I'd suspected it for some time. The signs had always been there: the devil's horns or angel wings worn to parties where fancy dress was surely unnecessary, the predilection for the Eurovision Song Contest, the visits to Las Vegas. But it wasn't until I found myself dancing to the new Scissor Sisters song a couple of nights ago that it really hit home. I am a gay man trapped in a woman's body.
There really is no other explanation for the unashamed campery that I surround myself with. So, I've decided to get down to the gym and have 'BOYS BOYS BOYS' tatooed on one muscley forearm. I'm going to refer to all my male friends as "she". And I'm going to buy a dog that's so small I can carry it under my arm in a handbag.
So there.
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