So, when I was a young girl my gaydar was not the finely tuned, Poirot-esque antennae that it is today. Consequently when the hot topic among my friends was which member of Take That or Boyzone was the hottest, I simply wasn't interested. Actually, now I think about it I did used to have a soft spot for Stephen Gately. Like I said, my gaydar was a little faulty in those days.
No, boybands weren't for me - the object of my youthful affections was Colin Jackson. Yep, the 110m hurdler. I adored everything about this man - his cheerful grin, his charming Welsh sing-song voice, his athletic prowess, his lycra shorts. Ahem. I actually used to be convinced that if I ever met him he would fall instantly in love with me and we would go and live happily ever after in the Welsh hills and do things that Welsh people do together, well, at least those things that didn't involve sheep.
I must have been in my mid 20s before I cottoned on to the fact that this was unlikely to happen. Not that Colin has ever officially come out - but Jim Rosenthal described him as a 'batchelor'. Also he went on Strictly Come Dancing with what appeared to be a genuine interest in the dancing bit, not just as an excuse to chance his arm shagging one of the female professional dancers. He was rather good at the rhumba as I recall.
My mum, bless her, sat me down between heats at the 2004 Olympics and broke the news of her suspicions to me. Poor gaydar is not genetic it appears.
No comments:
Post a Comment