LGBTQQIAAP



Let me get this – erm – straight.

I recently saw an article that mentioned the LGBTQQIAAP community and had to rush to the nearest Google to look it up. It stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer, Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Allies and Pansexual, as I’m sure everyone knows. Everyone, that is, except me.

Leaving aside the question of whether this comprises an actual community, I thought I’d parade my own ignorance (and risk my prejudices showing) and just make myself a note.

Lesbian, I get. That’s a term for a woman who prefers women. I prefer women, too, but that only half qualifies me as a lesbian.

Gay apparently now refers only to men who prefer men (when I thought it referred to anyone who was a homosexual, meaning same in Greek). Wrong. So this means there’s no such thing as a gay woman?

Bisexual, I get. A bit of both. Well, maybe more than a bit – but that’s a matter of appetite, rather than persuasion. (Am I allowed to say “persuasion”? Don’t know.) No, wait – it’s not both, it has to be either. Both would imply at the same time, which would be Troilism – which doesn’t seem to feature. So that would be a bit troilist, wouldn’t it?

Transgender. Think I get. A matter of anything between self-identifying and actual surgery – gender reassignment. Luckily there are only two genders to choose from. Although…

Queer. Once derogatory, now a matter of pride. Or Pride. And apparently, the big umbrella term to cover everything else. (Except Troilism.)

Questioning. Don’t know. I mean, if you’re Questioning, you don’t know. And who can blame you, when there’s so much to choose from? It takes, as Geo. Bassett & Co would like to think but probably never intended, allsorts.

Intersex. That’s Intersex, not (as I first heard it) Into sex. Born with both male and female biological features. That’s called something else in Greek culture: the nymph Salmacis fell in love with the son of Hermes and Aphrodite, and prayed to be forever united with him. As a result Hermaphroditus and Salmacis became joined in a single body which retained characteristics of both sexes. As any fule kno.

Asexual. And there was me, thinking this would just mean “not interested” – a permanent headache. But no (and I quote from Decahedron of Q): asexual means a person who is not sexually attracted to others, but that doesn’t mean they don’t fall in love with others. They can be attracted to someone: they just don’t have to act it out sexually. Some asexual people are happier on their own, others are happiest with a group of close friends. Other asexual people have a desire to form more intimate romantic relationships and will date and seek long-term partnerships. Asexual people are just as likely to date sexual people as they are to date each other. Also, there are different kinds of asexuality such as grey-asexual, someone who has sexual attractions very rarely, and demi-sexual, someone who only feels sexual attraction after already developing a strong bond with someone. For some, sexual arousal is a fairly regular occurrence, though it is not associated with a desire to find a sexual partner or partners. Some will feel no desire for partnered sexuality [ie it’s DIY]. Other asexual people experience little or no arousal. Because they do not care about sex, asexual people generally do not see a lack of sexual arousal as a problem to be corrected and focus their energy on enjoying other types of arousal and pleasure.

Phew – glad to have cleared that one up. They don’t seem to have much of a voice, though, do they?

Allies. Apparently refers to straight people who are supportive of members of the (deep breath) LGBTQQIAAP community.

Pansexual. Sex with oven gloves on. Only kidding. To quote Decahedron of Q again: Pansexual describes people who are attracted to others with gender not a factor being considered. Pansexual people are often mixed up with bisexual people as they both may date both men or women. The gender of another person is not important to pansexual people as they are attracted solely to the person himself/herself and the gender does not contribute to the attraction. As I said, lucky there are only two genders, huh?

It’s complicated. And I haven’t even got on to the subject of why none of the above might be described as “straight” – the opposite of which is either “bent” or “crooked”.


Next week, BDSM. If I’m lucky.

Theresa May’s agenda reassignment

Oh, Vladimir – what a gift you’ve made to Theresa May. Just when she was maintaining a steady, strong and stable decline into Brexit oblivion, you’ve gone and given her a shot of nerve agent in the arm.

Seizing the moment, our illustrious Prime Minister has given the world a demonstration of her aroused vigorous at the antics of the Kremlin. Not being possessed herself of a penis, Mrs May had to hire one in – her priapic partner is Gavin Williamson and the result, who would have guessed, has been a tidal wave of premature political ejaculation.

Theresa May's Willi














This has been Willi’s first outing on the public stage – and what an impression he’s made. Employing what I imagine is his most statesman-like tone, perhaps practised in front of the mirror before breakfast, he invited Russia to “go away and shut up”. Here’s a mature man in full command of the vocabulary of his high office, the warrior we need in this war of words, an undisputed voice of authority.

What’s more, as Sec of Def he has the key to a war-chest full of tanks, jets and boats, so he can put our money where his mouth is. With his protection, why would I need to carry on digging my nuclear fallout shelter?



Waving. And drowning.

Have you noticed that thing more and more politicians are given to doing now – bouncing on stage and not just waving, but pointing at someone they ‘recognise’ in the audience, smiling even more broadly and waving even more strenuously at them in particular, before returning to the general business of waving in a general way at everybody else in general.

