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The silent bliss of being an introvert

Introverts being called shy, under confident and awkward is the biggest understatement of the century.
As an introvert and occasionally an ambivert, I view this differently from what introversion is perceived as in modern times. 
The stigma of introversion. Picture credit: Design You Trust

I had a hard time connecting with people for a majority of my life. It felt like I had to be different versions of myself to feel accepted in social circles. The personality of an introvert can often be misconstrued as “lost in their own little world.”

Which might be true to a certain extent but there’s a lot of good that comes from that. It’s important to acknowledge that people have their own way of dealing with the kind of world we live in and that there’s different types of introverts.

However, the proof is in the pudding if we bother to grab a spoon. Some of the most revolutionary people like Albert Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton, Rosa Parks or even in recent times, actresses Meryl Streep and Glenn Close are known to be introverts who’ve made an extraordinary impact.

Academy award winner, Meryl Streep. Picture credit: SELF Magazine

The term introversion was coined by Carl Jung, who stated that introversion is an attitude towards life where one prefers their own inner world as opposed to an extrovert who thrives on external connections. Introverts have a natural ability to divulge in the concept of “The Self“. Which is the foundation of most religious/spiritual beliefs when it comes to taking the journey of the soul.

I personally resonate with both attitudes when it comes to personalities, but I admire the soft nature of an introvert who finds solace in knowing their core selves.

It’s tough being an introvert because as a species, we need human connection. I felt lost in a fast-paced generation where I had to keep up with social media trends, pressurised myself to be entertaining to those I meet and have long conversations with them.

I do enjoy company, I’m not particularly shy but there was a point in my life where I realised that by masking my introverted nature, I was going in the opposite direction of who I really am.

My fear heightened most at parties, I’d mentally prepare myself with a set of questions that are “socially acceptable.” When I ran out of things to say, I could almost see the grimace on their faces. They would casually say, “I’m going to get another drink, I’ll see you later?”

The entire night after that, I would be so caught up in the things I’ve said and how I should’ve said it. What should’ve been a fun party turned into an absolute nightmare.

What an introvert feels like when they try to be extroverted. Picture credit: Kahhuipheh

It’s easy to say, “Don’t take yourself so seriously, just have fun.” when socialising at a party isn’t necessarily my idea of fun. I still have to do it, to feel normal in a world that just seems to get it? I didn’t ask to be this way, it’s just how my mind works.

How are they doing it, I used to wonder. How do they construct sentences that make another person smile or laugh? How did they manage to establish a friendship or a relationship with just one conversation? How are they exchanging energies so seamlessly?

Energy…that’s what it was. It hit me like a truck when I realised I’ve tampered with the gentle energy within me inauthentically, only to feel accepted externally. I was draining myself.

A beautiful realisation kicked in when I took the journey of isolation and transformation to discover who I really am. 

The realisation was that after therapy, spiritual healing and connecting with nature, I had to learn to accept all sides of me first. The more I learned to love myself, the more I understood that it’s never about how others perceive me. It’s about how I perceive myself. 

Picture credit: Tara McEvoy

I celebrate my introverted side as a part of me that provids a lot of safety. I’m aware that it’s not the same for all introverts but this is my 2Shades perspective on how I see the beauty of gaining wisdom, clarity and liberation from my inner world. 

What it did for me is that the unconditional loving energy I was developing within me, allowed me to face the outside world with courage. I no longer judged myself for the “wrong” things I’ve said or done, because I possess a safe place within me to come home to, have a laugh, let go and move on. 

Being an introvert doesn’t always mean living in fear and having lack of presence in the world. There’s an abundance of creativity and knowledge within our soul that introverts just care to explore more of. Translating that may not be easy, but there’s different means of communication and assertiveness that just takes an empathic set of eyes to see/feel.

Inner peace is the key to everything. Picture credit: Dribble

Eventually, I put a price on my energy because of my investment towards it and learned how to be social when I needed to be and in solitude, I recharge myself. The best part is the communication I have with myself to respect my own boundaries while simultaneously communicating that to loved ones so they’re aware of my mannerisms.

So I could be called an “ambivert” now if I have to label it, but all I’m really doing is living harmoniously in my inner world and choosing the kind of outer world I want to engage in.

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Columns

Heidi Gammon’s PRIDE Agony Aunt Column.

Heidi Gammon, 2Shades and Gateway Radio’s agony aunt, answers your questions this Pride month.

Dear Heidi 

I stumbled upon your column by accident. My daughter Is gay, and I have found it very hard to accept. First of all, I am catholic, and her lifestyle is not acceptable to my faith.

Trust me Heidi I love my daughter, but I am really struggling to accept her girlfriend who she has lived with for four years and won’t have her in the house. She looks like a man, and I find it embarrassing when people see her. My daughter says that they plan to have children and that breaks my heart. Now she says she won’t see me if I do not accept her life and partner. Having tried counselling already what can I do? Losing my daughter is not an option. 

Vicky, South End 

Dear Vicky 

This makes me very sad. Please be assured I have total respect for others’ beliefs. It is great you tried counselling but maybe you did not go the right one.  With all due respect, everything you are saying is homophobic. If you truly love your daughter, you will embrace her and love her as a mother should. Who cares what people think of the person who loves your daughter?  You need to respect who your daughter is.  Really, I understand your pain but it’s time to let go of that mindset. Who wants to be around someone who judges and discriminates against them, especially when it is a person that is supposed to love them? It may be an idea to try counselling as a family https://www.rainbow-project.org/family-support/

You will lose your daughter if you continue down this path.

All my best, Heidi


Dear Heidi  

Please help me, I did a terrible thing. My husband wanted to spice things up and bring another person into the bedroom. He did not want an open relationship so, with trepidation we went ahead with a guy we met online. It was fun and we saw him a few times. 

Really Heidi I thought that was it but having bumped into this guy in town, we started to see each other behind my husband’s back as he said he’s not really into him. He has asked me to go on holiday with him. Having agreed and telling my husband it is work related, now I am getting cold feet. What can I do?

Mike, Brighton 

https://www.grindr.com/blog/wild-sex-positions

Oh, my dear Mike, what a mess. 

Really, I am all for those who want to try different things but boundaries must be in place after a lengthy conversation. Although it’s not for me, many couples have open relationship and experiment. When you invite another person into your relationship you are opening a pandora’s box. Be careful what you wish for I say. 

