Bozzy's coming out

A really awesome and inspiring video is up on Youtube from an eighteen year-old Welsh rugby player called Thomas Boswell, or "Bozzy." Tom is starting university in September, but he recently came out to his friends, team-mates and family members. He'd already come out, privately, to his mum, but it was a set of rumours started while he was on holiday that forced him to come out earlier than planned to everybody else.

Tom speaks so clearly and honestly in this video and it's really refreshing to see someone trying to inspire other people who are active in sports to come out and to be honest about their sexuality. (Perhaps one of my favourite bits of the whole video is the bit where, in the midst of his gut-wrenching coming-out-story, Tom still manages to point out that his rugby team were robbed of victory on the day he came out to his mum. Now, that is a true rugby lad's priorities. I salute you, sir.)

Part of Tom's story did really remind me of Blake's in Popular, which was probably one of the storylines I cared most about when I was writing the book. I was very, very surprised by how negatively some people reacted to Blake in the novel, compared to how positively they reacted to Cameron. Yes, okay, Cameron, like Tom, is certainly much braver than Blake in the end, but Tom's video highlights how difficult the situation can be for people in Blake's position. Like Tom, Blake doesn't have any mannerisms which conform to the gay stereotype and like Tom, who lives in the Welsh valleys "where everybody knows everybody else," Blake originally lived in the small but beautiful town of New Canaan in Connecticut and then in Northern Ireland. Where, I can assure you, everybody knows (or likes to know) everybody else's business. Like Blake, Tom's coming out was ultimately forced by circumstances beyond his control (in both cases, through rumours); but unlike Blake, Tom had the tenacity and the bravery to follow it through. And also unlike Blake, he had friends and family who had his back. Not to give too much away either, but Tom's friend Luke sounds a bit like how Peter reacts in Popular's sequel. (Which I promise I will try to give you a release date for soon - thanks so much for all your wonderful comments and e-mails asking about it!)

Anyway, I love this video. Tom's done it in the way that felt most natural for him. Maybe that's one of the things I like most about it, actually. It's really about doing things on your own terms, rather than the way everyone expects you to. Tom's personality hasn't changed because he's come out; he's just been able to remove a huge weight from himself. Being gay shouldn't be somebody's personality, but being honest about yourself should be. Removing the burden of having to lie about yourself and having the guts to do what Tom's done gives you the ability to live your life properly, to be honest to friends and family and to fall in love like the rest of the world. And Tom's teammates sound like a fantastic group of lads.

Tom is going to be interviewed on Scott De Buitléir's radio show Cosmo for RTÉ Plus this Wednesday evening. Tune in!

A short story on the blog from Blake's point of view is here. Check it out.

IDAHO

For the International Day against Homophobia, this short story is based on the events that take place in Gareth Russell's novel, Popular. To read more, Popular can be ordered from HERE. 

For those of you who have read the book, this extract takes place somewhere around chapter 4, Pray for us sinners.

*

Kerry Davison stared languidly at her own reflection in the bathroom mirrors of the Royal North of Ireland Yacht Club in Cultra and sighed. "Imogen, what do you call those people who hate gay people?"

"Povos."

Kerry paused for a minute, considering her friend's answer. "No, no... that's not it."

"It is. Look at Eastenders. Chryed didn't have a very easy time of it there, did they?"

"Who's Chryed?"

"Christian and Syed," Imogen answered, incredulously. "The openly working-class gay love story?"

Kerry nodded. "Oh... Oh, yes. But there's definitely a word for it. A real word."

Meredith swept into the bathroom and took her place at the sink next to Imogen. 

"Meredith, what's the real word for people who hate gay people?" Kerry asked, earning her a filthy look from Imogen.

"Baptists."

"That's sectarian," Kerry snapped.

"Homophobes," answered Meredith, applying a light sheen of gloss to her lips. "The correct word is homophobes."

Kerry nodded triumphantly. "Yes! That's the one. Homophobes. Why?"

"Because -phobic means fear of and homo is the first syllable of homosexual."

"No, but, I mean, why?" asked Kerry, silently congratulating herself on having curls that looked as if little angels had knitted them from liquid beams of pure sunshine. "Why?"

"Bitches be crazy," explained Imogen, in a very serious voice. "It's like when people were racist. Anti-banter times."

"We were never allowed to be homophobic," Kerry announced piously, carefully pronouncing her new favourite word, homophobic. "Never. Il Padre would have been livid if we had been so prejudiced. I do have a gay uncle in Toronto after all."

"Do you?" asked Meredith, in surprise.

Kerry placed her hand on her chest in faux mortification. "You're right, that is very politically incorrect of me. I have an uncle, who happens to be gay."

