Sweet Sixteen

On August 8 1990 I arrived at Gatwick Airport on a one way flight from Victoria BC, Canada. It was the first time I'd left North Amercia and the first time I'd flown over the Atlantic. It was also the first time I'd ever been to England.

In those 16 years since, there's been a lot of 'firsts' for me. If I could go back and and meet myself at the airport and tell myself I was going to be living in the UK for so long I would have thought I was crazy. Well, I think anyone would go a bit crazy if they met their future self in the first place.

I honestly never thought I'd be here this long. Two years at the most, as long as my dad's posting was supposed to last. If the family had not moved out of the country, I would have probably moved out on my own at some point, but couldn't pass up the opportunity to live in the centre of London, practically for free for a couple of years and be a big stupid tourist!

Of course now, I'm the one that sneers at the 'big stupid tourists' - I'm an old hand at the city now, although every so often something still makes me say 'wow'.

It's been quite a journey from then to now. I was 22 when I landed, still a 'kid' really, and I hate to admit it, rather naive in many ways. Growing up in a town of 400,000 people, you just don't see and do the same things as in a city of over 7 million.

Luckily we're a close family and we did all sorts of things together in the two years they were here - we did something almost every weeekend because we knew that two years would zoom by before we knew it and wanted to take advantage of the situation while we could.

For me, the 'personal' journey started the night I said goodbye to my family at their hotel after a lovely dinner in Covent Garden. My sister gave me a beautiful card which still makes me teary every time I read it - it was really hard saying goodbye. I knew they supported my decision to stay - I had a decent job, found a flat, and knew if I didn't 'give it a go', I'd always wonder 'what if?'. So after lots of tears and hugs, I took a very lonely tube journey home, had a bit more of a cry and the next day threw myself into London life and haven't looked back.

OK, well, I guess I'm looking back now actually, but you know what I mean.

Back then I could barely do my own laundry, iron a shirt or cook a meal. Now, I think nothing of throwing multi-course dinner party for six friends and doing everything from scratch. Hell, I'll even make my own bread (without a bread machine I might add!) for nights like that.

Back then I could barely change a lightbulb. Now, I can strip a room back to basics, and give it back to you, fully decorated (although plastering and electrics are best left to the pros). I know the difference between eggshell, emulsion and gloss, and if that shade of white, is magnolia, cream, mist, "Dream Cloud" or "Misty Sentiment" (ok, I made those last two up, but I'd love to be a fly on the wall watching the Dulux paint namers!).

Back then I was appalled to see people go to the theater in jeans. Theatre for me was a very posh affair when I was growing up. Now, I'll go in shorts and a t-shirt, esp. in the summer - that's the way it should be, accessible for all. I've seen every 'big' show that's been staged in London since I arrived and loads of smaller ones. I'm a sucker for musicals.

Back then I wouldn't even entertain the thought of having an alcoholic drink during my lunch break at work. Now, I work at a place that has a bar in the basement that opens for two hours during lunch. Of course I don't go there every day for a liquid lunch, but have had some fantastic evenings there over the years with collegues and friends.

Back then, going to Vancouver was a big deal. Now, in the same amount of time, I can be in Paris, Dublin or practically anywhere else in Western Europe. I've been up the Eiffel Tower, swam in the Medditerean Sea, I've walked through the Hall of Mirrors in Versaille and stood at the alter in the church where The Sound of Music wedding scene was filmed, and seen loads more besides.

Back then, I never thought I'd own a house. Now I own two.

Back then I was terrified people would find out I was gay, I was only out to my two best friends. Now, I'm out to everyone and am proud to introduce 'Scooter' as my parter.

Back then I was a 'cheap date' in terms of alcohol tolerance. Now, three pints is a starter!

Ok, maybe that last point isn't exactly a positive point, but it is true.

Of course, there are some negatives to my time here - I do miss my family, sometimes more than others, especially around Christmas. The internet has finally come into my parents house, so we can chat and email and webcam, so that makes a big difference.

I've lost touch with a few friends in Canada, but know I can count on a few to just 'pick up where we left off' when I visit - or they visit me (which isn't enough!).

Three of my grandparents all passed away during my time in England (my paternal grandfather died in the early 80s). That was very hard to take as I was close to all of them. But I know that they were happy for me and the life I was building for myself in London.

Its also hard to not see my little neice, Hannah, growing up. She's four now and I'm a very proud uncle, and am pleased that my parents and sister ensure Hannah knows who Uncle Phil and Scooter are. I have tons of pictures, so that makes a big difference.

Overall though, I don't regret staying in London at all. Its been a fantastic journey of discovery for me, I've seen and done things I thought I'd never do. I have a great job, a fantastic circle of friends with whom I have so much fun, and then there's my man, Scooter - whom I love with all my heart and has made the last six years simply wonderful. So much so, we're getting married next May.

I'm certainly not the same person that got on that flight on August 8th 1990. Have I changed for the better? I'd like to think so.

Have I changed for good? Definately.

A Game For Thugs Played By Gentlemen

Yesterday Scooter and I were offered free tickets (thanks to our lovely friend Pip) to see one of the big sporting events in south London that kicks off the season.

It was a double header - four teams, two matches and over 51,000 people watching both matches. Supporters of different teams sitting next to each other, cheering on good plays and jeering bad ones, no matter which team was scoring.

Everyone in a good mood, laughing and very well behaved despite the huge amounts of alcohol comsumed.

This was The Wasps, The Harlequins, The London Irish, and The Saracens all playing at Twickenham.

This is RUGBY. This was a day where all the fans stayed for both games and enjoyed seeing professional teams play well, no matter what name was emblazoned on their shirts.

This is a game where the fans behave themselves, where opposing supporters are not ushered into seperate entrances in the stadium and do not run riot afterwards destroying anything and anyone in their path in an alcoholic rage afterwards.

This is a game where men knock seven shades of shit out of each other, and continue playing on. A slight knock or a gentle shove doesn't mean they tumble to the ground in agony, it's part of the game and they just get on with it.

This is a game where the players play for the love of the game and not for the paycheck at the end of the week.

I'm a recent convert to rugby. It all started with England winning the World Cup and "that" kick from the very lovely and sadly since, constantly injured, Jonny Wilkinson.

Its party what fueled Scooter and I to join as supporters to the the world's first openly gay rugby team, The Kings Cross Steelers. They've been going from strength to strength for over ten years.

Of course, it does help that the men in rugby are generally better looking too, hence the picture of the afermentioned Jonny, with Ben Cohen (on the right).

You may have been able to tell, in my not subtle way that I have somewhat of a distaste for football. I used to be really into football and still enjoy watching some of the bigger matches and did watch quite a bit of the recent world cup. I just think overall, rugby players and its fans are better behaved. I'm also somewhat disillusioned by the stupidly high salaries many of the players command, the constant changing of their kit design several times a year forcing their loyal fans to shell out their hard earned cash to 'keep up', and the fact that you take your life in your hands wearing your team's colours in the wrong part of town.

A collegue of mine summed it up quite nicely:

Football is a game for gentlemen played by thugs whereas Rugby is a game for thugs played by gentlemen.