It sounded like you thought you were happy. Bringing someone else in could have unearthed that your relationship may not have been what you thought. The fact you’re even thinking of going on holiday behind your husband’s back tells me things are not right. It is time to ask yourself how you see your future. Time to sit down and talk to your husband, after all he opened the box leading you to want to deceive and break the trust. Without trust there is no relationship.   Sorry if that sounds harsh.

Love Heidi 


Dear Heidi, 

My gay brother is a hoot, but he won’t stop flirting with straight guys.Now he is flirting with my husband. Alex my husband thinks it is funny but it is annoying and embarrassing for me. Having put my foot down my brother is not speaking to me.  What can I do?

Kirsty, Essex  

You’re kidding me, Kirsty.  You’re quiet right, straight or gay, there is a limit to the flirting game and you have every right to be annoyed. It was right to share your feelings. 

It sounds like your brother is a bit of an exhibitionist and they can be fun. Exhibitionism can be a drug and you can get hooked. He needs to think of your feelings too. Trust me he will be back in touch. You sound like a great sister so just ignore him till he comes to you (and he will) . But stick to your guns when he does appear licking his wounds.

Love Heidi 


Dear Heidi 

Love the column, please can you help me?   I am so frightened to ask anyone out as my fear of rejection is so great. No-one asks me out and so my life has no one romantic in it. How can overcome my fear? 

Love 

Andy, Leeds  

Andy my love, my heart goes out to you. Ok I need you to shake yourself down. 

You can go to an lGBTQQ+ councillor https://pinktherapy.com or if you cannot afford that, the NHS offer free talking therapy sessions . I am taking it you have tried online dating; you do not have to go on GRINDER  or Facebook, and many other sites offer a softer approach to dating . Or why not join an lgbtqq+ group https://www.mesmac.co.uk/our-services/leeds/support-social-groups

Here is a selection in Leeds. It is a nice way to meet people in non-sexual way that could lead to romance. 

Happy Pride Andy, I hope love comes your way .

https://www.counselling-foryou.co.uk

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Columns

This Pride remember age is just a number

Steven Smith celebrates turning 63 and Pride Month.

By being pictured by celebrity photographer Graham martin. Embarrassing having pride in himself and his body. 
Graham Martin shoots me for Pride at any age

It is Pride month and lets all get out and enjoy ourselves. Age is just a number I could not agree more with the divine and fellow Gemini Joan Collins’ statement last month, “It is rude to ask a lady her age”. Or a man, come to think about it. Even though the divine Ms Collins never missed a moment to mention age.

Trust me, it is certainly a no, no at any social occasion. My dread at any dinner party is when age raises its ugly head and someone says, “Guess how old I am?” I just want the floor to open and disappear when that one is asked. Or when some ill-advised fellow diner thinks it is appropriate to ask a guest their age. 

As for me, I am incredibly proud to have reached my age, joining the likes of Tom Cruise and Boy George. It is a joy to be alive and fully active, with just a little more knowledge in life, though I am still prone to a youthful mistake or two! Some people’s issues around age ruin it for others. At a luncheon party I was not looking forward to the subject cropping up.

Here he comes, the age phobic. It had not started off well as everyone was late including us, my friend had changed shoes at least three times and had an army of beauty things to do before setting off. We were first there. I must add my friend is also proud of their age and looks stunning. However, they did look a little perturbed to be first there and not making a grand entrance for the other guests to marvel at how great they looked.

It meant that instead of sitting with my long-term friend who is in his twenties (but I swear is in his seventies and just made a pack with the Devil to inhabit a young man’s body, being wise, intelligent and witty well beyond his years), I was sitting next to someone new.

I love meeting different people, though it did hit me almost immediately that his Instagram pictures were airbrushed to make him look much younger than in person.

But then who does not tweak their image sometimes, though there are those that go overboard and can turn themselves into an embryo. It did not take long for age to become a topic. He kept referring to my friend as “the young one”. He asked if I went out much in London.

I replied that I went out to events during the week but at weekend I was comfortable at home, although I did go to clubs occasionally at the weekend and charity dinners. It started, “Well at our age you don’t want to go clubbing, do you?” He honestly did not stop.

Graham Marin Photography https://www.grahammartinphotography.co.uk

Moving on I shared that on holiday or before going out it was great to have a small siesta. “Oh, you mean a na, na nap,” he jested. “I bet it used to be a disco nap. But at our age…” “Darling,” I explained, “I do not do the age thing or put labels on people.” My “young” friend whispered later, “He is projecting how he feels about his own age on to you”.

It was interesting to find out the other so-called young ones felt the same way about him and meant to pre-warn me as it was my first encounter. It must be terrible to be threatened by someone who is comfortable in their own skin. I think he was one of those men who got on better with woman as he seemed to charm them.

Age is just a number, or so some believe. Sure, I am not often “clubbing”, but this is not because I am 63 and feel out of place. I always envisioned myself with a blue rinse, fan dancing with the best of them at a rave in my 80s! It is more because

 I do not have the time, and that London has become so diverse there is so much else to do. Plus, my priorities with my free time have changed; bars are no longer high on my list. There is the added point that I am fortunate enough to get invited to a fair few glitzy events too. I just wish people would enjoy and love the moment they are in and stop pushing age groups into boxes. Be who you want to be. Yes, age is just a number, but there is no need to keep bringing it up.

Graham Martin is a premier gay and celebrity photographer, who, as well as shooting the likes of Denise Welch and Dame Judy Dench Additionally, makes some of his bread and butter shooting gay men’s profile pictures for online dating sites.

Yours truly with Graham

So what percentage of the men are my age or older? “It is 50:50 recently. I had a man that was 76 come for a shoot not long ago. He had been off the scene for seven years as he had become addicted to chem-sex parties.” Graham told me that the man is doing really well and is now happily dating once more.

Graham, who turns 60 this year, has been in a loving relationship for the last 32 years. He puts his success down to marrying his best friend and he does have a point. Perhaps the fact that I was with my best friend for 18 years makes it difficult to fill the void. Should I be looking for someone sexual first, developing a friendship second?

Graham told me that the dating scene has changed so much that he gets inundated with men wanting pictures for their profiles, as well as portrait shots. Men, whatever age, want to look their best. “Keep it real!” Graham informed me when giving tips for my shoot.