"I think homophobia's disgusting," said Imogen. "And fucking stupid. I mean, imagine what it does to you when you hear that kind of thing? Imagine what it's like to grow up and never be able to have all the kissing and flirting and boyfriend banter we have. Well, not you, Meredith. You'd miss out on your whole teenage years and, frankly, I cannot think of anything more horrific, given how sensationally delightful my own have been." She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulders and gazed into the mirror. "People are just so fucking stupid."

*

Years later, if you had asked Cameron Matthews what had caused the horrendous, gut-wrenching mess of his first year of knowing Blake Hartman, he would have sworn up and down on a stack of Bibles that the reason had been that Blake's father was a pastor. As far as Cameron was concerned, it was quite clear that the whole root and branch of Blake's problem had lain in the plastic evangelicalism of the Shepherd of Judea Baptist Church in Carryduff. Added to this was the fact that Meredith's loyal Catholicism kept up a steady stream of emotional propaganda insisting that this was living proof that priests should never have children. Imogen had taken the whole thing far too far by launching into a rant that blamed the entirety of Protestantism, arguing that without the Virgin Mary no-one could be happy. Ever. Blake, however, was insistent that initially it had nothing to do with his father's job. It was only once the whole issue of his sexuality moved from his unconscious into his conscious that Blake began to consider what kind of impact it would have on his family. Before that, from as far back as he could remember, there had been a lingering uncertain fear, deep in his gut; there had been a sense of personal unease, as if something did not quite "fit". 

If you had asked Blake in the years before he met Cameron if he had a problem with homosexuality, he would honestly and instinctively have answered, no. No, he did not. But had anyone ever implied or assumed that he himself was gay, Blake would have felt a rising flush of panic as he rushed to correct them. Why he felt this way was anybody's guess. On paper, there was absolutely no reason why he should feel this way. He had come from a loving family in one of the most liberal states in America and he could never, ever remember a time when his father had preached a sermon on homosexuality. Or even mentioned it, at all, come to think of it. With the benefit of hindsight and maturity, Blake would later realise that it was maybe something about his deep need to be respected by his peers; respect was fundamentally important to Blake and it was something he unconsciously assumed he could not have if he was gay. If gay was the punchline of every joke, it was clear to Blake that whilst it was something that could be tolerated, it wasn't something that could be respected. In conclusion, it was banter, far more than the Bible, which had done the real damage to Blake Hartman, long before he even reached the age of seventeen.

On the same Saturday in November as Meredith, Imogen, Cameron and Kerry had been enjoying lunch with Cameron's mother in the Royal North of Ireland Yacht Club, Blake sat idly in the pretty, seaside grounds of Belmont Grammar School, three miles away, with the Mount Olivet football team. Soccer was not exactly Blake's forte and he had been stunned to the point of devastation to realise that lacrosse wasn't really played in British schools. Worse, he would apparently have to wait until after Easter to get involved in track and tennis, which were, by far, his best sports. That left swimming and soccer for the winter semester, since he hadn't played American football back in New Canaan and was therefore extremely reluctant to go anywhere near what looked like the bone-crunching, face-bruising psychosis of rugby. Soccer would have suffice in the meantime and today was a Saturday away game, with the Mount Olivet squad currently winning 2-1. Blake had yet to play.

A groan went up from his teammates on the bench when a kid from Belmont scored an equalising goal. The kid was good and Mount Olivet's goalkeeper, Andrew Henton-Worley, looked pissed. Looking over at Mount Olivet's coach, Mr Cavan, Blake could see that the feeling was mutual.

"Who's that?" asked a Mount Olivet sub, whose name Blake was struggling to remember.

"Edward Hanna," answered another. "He's Rory Hanna's cousin. He's really good. Like, an amazing player."

The nameless sub nodded. "Yeah. Henton-Worley looks pissed."

A few of the guys laughed; others muttered angry things under their breath implying that Andrew should be pissed. Blake squinted into the Sun, the ultimate rarity in mid-November Belfast. It was unlikely that he'd be called to play now; unless someone got injured. Settling back, he began absent-mindedly tapping out a rhythm with his right foot. Snippets of conversation bounced around him. None of them very interesting; most of them about people he did not know or places he'd never been. There was a small beep from inside his sports bag. Reaching in to extract his phone, a little smile danced across his face when he saw that it was a text from Cameron.

Cameron: How's the match going? Shanter?

Blake: Hey! Yeah, it's going okay, I guess. We're tied. Haven't played yet. What's shanter?

C: "Shit banter." :)

B: Hahahahaha! Lame. How was lunch?

C: Really nice. Mummy and Kerry got caught up in an epic convo about how much they love kittens. What are your plans for the rest of the day? PS - I am not lame. I am awesome. I am anti-shanter.x

B: Kitten convo? Sounds shanterous, Cameron ;) Getting a lift back on the school bus to Malone, then probably going to walk to the Europa and get the bus back to C'duff. PS- You are still lame.

