Monday, 5 November 2012


Over here in England it's Guy Fawkes Night.

It’s a fun night. We light bonfires, set off a horrendous amount of fireworks and eat jacket potatoes in celebration of a 400 year old failed terrorist plot.


R and I went to our local bonfire night a few nights ago.

It’s always an impressive sight, with a bonfire the size of a small house, a little funfair and impossible carnival games like coconut-shy.

This year was much improved from last year, where the wind was blowing in the unfortunate direction that allowed embers of the ridiculously huge bonfire to wash all over the faces in the crowd and left me with a macho looking wound across my eye for a week.

The bonfire was smaller this year. They obviously learnt from their mistake. But not everything was improved upon last year. There was still the awfully cheesy music with hits like “relight my fire” and the awful but hilarious announcer trying to entice people to buy food in the most monotonic voice you can imagine.

But at this lovely fair of fun and fire, I was oddly worried about PDA. There were a lot of children, ergo, a lot of parents. I spent the majority of the night waiting for some obnoxious Mother telling me to stop being disgusting and promoting the gay agenda…or whatever it is that homophobic Mothers worry about.

But that never happened.
There was one fantastically horrible cliché moment when R and I kissed and fireworks went off in the background. It was vom-worthy.

At one point, as we were watching the effigy of Guy Fawkes burn (we’re such a lovely country), I spied another lesbian couple. Being the weird femme who craves recognition, I of course instantly latched myself onto R and made a great show of being a couple.
 Later on, there was an innocent pair of ladies with a small child. Again, I instantly presumed they were lesbians. The coupley act began again.

See, me and R live in a reasonably small city where the gay scene is about as active as a limp noodle. This apparently is having the effect of me seeing lesbian mirages…Anyone showing even the slightest lady lovin’ tendencies, to me, is an instant lesbian.

I do apologise for my stereotypical view.

As a huge massive flowery femme myself, I should know better than anyone that lesbians aren’t always all undercuts and plaid.
But my gaydar is fairly shitty and until I get an upgrade, I will continue throwing myself at R while in the presence of suspected gays.


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