Do not ask for it to be Photoshopped so that you are an embryo. If you are a chunky, beer-bellied daddy, then do not take yourself down to a thin man. When you hook up it will just be one big disappointment. Equally, make sure that you prepare yourself in conjunction with your age when you are getting ready for the shoot.

Do not spray tan because the look can often be uneven, but do make sure that you are groomed well. Do not have a drastic haircut unless you plan to keep the look.

Lets all have Pride in who we are.

He says that it is vital that you stand out and . So, my first attempt at dating starts with a shoot undertaken by Graham, who rather nervously laughed and said, “You’re practically a chicken compared to some I shoot,” which put me at ease.

Many men do the Full Monty, but that’s not me. We settled for a taste of sexy, though, to be honest, it is not a natural feel. Forty-five minutes later and the photo shoot is complete. I love the results and my friends all rave about the final images.

Pictures by Graham Martin, find him at https://www.grahammartinphotography.co.uk

Tales of a single middle aged gay man
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Columns

The Real Will &Grace

Welcome to more of Steven Smith’s Tales of a Middle-Aged Single Gay Man column
‘Fag hag’ is a gay slang phrase referring to women who associate exclusively with gay or bisexual men. But you knew that anyway, didn’t you?
Steven Smith

Now, I hate labels of any kind, but when a woman tells me “I love the gays” my toes curl. Even my nephew, when he was thirteen, was smart enough to not fall for that one.

“They are just like everyone else, good and bad”, he shrewdly pointed out. It’s funny in Ab Fab when Adina blurts out “all my friends are gay”. Oh, the irony.

However, the women that happily label themselves fag hags tend to flag up serious warning signs. I have heard it so many times: “other woman just don’t get me, but you and the gay guys do.”

This is usually followed by how she likes bad boys in bed. That’s nice for them. For me, I want to be liked as a person, not for my sexuality or a label.

Since my first time at a gay club in New York, the Limelight, I was aware of lots of very sexy women model types dancing. My friend told me: “they feel safe here. They can dance and not get hit on.”

It was not long before the straight men caught onto this and started frequenting the more glamorous gay venues. On one occasion, I was with a group of guys when a very hot girl walked straight up to us and said “so sad you are all gay. I would f*** the lot of you!”

A little voice piped up: “I am straight”. He was my pal who honestly leads the way in gay fashion but is 100% straight, though many men have tried their luck and a minute later found themselves in a taxi home.

Elizabeth Taylor. Wowza.

Elizabeth Taylor loved the company of gay men, from Rock Hudson to Tab Hunter and Montgomery Clift. She described them as her confidants.

Tallulah Bankhead, when she was not famously trying to sleep with gay men, preferred their company. Long ago, in the time of Mary Queen of Scots, Mary loved to quote the pretty men.

For me, I like people. It seems though by chance that many of my friends are female and quite glamorous and powerful. None of them would be described as fag hags.

In their company I still keep to the traditional male role that I am comfortable with: opening doors, walking on the right side of the path near the road, and even pulling the chair out. Though some of the women I know try to lead when dancing and even pull the chair out for me.

Now, despite having some pictures taken to join a dating website, somehow I am no further along, and the woman who I would call one of my rocks, Liz Branson, is on the phone from her New York office. She splits her time between there, Dubai and London.

“Have you done it?” she enquires. Trying to get off the subject, I ask when she is in London next. There is a pause:

“You haven’t“, she snaps with an air of annoyance. Then she almost commands “Jo Allen’s, Tuesday 9.30”. She does not wait to see if I am free and hangs up. But then texts ten minutes later (“If you are free can you book it?”).

Liz is great fun, but always right about everything and obsessive, sometimes to a point where you want to scream. That’s what makes her so successful, alluringly and fascinating.

She is also always late, arriving with some story, but the reality is it takes her half an hour to cover herself in body oil that makes her beautiful worked-out body glisten. That’s just the part of the beauty regime to go out.

So, despite having brass balls when it comes to business and breaking many high-level men, she still likes to be every part a high-maintenance woman.

Still from the Will & Grace show

She is my Grace, as in Will and Grace, the TV show. Now, it is a common mistake to presume that women “get” gay men just because they hang out with them. Even the woman who proclaims: “I am just a gay man trapped in woman’s body” can be shockingly naive.

One long-term friend of 36 who grew up around the LGBTQ community, recently pointed out on a theatre visit that the show we’d gone to see was a great one for me just because it had five youthful boys, scantily dressed, in the cast.

It did take me back. As pretty as they were they left me sexually cold. She must have noticed none of my boyfriends have been under 40.

My best gay mate would know that the male cast of Peaky Blinders or Colin Farrell would have me hot in my seat. But teen boys have as much effect as Dita Von Teese dancing – nice to watch. She was the same friend who once asked, “Why would you want to give head rather than take?”

This is the case with Liz, apart from one man who was straight when he lived with her and came out later, she really did not know any gay men until me.

I think she presumed we all came in a mould, as she was quick to dash into another relationship with a gay man who was in a rush to take her to gay bars and so on.

My opinion is it should be mutual, and I am happy in a predominately straight bar/club, but as it’s rare I am in a gay bar I tend to have dinner or go to events.

Liz rang me one night: “I am on Clapham Common”, she whispered down the phone. Enquiring if there was concert or some event, to my horror she replied, “no, I’m cruising with… Have you done this?” Really, I wanted to scream – this was a step too far. Needless to say, their relationship did not last when he tried to seduce Liz’s then-husband.

But it was not the first time that I heard of women going cruising with gay men. My former lady boss was once in a Freedom cab (a gay taxi company) when the driver said he was going to Hampstead Heath to drop condoms off by a tree in the cruising area.

She jumped: ‘Oh, I have been there.” Some of her gay pals had taken her. This phenomenon had passed me by. One, I don’t cruise – it’s scary, and broadminded as I am, why would you take a woman?

Well, Liz is late as usual. She has texted several times, blaming the Uber driver, a lion escaping from Regents Park zoo, and a fire at the local orphanage.

But when she arrives she’s looking spectacular, and the whole restaurant turn their heads to look at her. Liz runs her hands through her thick red hair, passes, and waves enthusiastically.

She has just become a vegan, and was difficult enough in restaurants before, but this is taking it to a whole new level. Once, after sending an omelette back four times, famously I took a picture of her perfect omelette and gave it to the waiter the next day, much to her annoyance. It’s just one of the things that make her amusing.

