It would appear that the further north of Scotland you go, the more invisible gay people become. I mean, Glasgow and Edinburgh have really decent gay scenes, Glasgow being far superior and even Dundee has at least 3 gay bars. Dundee is commonly known as the 'armpit' of Scotland although I'd prefer to term it 'the loose labia' of Scotland cause it's so minging it's like a whore's fanny but still, despite it's shite shops and shiter inhabitants and shite infested streets, people would still rather visit the gay bars of Dundee than come anywhere further north. This includes me. I mean the bars/clubs are nothing special in Dundee but every time I've been, despite the attire of many attenders, you're always guaranteed a good night. It doesn't even matetr that the fag hags have teased up the way hair and many a poof slinks about in a tracksuit for the occasion because the gays are friendly and the music is cheesy and this equals scope for a good night, every time. Aberdeen, supposedly the 3rd biggest city in Scotland (after Edinburgh and Glasgow) now has only 1 gay club and no gay bar. Gayness is slightly visible during the day with only the odd couple holding hands in public and rare displays of affection in straight bars. It sucks, really it does but that's how it is. So, when myself and Lil Red headed even further north we didn;t expect to be flaunting our gayness anymore so than we would here but we did kinda think there was sure to be at least one gay bar, however empty and however shite, so we could sit and be ourselves in the company of fellow benders. Our first evening in Inverness and we found what their idea of trendy would be: a couple of bars by the river with blue lighting and hard chairs and ridiculous names. The trendiness was spoiled by the stench of the toilets and half the people that drank in them. This didn;t stop us getting drunk and moving on to the next 'trendy' bar however. The next one was within the centre, multi coloured, very comfy but with a mere 4 drinkers inside and as 2 of these were us, it didn;t make for an enjoyable relaxed stay as we were overheard by the bar staff with our every word. We were then advised, after being thrown out at 10.30pm cos the bar was to empty to open any longer, to cross the road and go to Hootenanies. Try saying that when drunk. It was a mixed clientelle, rather friendly but still no sign of any homos. We asked around, hinting slightly at our sexuality, for a nightclub to frequent and were pointed in the direction of 'Gz'. It should have read 'Zzzzzz'. As soon as we walked in we were aware that we had stepped into a time warp and someone dressing like moi (ie not in burberry, skinny black trousers and a gypsy frill) was not all that welcome. After paying an extortionate price of £3.30 per alcopop we hung by the dance floor to watch the slugs dance. It was quite a scene. Boys air punched in all seriousness and the girls shoulder shimmied midst pouting. The hair which was big moved violently from side to side making me feel quite sea sick. Not one person in the place could dance properly. Tiffany came one so LilRed and myself thought we'd show them how it was done. We were glared at like foreign freaks. No one understood that it was their dancing that was wrong, not ours. We felt like we were Jack and Kelly Osbourne dressed as jobbies by the way people looked at us. The obvious poofs were the worst danceers I've seen yet and no words can describe their 'air cello' moves which when performed in tapered dress trousers and shirts was quite a comedy routine. Despite their blatent poofiness, it was clear each poof was not out, even to themselves and this made obvious by the campest of poofs who tried to pull every girl in order to impress their sport label t shirt clad straight mates. It was quite horrible. Even as horrible as the 2 that thought they should dare approach me and Lil Red. How on earth did they think that we
would be interested in them in adidas and skinny jeans while we were stood there in Diesel and Rude? As if. I sometimes get the impression that because I don;t look like a girle girl that ned boys think I'm up for anything, that I should be grateful of any offers those hideous things put my way. I should always be appreciative of a ned and his burberry who wants to take me home and show me his cheesey willy, that's right. We didn't stay long at our school disco and we left feeling dejected at the state of a supposed city's nightlife. NOt a gay bar in sight but we did find out later that Tuesday was gay night in one bar. Wow, how gutted were we that we weren;t staying for Tuesday night? About as gutted as I was when I realised I'd never have to endure stubble rash from a face ever again.