Eccentrics and woo girls

I went to Christopher Street last night, and stood outside Stonewall for a few minutes. It’s a pilgrimage I make every time I come to this city. Without the Stonewall riot, the gay rights movement may well have run a very different and less successful course.

That said, I get a strong sense that the US is considerably behind the UK when it comes to LGBT rights. Some of the laws, particularly for trans people, are draconian, and young people across the country are terrified to come out. Christianity has an unacceptably damaging hold on society. As a result of all of this, there’s still a sense of gay people clumping together and creating their own family units in a way which doesn’t happen so much in London.

I walked past Monster Bar last night, and saw a large group of my siblings, sitting, in rows, watching an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race on a giant screen. I would have joined them, but they are at least an episode ahead of where we are in the series in the UK. It was a touching sight, however. I love the idea of a communal watching experience. It reminded me of all of those stories of groups of gay guys in the 1980s gathering to watch episodes of Dynasty at the height of the AIDS crisis. Sadly, these occasions would often become increasingly less joyous. Some of those who sat down excitedly to watch episode one of a new season weren’t destined to see the last.

It’s Fleet Week in New York which means scores of members of the armed forces are in town, wandering about, rather merrily, in their uniforms. I’m not sure I understand the concept of Fleet Week. Maybe it’s about giving ordinary people an opportunity to express our gratitude to military people. Maybe it’s an opportunity for them to let off a bit of steam once a year, or perhaps they’re here for the Memorial Day parade on Monday. Whatever the case, they’re absolutely everywhere, all looking terribly smart.

Michael arrived in town last night, so we spent the day really “doing” New York. We must have walked at least ten miles. Probably more. From the World Trade Center, all the way to Central Park, and round and round in circles as we explored various districts.

We initially walked up to the West Village, stopping off at the 911 monument, which is really very beautiful. The blue prints of the two buildings have been turned into giant waterfalls which drop deep into the earth. The names of all those who died in the event have been carved into metal walls around the edge. Here and there, a rose or flower has been pushed into the imprint of a name, most likely by a still-grieving relative.

We went vintage clothes shopping in the village. As usual, I was on the look out for cufflinks and found a lovely pair from the late 1960s. Aside from being Fleet Week, today was obviously also graduation day for a lot of university students. Large groups of be-robed individuals were standing under the arch in Washington Square Gardens having their photographs taking by proud relatives.

From the village, we made our way to the High Line, a rather amazing walkway which follows the route of an old goods railway line. Over the last twenty or so years, it’s been lovingly landscaped. When I first came to New York, only a single ten-block section was open. It now stretches all the way up to 34th Street. If anything it’s now too crowded. We shuffled along behind long queues of tourists, all randomly photographing pieces of sculpture, with no idea what the works of art were actually all about!

We had lunch in the bustling mid town. It’s not an area I like a great deal. It’s smelly, hectic and full of very angry, shouty, insane and impatient people, but it’s also where the theatres are, so it’s a somewhat necessary evil as we wanted to buy tickets for The Prom, which stars my good friend Christopher. And just as I was pointing out Christopher on a photograph outside the theatre, the man himself appeared behind us. It was lovely to chat and I’m very much looking forward to seeing the show on Saturday night.

From the hell of Midtown, we found ourselves in the calm oasis of Central Park which, today, seemed to smell a lot of incense. That’s not a euphemism for dope, although we did walk through clouds of that as well. It genuinely smelt like a catholic church! I have no idea why. We walked around the boating lake and into that lovely peaceful wooded area filled with the art nouveau lamp posts, which felt cooling and calming.

It’s certainly a place which attracts fairly quirky people. Two trombonists were sitting under a tree playing The March of the Valkyries, which was, well, fairly eccentric.



Speaking of eccentric, we went for a wee in the gents loo in the park and were mid flow at the urinals when we realised women, bored of queuing for the ladies’, were running into the gents loo and using the cubical. Call me prudish, but I don’t think that’s anything like okay. It’s embarrassing in the extreme when a woman comes in, particularly if she’s also saying something facile like “don’t worry I’ve seen it all before.” Imagine if a man walked into a ladies loo, opened the cubicle door and said, “it’s okay, I’m gay, not a pervert, I just want to blow my nose and there’s no paper in the gents!” It has to work both ways, and if some women are scared even of a trans women using the cubical next to theirs, then it is certainly not okay for a woman to walk in on a man actively peeing. Double standards.




We exited the hotel in the evening into that blinding, crisp, yellowing light which is very specific to Manhattan in the hour before dusk. It’s a photographer’s dream. It’s an atmospheric, timeless sort of light which instantly triggers nostalgia. Michael was trying to take a picture of me, but some woo girl walking past had better ideas, “looking good” she said, as I tried to pose, feeling highly self-conscious. She then proceeded to make her daughter dance behind me, so that any picture we took would be wrecked by a porky little ballerina.