But back to the evening. Only one waiter and chef have resigned since Liz has placed her order – kidding. My suggestion that I nip to Tesco’s and get the soya sauce she wants so badly goes down like a lead balloon as she has everyone fussing over her.

There is quick chat about the gorgeous executive she went skinny dipping with in Dubai and how fantastic he was in bed. Do I think 15 years age difference is too much?

Followed by she really is still into 50 shades of Darryl, a man she met at a conference and had the best sex ever with, but had turned out to be an asshole and who I hate hearing about for the 90th time.

The nice thing about Liz is she is not an energy vampire and likes to hear about you. But it’s the subject that’s not top of my list – my ‘love life’.

She is convinced that my best pal and I should be together and that why I am not with anyone? The problem many people don’t get is you can have a purely platonic relationship when you’re gay with another gay man.

Of course, I love my best mate, but have no plans to marry him. Losing track of how many times that I have told her ‘NO!!’, I tell Liz that’s it, I’ll ask him to marry me next week.

There is a scream and she wants to order champagne. Liz’s face quickly drops when it’s pointed out it’s a tease. Well, I am sure it would have if she hadn’t had Botox two weeks before.

The subject is dropped, and we have lots of laughs and drinks, until she announces we are going to Old Compton Street for after-drinks. “Why?” I ask. Apparently, she loves GAY and the music.

But my gut feeling is that she is very kindly obsessing about finding me a fella. My suggestion of our usual after-venue, Radio Bar, is met with a blank. Realising that she is doing something Liz thinks will be good for me, we take off.

There is no queue to get into GAY, but it is busy, and Liz wastes no time in turning into Cilla Black after getting a drink, and my heart falls as she starts randomly talking to men; all of course adore her right away. “Who do you like?” she shouts above the music.

Liz introducing me to random men to reject me leaves me feeling like a rabbit in the headlights. “I’ll be discreet”, she bellows.“I’m all good, thanks” and hug her.

Liz starts dancing with some colourful drag queens and shouts “I’m a gay icon!” Of course they all agree. Much as there is room for interpretation, Madonna or Judy she isn’t, but for that night she was. It was so kind of her to care.

Flushed with her success at GAY, she wants to explore more, so we head to a bar on Rupert Street, as a friend of mine is there anyway. Her one-woman show goes down well there, too.

I have already briefed her that my American pal is a friend, and not to think about bringing up whether we are dating or anything of that nature. She thinks he’s too young anyway, so I am off the hook.

Liz is now befriending the handsome doorman, who turns out to be heterosexual and married. He waves me over. “Why don’t you take your girlfriend somewhere she can meet a man?” My reaction was to smile. “She wanted to come here, not me.”

Besides, who says she would not meet a fella there? My sister had a holiday romance in Key West with a man who managed a gay club, and one lady friend married a bar man who worked in one.

Liz and I are still happily single, but watch this page for more tales.

Steven is a published author, regular radio guest and has a monthly column in MilliOnAirMagazine. 

http://moa-global.com

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Columns

Dr. Anna Kennedy OBE Discusses Pride and LGBTQIA+ Support

Here at 2Shades, we are thrilled to have Dr. Anna Kennedy OBE join us with her own column to raise awareness about her Autism charity organisation.
This month, she talks about Pride and what the LGBTQIA+ community means to her.
Dr. Anna Kennedy OBE. Picture credit: knightvisionphotographyuk

Anna’s a disability/ neurodiversity campaigner who has worked to provide improved education and other services and support for children and adults described as being on the autism spectrum as well as other neurodiverse conditions.

In pursuing these activities she has (among other things) helped establish two schools, a college, a respite home and a website with over 100,000 international followers.

Kennedy was given an OBE (Royal Reward for Inspirational Mother) Award by Queen Elizabeth II at Buckingham Palace in 2012 for her services. And in her rare spare time, she loves to dance. 

We asked her a few questions about Pride and her everlasting support towards the community. 

What does Pride mean to you?

June is Pride Month and this gives charities like mine, AnnaKennedyonline supporting autistic children and adults the opportunity to shoutout and thank those in the LGBTQ+ community who work tirelessly to champion equality and respect for all within the work place and within their community.

I am huge fan of Pride month and to be honest we need to have Pride all year and be vocal about being who we are.

You seem to have a huge gay following, have the LGBTQIA+ community always been in your life?

The LBGTQ+ community have been in my life since I started the school and college for my sons in 1999, where many of the staff were from the community.

Really it is how it should be, we are all human and we should not even raise an eyebrow and see someone as different because of who they love.

Autism’s Got talent is a big part of the year how is diverse is it?

I’m hoping that Autism’s Got Talent caters for all our performers and their families. We are in our 13th year, and we are open to be inclusive as much as we possibly can.

Many of the LGBTQ community who come to see the show see it as being as big as New Years or dare I say, Eurovision.

Autism’s Got Talent Show 2023

You’re jumping out of a plane to raise awareness and funds for Anna Kennedy online, please, are you insane? Tell us all? 

I have always been afraid of heights and when Aston Avery, Lisa Robins and Steven Smith said they were going to jump out a plane to raise much needed funds for our charity, I was so grateful. 

But I told them I will be firmly on the ground waving a flag. 

Then someone (I won’t name. ) pointed out that one of my strengths was getting others to challenge themselves. It was a case of practice what I preached. 

Plus, another tick for my bucket list! (Hopefully not the last one) 

What would you say to a parent that struggles to accept their child because of their sexuality? 

Accept, support and love them for who they are love is more important that judging. 

The Autism Hero Awards are not until next year, why have you skipped a year?

We have finally booked a hotel for March 2025 in Regents Park. We are concentrating on fundraising for our charity this year since so many charities are closing due to lack of funds. 

Venues also have raised their prices due to cost increases and it has been difficult to locate a venue to suit our limited budget. Autism Hero Awards is such a lovely and inspiring event celebrating those who go the extra mile for the autism community. Closing date for entries is the end of August 2024.

Autism’s Hero Awards 2023

All of the queens would love to go to the palace, and you did. What was it like?

I have been to the Palace a few times now, the most memorable was receiving my OBE in 2012 from Her Majesty the Queen Elizabeth II.

