Always take the weather with you

I should have known.

Wading my way across the sodden South Downs, head bowed in the face of gale-force winds and driving rain, it should have been blindingly obvious that the inclement conditions weren’t down to it being the dead of winter.

Those storms that have battered the UK for the last month or so aren’t a consequence of clashing weather systems in the Atlantic.

No, it’s all down to gay marriage. Or equal marriage, if you will.

I can’t even be bothered mocking the stupidity of a world view that links climate and weather to legislation that will only directly affect those who actually get married (as far as I’m aware, the new law won’t force same-sex couples to remove flood defences or do a nightly rain dance).

And why should I bother with mocking when Twitter is already doing it so well?

There’s yer actual UKIP right there in one gloriously ludicrous outburst. Remember that next time blokey Nige is smirking on Question Time and demanding the UK quits the EU (while he simultaneously fills his pockets with as much swag as he can get away with while he’s an MEP).

But enough of such idiocy.

It’s a new year and my first blog of 2014 really has to be a bit more upbeat than metaphorically throwing my hands up in exasperated fashion.

This January I’m looking a bit further ahead to the spring and a deal I’ve made with myself – to complete the book I started last summer. Typically for me, I began the project in enthusiastic fashion, writing around 26,000 words in six weeks and getting totally immersed in a story I have been waiting my whole life to tell.

And then stuff got in the way. A much-needed holiday disrupted my writing routine. On our return, the dog walking business suddenly got a whole lot busier while another essential job now eats up my evenings and half of my weekends. Those lazy summer afternoons furiously writing in the garden while Alfie and chums lazed on the grass have faded as fast as the sunshine.

As Christmas approached, I suddenly realised I hadn’t committed a single word to paper since early October.

Something has to be done.  As someone who performs better with a deadline hanging over her head, I’ve set myself a deadline of March 29 for finishing the book. The date is significant because it’s the 44th anniversary of the day my family’s lives were changed forever.

I need to keep my promise not only to myself but also to my uncle, to my siblings and to my wider family that I will chronicle this incredible story.

And because I know what a captivating, remarkable tale it is, I’m going to share a little bit of it in here.

Knowing a small part of it is already out there will be even more of a spur to me to complete this venture.

Right, better crack on, I’ve got a book to finish.

Good As You

I was about six years old when I knew I was gay. I didn’t know what the name for it was or even that there was a name for it. I just knew I liked girls in a way that I didn’t like boys. Not that I didn’t like boys – some of my best friends and all that.
Instinctively I knew that I shouldn’t tell anyone of these feelings, that I should simply be seen to behave like everyone else. And I did, even acquiring a ‘boyfriend’ for the entire summer holidays when I was eight (my first and last, you will not be surprised to read!).
Anyway, I won’t bore with you my coming out story, which happened when I was 23 and passed with remarkably little incident and pain. For this I have to thank my family and friends who were (in the main) tremendously supportive. I got several “I knew it!” reactions (no shit, Sherlock) and a couple of “So, do you fancy me? How no’?” (you know who you are, Elizabeth McLaughlin …).
Best response of all came from my sis Louise who was 15 at the time and was the very first person to whom I actually said the words “I’m gay”. Her reply? “Oh good, I can tell you I smoke now.” Sheesh, way to distract me from my emotional torment, sis!

The happiest day of our lives - why would anyone want to deny others that same happiness?
Anyway, here we are, 23 years on from that turbulent time and I’m almost one year into a civil partnership with Debbie – a formal recognition of our relationship that I could never have envisaged even a decade or so ago. Civil partnerships have been an extraordinarily positive step forward for our society and for all our citizens, regardless of their sexuality. They have been so successful that it’s no surprise that the move is now towards allowing gays and lesbians to marry.
So how depressing yet predictable this morning to read Cardinal Keith O’Brien’s deliberately inflammatory and offensive remarks on the possibility of the UK allowing same-sex marriage.
The Catholic Church has a lot to say on sexuality, on reproduction, on relationships. And virtually none of it is positive or life-affirming. In terms of providing a good example for its flock, the Church and many of its priests, bishops and cardinals have failed spectacularly over many decades
I was raised as a Catholic. And even though I’d lost what faith I had in both the church and god by my teens, I still hadn’t shaken off a lifetime of conditioning by the time I was ready to accept my sexuality. Telling my parents was the hardest thing of all, precisely because of their faith and their beliefs.
And they were devastated, confused and concerned that they might have done something wrong*, fearful for me and how other people would react to me.
It took wise words from mum’s brother, Andrew, to reassure both of them that it was okay, I was still me and nothing had changed except that I was finally being honest with the world.
Andrew is a Catholic priest.
He is the most compassionate and Christian of men, someone who understands the human condition in all its flawed and beautiful states. He is no plaster saint. He is a man who has made his own mistakes in life and because he accepts and acknowledges his own frailties, he is all the more understanding of those who come to him for guidance, spiritual or otherwise.

Like the colour of your hair or your eyes, the size of your feet or your nose, your sexuality is something you can do nothing about.

His faith in his god has never wavered, though his faith in his Church has been tested many times, particularly over the horrors of the child abuse scandals and appalling cover-ups.
I’m on the outside looking in at the Catholic Church now. I never needed any kind of blessing or recognition from the Church for the most important relationship in my life but many gay and lesbian Catholics do need and want it.
They will never get it from men such as Cardinal O’Brien who today described civil partnerships as “harmful to the physical, mental and spiritual wellbeing of those involved”.
That kind of offensive, homophobic ignorance has to be challenged.
Like the colour of your hair or your eyes, the size of your feet or your nose, your sexuality is something you can do nothing about. You can choose not to act on your desires but you can do nothing to stop those desires in the first place. Ignorance, inequality and intolerance are what’s most harmful to the physical, mental and spiritual wellbeing of gays and lesbians.
For the sake of any gay Catholic (or any faith) struggling to come to terms with their sexuality, I hope the pastor they turn to for spiritual guidance and comfort is one like Andrew, not like the Cardinal.
And if same-sex marriage is introduced, Debbie and I will definitely say “I do” again and have another big party to celebrate.

*I have four brothers and was a terrible tomboy as a kid – mum was convinced if only she’d forced me to wear dresses, things would have been different!
On a similar note, my confused dad said: “But you like Celtic players!” Yeah, dad on the pitch, not off it!