Recent posts have shown the serious, sad and occasional tragic side of gay life. In an effort to inform my readers, I try to paint an accurate picture of LGBT+ reality based on real people - the quirky characters who inhabit my novels. This was best described on the back page of Scruffy Chicken - Meander with Narvel around the leafy lanes of Derbyshire and discover a secret subterranean fairytale world which could have been penned by Grimm. Meet his collection of curious characters, all taking shelter in their twilight existence; monsters, clowns, the high and the low, the pretentious and the pompous, the scented and the sneering, the common and the crude. They are all inspired by real people, all warped by the vicious homophobic cruelty and bigotry of 1965. The homosexual community has always been richly endowed by amusing and entertaining queens such as Simon Tonks. My first impression was that of a child's face - a simple face, almost a cartoon which could have been drawn by a child; three buttons, two for eyes and one for a nose. As my focus improved, the child became a boy and the boy, with a cartoon head cocked on one side, became a man. Nobody knew the age of Simon Tonks. He was one of the mysterious freaks of the Derbyshire gay underworld. Bitchy queens in their forties had cottaged with him. They swore blind that Simon Tonks must be at least 45. As the years rolled by, he hunted for men with a new generation of teenage chickens, who assumed that he was one of their number - just another chicken, just another common slut ever searching for that next cock. Within living memory, the old Belper crone Jasper Wormall had always looked old, bent and hideous. In contrast, Simon Tonks, within living memory, had always looked young and pretty. Entering into conversation, Simon said, ‘Allo!’ in a camp falsetto voice. ‘Av bin on me 'olidays.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Yes, Blackpool.’ ‘Nice. Did you do anything interesting?’ ‘I went to see Gypsy Petulengo on North Pier. It were fascinating in er tent - but got nasty when I came out.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Well - it’s like this. I saw this lovely rough bloke sitting on a bench. Dead butch, something like a navvy with legs spragged an showing a nice piece o’ meat. Ooo it were tempting! ‘A sat next to im an said – Allo! looking, between is sexy legs. E give me a filthy look! So, a said, I’ve been to see Gypsy Petulengo. She’s told me fortune. She’s told me wot’s going to happen to me.
‘E got violent! E threatened me! E shoved his fist up to me face and said – “Did she tell you you’ll get this down ya fuckin throat if ya don’t fuck off!!” But Simon enjoyed and boasted of many successes which attracted criticism of his promiscuous life style. Labelled a ‘loose bitch’ by a self-righteous pomposity became yet another funny story to make his friends laugh. Dirty talk was a ‘turn on’ for many in these lecherous circles. Another respected observer warned me – ‘Beware! You are judged by the company you keep. Turning to Simon, he lashed out - ‘You’re nothing more than a common cow!’ He failed to realise his remark was subsumed into Simon’s comic stand-up repertoire to be recycled in pubs and clubs. The foundation of these frequent self-slandering comments in the gay community lies in the ubiquitous debauched life style of many gay men. My novels reveal the 1957 horrors of Mundy Street Boys School in Heanor, where I suffered excruciating humiliations. Traumas are burnt into my psyche. Cruelty has a cost. I’m still haunted and repress agonising memories of childhood torture followed by decades of anonymity. However, in this secret life, I found comfort in the company of people like Simon Tonks and his hilarious licentious chatter. Narvel Annable Comments are closed.
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