Recently I was invited to The King’s Garden Party. It rained and I had a big Pride umbrella with all the colours of the rainbow, it was well needed.

If you had a drag queen name, what would it be?

It’s got to be ‘Lady De Dancing Queen’. I am sure I was a drag queen in my previous life.

My charity patron Steven Smith says I am camp anyway.

Dr.Anna Kennedy and Steven Smith at the Autism’s Got Talent show 2023

What is your favourite song?

Whitney Houston’s I’m Every Woman. I want it played at my funeral and for everyone to dance!

If you could dance at any Pride in the world, where would it be?

New York or Rio look fun! I would love to be on float at Pride. 

Thank you for your time Dr. Anna Kennedy, 2Shades are thrilled to you on board!

Stay tuned to Anna’s column for more information on Autism awareness and the initiatives she takes to cater to the neurodivegent community.   

To raise funds for her charity, tap here.

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Columns

Heidi’s Agony Aunt Column

Hi all! My name is Heidi and I am really looking forward to be part of 2Shades Magazine.
As their new agony aunt, I can’t wait to answer your issues and problems!
Picture Credit: Behance

I am a counseller/therapist working in private practice in London, I find people fascinating and I just love helping people.

I have worked with the public for over 30 years so hit me up with all your worries and dilemmas and I will do my best to help!


Dear Heidi,

Love the column. My problem is I am at my second year of Uni and Trans. This term I intend to return as Brendan, my true male self. I have seen a doctor and I am making plans to start transitioning. Being the quintessential butch dyke, this won’t come as shock to my uni mates. But Mum and Dad say if I do that is the final straw and that will be me cut off. They fund my education and lifestyle. Heidi, I am miserable as Kim but as Brendan I feel amazing and who I want to be. What can I do to change my parents’ minds?

– Brendan, Manchester

Hello Brendan,

Great to hear from you and I wish you all the best with your transition. Sadly, you are not alone; it’s not just parents, but friends and those around you accepting you becoming your authentic self. Still parents struggle with their kids being gay, or making choices that they have not dictated or hoped for. However, many parents change their minds once they see you are happy. Your parents love you I am sure, and it can be difficult for them. Please do not overreact and have a little empathy that they are finding it difficult.

Try once things have calmed down to reapproach them. Tell them how unhappy you are and how long you have felt like this. Next look at family counselling if your parents agree to attend. Seek some advice from the support group Mermaids. More importantly, if your parents do cut you off, you may need to look at other ways to stand on your own and fund your education. You do not want to be told that who you are is wrong by anyone, let alone the ones that love you; it will take a strain on your mental health. https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/parents/ 

Love, Heidi.


Dear Heidi,

I do not know if you have been watching” Heartstopper”? Well my latter school years were just like that. I was Charlie and my Nick was the captain of the football team and from the moment we met we did more than kiss. Honestly my last year at school was a dream and my Nick (Alex) was a hero and so good looking. We are going to the same Uni, and it has a LGBTIQQ group we both joined. Alex almost right away slept with two guys from it.

Let’s not start with our nights out in Brighton. He says he still loves me but needs to explore and that I should do the same. One guy said that I would never have stood a chance of getting Alex if it had not been a school fling as he is out of my league. That really upset me but he said it was just a reality check. I am so in love with Alex, what can I do Heidi?

– Howard, Brighton

Still from the Netflix show, Heartstopper. Picture Credit: USA Today

Darling Howard,

Don’t we all just love “Heartstopper”? Now, deep breath Howard. Heidi is going to give you a reality check: “Heartstopper” is a wonderful show, however it does not necessary reflect real life. Not just gay relationships but straight ones do not last the test of time once you leave. It sounds like you are a romantic. Alex wants to spread his wings and, like many young people, experiment and sleep around. You are getting hurt my love, chasing after Alex.

There are others around that want romance so maybe to look for someone who will treat you the way you deserve. As for Alex being out of your league, some of the loneliest people Heidi has met are models or drop dead gorgeous. They just want love and someone to see them for more than looks. How dare someone tell you he is out of your league! The universe will find someone for you, but it may be Alex is not good enough for you. Try and enjoy your time at Uni.

Love, Heidi.


Dear Heidi,

Hope all is ok with you. I went to art college last year and almost right away made a group of new friends. They are all super talented and love to party. Before college I never drank but almost overnight the pier pressure meant I was waking with a hangover too often. Then the drugs crept in, just at weekends at first. Last term I was doing coke almost every other day with one of the new friends who is loaded. My question is I do not want go back this term and do the same thing: I found myself looking for coke this summer and I am sure I have a problem. But I do not want to lose my friends so what can I do?

– Melinda -Epping

 Dear Melinda,

Drugs do not make a real friend. You are on such a slippery slope if you are not already there, they will be destroying your life and education. All this in order to find acceptance amongst a group of people you really only have just met? Trust Heidi, there is a very good chance you won’t even know these peers in a few years. You mention they have money, so they are supplying the drugs.

What a mess you’re going to be in if they walk away: they are still wealthy whilst you are left with an addiction issue. Please get help now, even transfer from this school. Maybe look at going to an A.A or N.A meeting in your area or talk to someone you trust. Please, only you can save yourself so make some wise choices for a happy future. https://na.org 

Love, Heidi.

To get in touch with Heidi, visit https://pinktherapy.com/therapist-directory/heidi-gammon-counselling-for-you/


Categories
Columns

Male rape in the UK: A concerning rise over the years

Stephen Merchant stars as Stephen Port in the BBC drama Four Lives

This article was first published two years ago following the conviction of rapist Reynhard Sinaga.

Reynhard Sinaga was convicted of 159 sex offenders. Picture credit: PinkNews

Now, with the release of Four Lives starring Stephen Merchant and Sheridan Smith, which looks at the bungled police investigation into the dreadful crimes of Stephen Port, it couldn’t be more relevant.

Ten years ago, on a warm summer’s afternoon I am in a well-known clothes rental store getting a kilt for a Scottish friend’s wedding (I have since bought one) laughing and chatting with the lady who’s serving me. She is about to measure me up when a male assistant interrupts. “Oh, I can see what size he is, I’ll pop down and get a couple for him to try.” There is nothing unusual here and the lady shuffles off. Minutes later the man returns and ushers me to the changing room. “Try that one on first” – and he leaves me. Barely seconds before I have it on, he is back. This time he has tape measure in hand. “Oh, that’s too loose, let me double check the measurements.” Are you gay? To be honest, I really loathe trying clothes on in shops, so my thought was, at this point, that was what that girl was doing before you interrupted.

