn't, he just efficiently dramatised Shakespeare's Richard in a whole new context!'

No. No, you did not. (Or maybe you did, in which case, you need help. Seriously. Urgently. Preferable in prescription-pill, or therapy, form...)

And I bet if he was running a drama workshop which your brat(s) benefited from, you might even be MALFUNCTIONING right now.

Now we know you 'Christian' (or whatever else) Mailites claim to be obsessed with what you can't see (God), and take literally that which is now past (the happenings in the Bible).

Here's a little suggestion for you. Less obsession with what you can't see (homosexuality) and more taking literally of that which is now past... but not irrelevant (Jesus's - and whoever else's - teachings). Alternatively, do as the Pope has done, and try to make it all go away by indulging in a prayathon. At the very least, that'll get you indoors and out from under our feet, while we aim for the more inclusive future, eh?

P.S: My brain has had it with the term 'PC gone mad,' and has replaced it with 'P. C gone mad.' So, when idiots start - gingerly, or frothingly - trying to rave about 'the PC brigade,' I will have a vision of a charging group of bleating IT technicians. When I hear 'PC gone mad,' I will have a delightful mental image of a personal computer going all Marvin on its owner, before growing to Godzilla size, hopping round the city, and then leaping - splat - onto the Daily Mail offices. Byu-da-full.

A True Pirate Daughter

My father had eye surgery on Wednesday (to remove a cataract) and has been wandering about looking distinctly more dishevelled than usual with a clear plastic disc taped to his eye. I like to imagine that I am the daughter of a pirate when I go out in my shorts and waistcoat, with a scarf tied round my head and now that particular little fantasy is one teeny step closer to coming true...!

Though that is not urbane, witty or particularly sophisticated, everyone needs a little stupid something to get them through times of stress. My eldest sister has come to stay with us for a few days, and although I have tried hard to ‘be good,’ it’s been bloody hard because she’s my eldest sister.

Allow me to explain (even though no-one reads this blog regularly other than myself!). There is a ten-year age gap between my sister and I and she regards me as ‘her’ baby, out of my brother and I, because I came before him. This means she can be REALLY patronising at times; she acts as a second mother. A mother who refuses to accept that I am (becoming) an adult. That would be bad enough as it is, but add in some fundamental personality differences and you’ve got the ideal combination for a passive-aggressive nightmare.

Yesterday, for example, we went food-shopping so we could make something ‘fun’ because it’s my brother’s birthday. Desperately short of ideas, I suggested Mexican. She murmured ‘I was thinking about making enchiladas... Enchiladas with Vegemince are quite nice, but you know, Dad doesn’t like it very much.’

AAARGH!!!! I wanted to let that out of my head through my mouth, with all the inherent blaring frustration. My dad, as an amritdhari Sikh, doesn’t eat anything even haunted by meat, fish or egg. As a Punjabi man, however, he is dead traditional and thus he doesn’t enthuse overtly about the meat substitutes that make our sparse vegetarian existence somewhat more bearable. And guess what, because we’re an Indian family, if he doesn’t like it, my sister’s not going to make it! I think that, as the oldest child, she suffers the need to try and please our (absolutely impossible) parents much more constantly and acutely than we do. So we lose out, all because Dad doesn’t sing hymns of praise to Vegemince. We ended up having ‘enchiladas’ which were not only protein-free (other than the vague sprinkling of cheese on top) but contained mangetout and baby corn within. MANGETOUT AND BABY CORN, I ask you.

See, if my mum had done something like that, I would’ve forgiven it because she grew up on Indian cuisine and nowt else... but my sister? My sister actually knows a bit about food, and that’s why I was so disgusted with her monumental cop-out. Most of all, it represents that attitude I hate so much: ‘I’ll conform to the needs of others so that they don’t need to conform to my needs.’

As an Indian girl, you get that bollocks rammed into your head all the way through your childhood and right up until marriage. Keep your nose clean! Keep your head down! Learn how to cook, and don’t expect help because Indian men aren’t going to give it to you! Eventually, you get to the level where you’re so hopped-up on fear and insecurity that you kowtow to the smallest of things, and by doing so, you allow other people to see that they can treat you a certain way.

As S--- said, when I tried hopelessly to communicate what all of this meant to me, it’s a question of degree. Just because you’re getting a bit of flak and rudeness from your husband now (as my sister has been for a long time) doesn’t mean that you’re safe! You shouldn’t hold that up against men who murder their wives and say ‘Well, it’s not that bad.’! What we have, in Indian society, is a scale of acceptability, and that in itself is absolutely fucking abhorrent. NONE of it is right. NONE of it is acceptable. Don’t have a scale, don’t have points on the scale which constitute ‘unacceptable behaviour.’ Do away with the whole thing and acknowledge that abuse of ANY KIND is INTOLERABLE. Today’s name-calling husband could be tomorrow’s murderer. By having the scale system, we are instantly implying that a wife could be to blame, somehow, for the way she is being treated – and even when parents or relatives have good intentions, this is hugely damaging to the victim.

Why do I feel so strongly about this? I really don’t know. Even before my sister’s marriage and my discovery of some of the skellingtons in our family’s closet, something about this really stung me. I am an egalitarian feminist – I want us all to be equal, but I acknowledge that right now, that involves improving the lot of women much more than it does improving the lot of men. Yesterday I read ‘Shame’ by Jasvinder Sanghera and it made me incredibly angry and sad. At first I felt annoyed with her for being so mopey about her family and for picking men who would treat her badly. Then I thought a bit more and got angry at the real culprit – the Indian family unit (though you could say it of the family in other cultures too) which often fosters a kind of unhealthy co-dependency between the child and the rest of the family that is regulated by fear, just as much as, if not more so, as by love. I think she mentioned both these things in the book, but I don’t think she tied them together as I just have.

Actually, I do know why I feel strongly about this. It’s because my family (both immediate and extended) are a lot more educated than some Indians, and I suppose I expected better of them than to go on mindlessly endorsing the traditions of a place where they don’t even live any more. The most annoying of my aunts has been through a lot of shit, I found out only last year: married into the family of a patriarch who brain-damaged his own daughter for whatever reason (!), impregnated by a husband who had someone else before and after the marriage and put on a train to London alone when six months pregnant, with very little English. When she gave birth to her daughter, the family then tried to disavow all responsibility and attacked my father when he attempted to make them face up to the consequences. There were the eye-opening marriages of my two sisters, in particular my eldest sister’s, where everyone’s tears were symptomatic of a heavy sense of regret and loss rather than joy at her marriage, and the fallout from their continual arguments. Last, but definitely not least, there was the murder/suicide of my cousin in India (who I only met twice in my life). Like so many others, she mysteriously caught fire and died from the burns without anyone being able to help at all. People may say the practice of Sati is dead, but on the evidence of that and several other similar deaths (such as that of Jasvinder Sanghera’s older sister Robina), I would beg to differ.

On a slightly lighter note, I appear to have strayed from the spec yet again! I PROMISE I will explain my politics/game thing and talk about trolls next time.