When you stop to think about it, the waving is quite weird in itself. When you’re a lone individual on a speaking engagement in front of, say 2000 people, there really isn’t much need to wave at them as you get up on stage – you already have their attention, they can see you and you can’t hope to see them with the spotlight on you. There’s something bizarrely infantilising about it – they used to get Miss World contestants to line up and wave at us. As if what? As if they knew us? Or were they signalling distress?

But the pointing thing is weirder still. Because that person they’re pointing and grinning and waving at isn’t actually there. It’s an imaginary friend. And pointing, grinning and waving at them like that is intended to suggest familiarity, legitimacy and possibly even intimacy – if you’re taken in by it, that is. It’s fake; they’ve been trained to do it by media coaches. It’s a visual form of rhetoric that’s as empty as the vast quantity of bloated, vacuous hot air that is about to issue forth from their mouths.


Rhetoric used to mean eloquence. Now it means something to hide. Roll over Aristotle.

Toffy, Perky and Bunkum

Toffy














There’s a distinct whiff of the St Custard’s Senior Prefeks’ Common Room about the trio of Jacob “Toffy” Rees-Mogg, Michael ”Perky” Gove and Ian “Bunkum” Duncan-Smith.

In spite of the fact that one of them has already reached the dizzy heights of Head of House, only to be found wanting (his lack of charisma wasn’t in fact an engaging trait, but was found to be an actual absence of character), the three of them are now clammily united in trying to resolve one urgent question: how to be Topp.


Perky



















Our job is to ensure, to borrow Perky’s favourite word, that they don’t succeed, a task made rather more difficult in Toffy’s case due to his positively papist enthusiasm for procreation (his most recent oeuvres being Wulfric Leyson Pius and Sixtus Dominic Boniface – knock one down and there’s another immediately behind to take his place. In Latin.).


Bunkum













There must be some sanction they can be threatened with. All three would consider spanking a reward rather than a deterrent; shedloads of Latin prep might silence brainless Bunkum, but the other two would no doubt rejoice exsultate in it; and being shackled to Brexit Bulldog David Davis – which most of us would consider too ghastly a prospect to contemplate – is what they’ve already signed up for. Until the idiot is no longer useful, of course.


So we’ll have to resort to desperate measures. Let’s arrange to send them off to live in a bungalow near Stoke Mandeville. Locked and sealed. With Nigel Farage. Cui bono? Omnes nos.

Cake. Having it and eating it.

Isn’t language marvellous? We use it every day but it never seems to run out – in fact, it’s constantly being re-charged – and, even allowing for those who habitually abuse it, it never lets us down.

As long as you keep going, that is. The moment you stop and take a look at a word, or say it in isolation, it becomes a freak. I offer the word “goat”. Nothing wrong with it as long as it’s describing a Billy or a Nanny or, in the possessive, its cheese. I have a friend who used to refer to Leonard Cohen as “the old goat” – and he was. But “goat” on its own? Goat. Goat, goat, goat. Getting odder by the minute. Goat. And pretty soon, it’s done for, no use to anyone. Goat?

So you can imagine how spectacularly a whole phrase can come to grief. In recent times, much mention has been made in reference to Brexit about we British wanting to have our cake and eat it. And I’ve come aground on it. Its usage is clear: it’s a bad thing to want both to have your cake and to eat it. It’s greedy, selfish, unbecoming, disloyal, cheating – caddish, somehow.

I find it a rather strange concept to be in possession of a cake without intending to eat at least some of it – unless you’re a baker and you’ve baked a cake for someone else: but let’s not get into semantics. Surely the very business of having your cake is synonymous with eating it? (Are we having cake? Would you like to have some cake? Don’t ask her, she’s had cake.)

I suppose you could accept the offer of a slice of cake, watch as it is cut and then put on a plate – with or without a doiley – and placed in front of you. That would be the moment of having your cake – an act solely of possession that takes place in the few seconds that are required by good manners to elapse before you shove it in your cakehole. That might be a technicality you could argue in your defence, but it is somewhat disingenuous.

Is there something I’ve missed here? Is there some activity I’m not familiar with that consists of just having a cake as a possession or a condition – like I have a pencil or I have a headache – which is wholly different from the activity of eating a cake (the same cake, presumably, although there may be unforeseeable circumstances in which one might actually have one cake in the possessive sense and eat a different one in the consuming sense, either simultaneously or subsequently)?

I’m not very clear on what would be the point. What exactly does the activity of merely having a cake bestow upon the person doing the having, other than good old catholic self-denial? What’s more, if I have a cake without the slightest intention of eating it, what is my status? In the cake world, the cake-archy, it might be an all-important distinction to make between the haves and the have-nots, but then you might have to extend the field to include scones, biscuits and petits-fours. To say nothing of cucumber sandwiches, crumpets and Danish pastries.

It must come down to the difference between wanting to have your cake and eat it and actually having your cake and eating it, the former being more sinful than the latter and the greater guilt being borne by those who own up to their desire – the others merely get on and do it anyway.

It’s that simple. Piece of cake, you might say.