Before I know it, he has the tape measure around me and as he releases it his hand goes up the kilt and he grabs the Crown Jewels. “Sorry, it slipped, I’ll get you the right size.” Now I feel like a rabbit in the headlights. “Did that just happen?” If I am left in any doubt, he returns with a third kilt in hand and whispers, “Are you gay?” I lie and say no!!! Taking the kilt I close the curtains on him and just stand there thinking “What the fuck?” Funnily enough, the lady who was originally serving me checks me out while he is nowhere to be seen.

Anyone reading this may well say, “The man doth protest too much.” But unless you have been sexually assaulted, you have no idea how you will react. My first thought was, what did I do to encourage that behaviour? Second, if I complain, it is going to be, “You’re a gay man, you must have encouraged it.” If you were that traumatised you should have run out of the shop.” My gay friends were not any help either. One laughed and said, “Lucky you, dear, you’re no chicken but the boys keep coming.” and the other said, “It can only happen to you, do you have his number?.” This is not the first time this kind of thing has happened to me. I don’t want to sound like a victim but I always blame myself.

Much as I have been out since 15 and a spokesperson for LGBTQ and Walk with Pride, due to various experiences there is still some shame and trauma around my sexuality. But I built a wall around myself so nobody can tell. Terrified this experience is common to so many gay men I have spoken to who have been sexually abused or raped. They say, “We must have done something to deserve this.” Trust me, this is not unusual. There are men, gay and straight, walking around who have been raped and are terrified anyone finds out. My heart goes go out to the bravery of Sam Thompson. What a man. Sam was raped by two men in Manchester. He has led the way in encouraging reporting and talking about sexual abuse and rape.

Sam Thompson. Picture credit: BBC

Although in macho British society men are raised on the “big boys don’t cry” motto, we are getting better. Talking about feelings is hard for men because society’s labelling of what a man should feel. It’s almost impossible to live up to. What really stands out about Sam’s horrific ordeal – he is heterosexual – is there are so many comments claiming that it must have been so much worse for him as he was straight.

Internalised homophobia.

This shows a complete lack of understanding. And exactly one of the reasons there is so much shame around reporting being raped among both gay and straight men. It’s as if it was “not as bad” if you’re gay. Almost as if we would take some pleasure in it. Another human forcing them on you is wrong, no matter what your sexuality is. The fear that you’ll be judged can be as bad as the act itself.

Sexual-awareness experts say that probably only nine percent of men raped or sexually abused will report it due to the fear they won’t be seen as “real men” or, perhaps, because of internal homophobia. In fact, many of the men who commit the act of rape don’t identify as gay. They are not typically to be found on the gay scene, though they may hunt on the periphery for victims.

Who could forget the film “Shawshank Redemption” set in a prison when Andy, the hero, hears that the nicknamed “Sisters” (three men) have taken, “a shine to him”? Andy replies, “I don’t suppose it would help if I told them I am not homosexual?” Red replies, “Neither are they. You’d have to be human first. They don’t qualify.”

Shawshank Redemption. Picture credit: IMDb

Male rape has been seen as a taboo subject in the media. It only raises its head in the prison genre of movies. It caused shock revelations when the movie “Scum” came out in 1979 (it was set in a boys’ reformatory) due in part to the male-rape scene. Seventeen years ago, Channel 4’s Hollyoaks tackled the subject with the Luke Morgan storyline. The victim was brilliantly played by Gary Lucy.

It remains their most popular storyline to date. A recent, horrible turn of events has forced the subject of male rape to hit the headlines, with Britain’s worst rapist, Reynhard Sinaga, 36, found guilty of luring 48 men from outside bars and clubs in Manchester back to his flat where he drugged and assaulted them. In many cases he filmed them. The actual number of victims has been estimated to be in the hundreds, but fear, guilt or just not realising what happened meant that many assaults went unreported.

It is so important that these assaults are reported, and that men talk about sexual assault and rape. I know what the risks are because now I am going to talk about the rape of a 16-year-old boy. Me! And just how easy it is for it to happen.

My home life was a nightmare. I had come out just before my 16th birthday but those details or for another day. Needless to say, I was desperate for some kindness and positive male role models. We had moved from Whitley Bay to what was supposed to be London, but it was Surbiton and I knew no one, let alone having the chance to meet another gay person in suburbia.

Earl’s Court Pic

Earl’s Court station in London. Picture Credit: Tripadvisor

There were no apps or dating sites. The rules of my house, apparently there to protect me, actually put me in more danger as I had to be home by a silly time and could never stay out overnight in case the “homosexuals got me”. But it was fine to leave me and go to Spain for two weeks before I came out. Still, we all make mistakes and I am sure my folks meant well. I’m not judging, just giving you a bit of background.

Being a resourceful sort, it did not take long for me to come up with a plan, and I discovered Earl’s Court and a bar called The Coleherne on Brompton Road. Apart from a pint with some of the people at the theatre school in Newcastle I went to when I was 15, I had never really been to a bar, let alone a gay bar. Honestly, it felt like entering the genie’s cave. It was overwhelming – people like me! – and it was exciting.

It wasn’t long before a lad a few years older than me approached me and asked, “Where are you going next?” He thought it was hysterical when I said I had a curfew.

The Pembroke, Earl’s Court, London. Picture Credit: Tripadvisor

He said, “Well lovely, you have time to get down to Catacombs. They don’t sell booze, but we can have boogie and coffee.” He was called Ian and he was going to be my “sister” (gay slang). Oh god, I fell in love with the Catacombs. The rich music of Grace Jones’ La Vie En Rose came bursting up to greet me as I walked down the stairs into the small, vibrant club. I felt free and safe as I danced and laughed with people that seemed to be like me. Honestly, the music of Donna Summer and the like meant I could not wait to go back the following Saturday. It insulated me from the often-miserable time during the week.

One night, one of the guys running the club who was older starting chatting. He told me that hanging out with Ian, I might get myself a reputation. It was a shame as I was “a nice lad”. He said, “Listen, some of us are going to lunch tomorrow, around one o’clock. Why don’t you come too? Don’t tell your mate though. I’ll fill you in when we chat tomorrow.” I was getting what seemed to be approval and he seemed so nice. I honestly could not wait to get home that night and then back to Earl’s Court.

I arrived a little early to make a good impression and had dressed up. He was a few minutes late and patted me on the back, so smiley. He said, “Do you mind if we nip down the club? I need to do a bit of cashing up, the others are running late.” Mind? Of course not. I was actually excited to go.

Once in, he popped some music on, and he had some alcohol behind the coffee bar – hidden, as it had no licence. “Drink?” he said. Who was going to refuse, and he was so interested in me. He was counting money and he eventually topped me up and next thing I feel like I am spinning and in a dream state, and my body was almost limp with the red lights of the club beaming on me.

In my hazy recollection there were two men on me. Luckily, they took me to Ian’s car (worse could have happened). I was being very sick. Ian knew I was a not a big drinker at the time. Honestly, I could hear him going mad and the men saying that too much drink had been consumed. “That’s not drink,” he screamed. He had to give me saltwater as the sick was black. We got a friend of Ian’s to take me home, but I was in an awful state. I dared not tell anyone what had happened and – to be honest – I was not sure what had happened at the time. But I knew it wasn’t good.

Of course, I stuck to the story that it was drink. However, my parents decided that on top of me being gay, I was now a drug addict and mum started calling helplines. This had given them all the ammunition to confirm that everything about being gay was bad.

Of course, it was all my fault. It was my fault that in my need for validation from a male, so sadly lacking, I had listened to gossip and not told my friend Ian. My heartfelt apologies went out to him and it was a lesson. There were other consequences, and luckily Ian helped me see a doctor so I could keep what had happened covered up from family and work. Yet who did I blame. Myself, of course.

So, as in other traumatising situations from my childhood, I internalised it and coped. I moved on and never spoke about it ever again, Of course I apologised for being such a terrible person. Bless my parents, they really were not to know. Still, one of the best things that happened was that I moved out a few months later to Chiswick and was much safer and happier.

But only a month later, one Monday night was Bangs, the UK’s biggest gay club night and I managed to persuade my parents that as Tuesday was my day off it would be easier to stay with Ian. Dancing was my escape. I loved it and quickly I was approached by a young air steward who asked me to a party in the countryside. It was being hosted that Sunday by someone famous who “would love me”. Well, he was young and nice, and it was different, and it was someone famous.

They would even pick me up. Of course, when I got there, and my host greeted me it was straight off to the tennis court. It was only the four of us and we quickly moved into the disco room and drinks flowed. But in all my excitement and nerves, wanting to please, I got drunk on gin and tonic. There was no food, but it became clear I was the main course for the host.

Only later in life, when my nephew got to 15 -16, I thought never would I do something to a young person and take advantage of them. I honestly don’t think I would be responsible for my actions if anyone touched my nephew. It is funny, the celeb is busy dishing the dirt on so many people. I won’t name him, but according to a celebrity pal of mine her friend says he still has young people shipped in.

Trust me, there is another Prince Andrew story out there. It’s only now I don’t blame myself, but I could not talk about things till now: what happened in the Catacombs club, even my best friend and sister don’t know.

What is so frightening is the rise of chem-sex parties in London, with so many deaths and stories of apparent rape. I have never been to one and I am not judging, but it’s just not what would turn me on. 

But I guarantee there will be a line crossed and men will leave blaming themselves for just being there or feel they asked for it for just being gay. GHB, one of the common drugs used at the parties, comes in a clear liquid form and was apparently used by Reynhard Sinaga on his victims (and also by gay serial-killer rapist Stephen Port).

It’s incredibly dangerous and can either kill the user or invoke a sensation of euphoria. It’s a fine line, though. With the rise of this drug and the rise in male rapes too, is it possible we can all talk about it and start to make a difference? No means no and it’s never okay to put anything in anyone’s drink. 

 If you have been raped or sexually abused and would like to talk you can find support below: http://www.mensadviceline.org.uk/help-and-information/gay-and-bi-male-victims-of-domestic-violence/

https://rapecrisis.org.uk/get-help/looking-for-information/support-for-men-and-boys/

https://sapac.umich.edu/article/53

Contact Steven Smith on spman@btinternet.com

Categories
Columns

Tales of a middle-aged single gay man

” BIG BOYS DO NOT CRY!”

A look back to the eras, “Big Boy’s Do Not Cry ” and “You’re a big boy now.”
Researching for an article recently brought a childhood memory flashing back like it was just yesterday. 

It was the night when Coatbridge Town Hall burnt down. It was the 27th of October 1967 and I was six years old. Mum had taken me to what they call now “Kids club”. It was a cold night and before dropping me off she announced, “You’re a big boy now and you can get yourself home. Come straight back and do not talk to strangers.” 

A bit of me had always been an adventurer so it was with trepidation and some excitement when the club finished, I stepped out into the cold dark Scottish night air. Everyone seemed to be going in the other direction with their parents. 

I can remember even now being proud that I was big enough to come home on my own even at night as I was now six. My mum, like many parents of their generation, took me to school on the first day and that was it. I still remember her complaining that I had not waved goodbye when they took me to class. 

As much of my life was to pan out, the journey was not so straight. As I walked the cold night air took on a warmer texture and my eyes started to hurt. It became harder to see as I turned a corner the air became thick with smoke: the town hall opposite the street was on fire. 

It was like something from an amazing movie; part of me was filled with excitement and the other with fear. Running fast up the road to find a safe spot, I really wanted to stay and watch as the fire brigade came, and the town hall burnt like a magnificent bonfire.

It was the same building in which my doctor was housed and I had passed my, “Tufty Club “road safety badge. Looking to my left, I thought my mum would have come running, having seen it from the window of the terrace flat in Laird Street, but she had not. Much as every bone in my six-year-old body wanted to stay and watch the building where “The Bee Gees” had appeared just a month before turn to rubble and cinders, taking one last glance, with full force my little body dashed for the safety of home. 

One thing you learnt in the 60s was “BOY’S DO NOT CRY”. I had gotten into trouble for crying a few months beforehand. “What will people think?” was another very 60’s double standard. 

Climbing the stairs to the flat, I banged the door and could hardly get the news out. “WHAT IS IT?” mum looked cross. “The town hall is on fire!” Mum had a look of disbelief and I followed her as she charged to the bedroom window which had a slight view of the hall from the right. Sure enough there it was, all ablaze.

29 A Laird Street Coatbridge Scotland my birth home.

Boys in the 60’s were supposed to look up to the macho man, the heroes of football, movie stars like John Wayne, and enjoy manly sports although my father teaching me football by heading the ball to me in the bedroom was not a great introduction. Quickly I grew to loathe the beautiful game, as the boys at school seemed to kick the ball at me, rather than to me.

Being a red head made me a prime target for bullies from day one. Even at the Saturday kids’ cinema it dawned on me that something was not right when other boys wanted to be “The Lone Ranger” and I wanted to be under his wing and be Tonto. One of my Christmas gifts was an Indian costume. Wow, though only six I quickly discovered that dressing up was addictive and it took me away from less than happy times.

You learn as a child to make sure everything looks OK and that you are doing well. It was the 60’s -70’s as the new middle class boomed. The fear of being seen as working class whilst not quite fitting in with the upper class gave birth to the likes to copious “Hyacinth Buckets” in every neighbourhood. “You should have had my
childhood “and “Do you know how lucky you are?” were common sayings, whilst drilling into you ‘Do not to mention that to anyone”. 

As if things were not bad enough at school, the bullying extended in the worst way possible. Two older girls in the year above became obsessed with me and would kick, punch and throw things at me. Two girls bullying me was just not something I could share. I
found a new route home that they did not know, and made a dash for it. But they found me a few days later when I was halfway home with no one around. They pulled my glasses off and stamped on them, then chucked them over a hedge and spat at me. Hitting them back I was hysterical and they ran off. For the life of me though I searched but the glasses were gone. My mother had told me about the sacrifices that had been made to get them for me. Needless to say, she was furious I arrived home, lying that I had lost them. She did not stop hitting me till she noticed I had chicken pox. 

After convalescing, on arrival back at school, the two girls had reported me for bullying them. It was quite terrifying. I was in the hall with my class and teacher when the girls appeared with their teacher and my name was called. My gut reaction was to run, the teacher caught me just as my little body arrived at the school door gates. Somehow the whole awful event ended by me being hit with a ruler on the back of the legs by a teacher. My dad always said “If you do not hit back, I will hit you” As a young boy this taught me that was it was better to deceive, as when everything looked ok, things were better. 

Boys grew up quickly in the 60’s. I was what they called a latchkey kid. My mum was very glamorous and went to work as promotion girl for “Dutch cheese” “No6 cigarettes” and “Bells Whisky”. Whilst Carol our neighbour looked after my baby sister Karen, it was deemed better I let myself into the flat. I can still remember being
desperate to learn knitting. My mum kept her knitting in the top drawer of her dresser and I would pick it up. I wanted to ask to learn but it was not the done thing for boys.

The extra income meant my sister and I were always the best dressed and best-mannered kids in the area. Mum working meant they could afford the things for us that they never had as children. I must add here that being self-sufficient at an early age made me a stronger person, although me and one my best friends both laugh
when our mums raise objections to their 14 year old grandchildren going to the shops. Times change.

By age nine, I was moving with my family to what was touted as the big time. Livingstone was a new town that promised a utopia of living in the heart of Scotland between Glasgow and Edinburgh. We were now apparently officially “Middle Class”. It was the 70’s and mum wore hot pants, smoked St Moritz, and sipped exotic drinks.
Sergio Mendes, Jack Jones and the Beatles would blare from the record player and “The Abigail’s Party “era was upon us. Much as mum and I always got on, my dad and I had a strained relationship.

There are two possible reasons for this. The first one is that when I had chicken pox, I infected him too. The other is that when he came to pick me up from what was painted as “The Nemesis”, my grandmother, I had run off. Either way the man, who I used to run to meet on his way home with such excitement, could now switch in a second and if mum was not around, he could get volatile. He sent me one Saturday morning to buy potato scones (Scottish dish) and it was quite distance. On the way back two had fallen out of the wrapper into the shopping bag. He went mad and I was not allowed breakfast.

It had a profound effect on me, having to walk on eggs shells with the man that I idolised as a kid. Looking back, I think I can remember the first time that I found a man attractive. Dad had taken my sister and me to the swimming baths. As we were getting changed to go home Dad was in a mood and as he was struggling with my sister’s thick hair and made her cry. My whole body was desperate to protect her, but Dad frightened me so I was looking
away to avoid his gaze. There was this man laughing and his kids were having fun. He was naked and looked like Elvis he smiled at me and to this day he is in my mind as the first man that I wanted to be with.

It was not till later in life, when dad came to live with me when he had cancer, that it became clear. When he was a musician (he played the trumpet) he got a gig playing in an orchestra.  “I used to have to have two glasses of whisky before I went on”, he told me, still smoking away at 74. His nerves got the better of him and he dropped his dream to have the idyllic modern family. My dad worked every day of his life, and we never went without, but I cannot remember a time he did not have a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. Even picking him up from hospital after an extensive lung operation, he was nice in the car  to my place, but as soon as I got him settled on the sofa with the kettle on, he shouted out “Worst two weeks of my life! Get me a whisky and a cigarette!”
Challenging him that he did not want to do this or he might end up back in the hospital made him explode. “ARE YOU THREATING ME?!” My dad lived with functioning addiction. Personally, I
have yet to meet an addict that does not have extreme mood swings and explode on occasions. That, I must point out, is my personal experience. 

My time in Livingstone was worthy of a novel and there is only so much room in my column. All I will say is that the voice of Marc Bolan singing “Ride a White Swan”, blaring from the TV, showed me there was a light somewhere that would be the place for me, as it did for many of my generation. A few years ago, when talking at “Shell Oil” in Glasgow, a friend took me to 29a Laird Street in Coatbridge, my first home. It looked so small; even the wall I fell off as a child, when my life flashed before me (I still have the scar today), looked nothing like I remember. 

Boys do cry. And they should cry whenever they want, and speak out when they are scared. Everyone has a strength: being sensitive is one and not a weakness. It´s no longer the 60’s or 70’s and boys don´t have to put on a brave face. They shouldn´t have to pretend everything is fine to make life easier. Always ask kids if they are OK
because there is no shame and saying please help me I am struggling. You have let know one down being a man or human is having empathy and being able to say who you are with out fear. 

Contact Steven Smith on spman@btinternet.com