C: Do you want to come up to mine to hang? For anti-shanter purposes, obv. We should be done in like an hour?

B: Where'd my x go?

C: Same place mine went.

B: I didn't send one in the first place.

C: Exactly.x

B: :) Haha. Well played, C-Dog.x

C: Sorry to hear you haven't played yet.x

B:"Hi, my name is Cameron Matthews, and my friend Blake Hartman just accidentally forgot to respond to my very kind invitation to hangout at my house this evening. But rather than repeat the question like a big boy, I'm going to send a pointless text about something else and hope that reminds him." See you at your house at 4? Can't wait. B-Dog in da house (literally) x

C: I hate you. See you at 4 x

B: "Lame - the new fragrance from Cameron Matthews." :) x

Blake bit the bottom of his lip in a smile and tossed the phone back in his bag. The referee's whistle blew and Blake refocused on the game. Edward Hanna had just scored a second goal, bringing the score to 2-3 in Belmont's favour. Mr Cavan looked like he was about to punch a wall.

"Is Edward Hanna Rory's cousin?" asked Titus Pitt, a sixth year popular boy, famous for his epic house parties.

"Gay Rory? Yeah," answered another. A tiny, faint twinge gripped Blake's oesophagus. He widened his feet slightly on the ground and gripped his hands a little harder. He looked more masculine this way.

Titus nodded. "I like Rory. He's good banter." As far as North Down boys went, it was hard to think of a higher form of compliment.

"Yeah," said Titus's friend. "I don't agree with the whole gay thing, but I like Rory. He's a good lad. He's not annoying about the whole thing, either."

Titus agreed. "Yeah, absolutely. Blake?"

Blake looked up and the weight on his chest was back. The weight he knew by instinct, but could not name. Why had they turned to talk to him at this point in the conversation? "Yeah?"

"Mr Cavan says you're amazing at tennis?"

The weight lightened. "I played it back in the States."

"Cool. You should come to our tennis club sometime, if you want to keep it up? The facilities are sweet."

"Oh, thanks, Titus. Yeah, I'll look into it. Thank you."

"You enjoyed tennis, then?" asked Titus's friend. "Back in America?"

"Eh, yeah, I loved it. That's where I met my ex-girlfriend," Blake said. Titus and his friend nodded and asked a few more questions. A soothing balm, like an antacid, spread through Blake's body. They knew he wasn't gay. And Blake pushed any attempt to analyse why he'd just said what he'd said right out of his head. His phone beeped from back inside his bag and he reached to get it, smiling when he saw who the text was from.

Character Profile: Stewart Lawrence

The outside centre for Mount Olivet Grammar School's First XV rugby squad, Stewart Lawrence is currently dating Imogen Dawson, the blonde bombshell of his year. Well-dressed and well-liked, Stewart is definitely one half of fifth year's it-couple.

BASIC STATS

FULL NAME: Stewart William Lawrence

BIRTHDAY: April 19th

HOME TOWN: Saintfield, County Down, BT24

HAIR COLOUR: Light brown

MEASUREMENTS: 6' 3", toned, trim

RELIGION: Christian - Protestant (Presbyterian)

PLACE OF WORSHIP: First Presbyterian Church, Saintfield

MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: Vomiting on himself in the middle of Technology class in second year, due to food poisoning. Peter's chant mid-vomit did not help.

FAMILY

FATHER: Martin Lawrence, builder (49)

MOTHER: Valerie Lawrence, primary school teacher (41)

SIBLINGS: Jessica (14), currently a pupil in Mount Olivet, two years below Stewart

Embarrassing much, gym?!

I was nobody's favourite in the Down High P.E. department. Perhaps it was the time I turned up to the cross country run in a light blue t-shirt and pair of Dolce & Gabbana jeans or maybe it was the seven or eight times I was caught in the steam rooms with a choice selection of my posse who had taken the (wise) decision to swim to the end of the pool during Games, hop out and run into the steam rooms for some much needed R&R. Upside of the steam? No-one can see you. Downside? You can't see a very angry gym teacher coming your way.

Anyway, post-uni I finally accepted that I needed to do more physical exercise. I think everyone feels better about themselves when they're feeling good physically or just doing something active. I have carefully avoided turning into one of those health freaks though. We have a friend who recently lost a shed load of weight and now anytime anyone feels like a munch, she's like "Oh, how are you going to eat all that?" Next time she does it I'm going to remind her of the New Year's Day morning when she hoovered up a KFC bargain bucket all on her own. If you can't support your friends when they crave junk food, get out!

Anyway, I joined the DW Fitness gym on the Boucher Road and I do actually really like the gym itself. At first, I attempted to do it myself, mistakenly and mysteriously believing that despite not knowing what 80% of the equipment in the gym actually did, I would be able to handle this and achieve some sort of Zac Efron style physique in about a month. Weirdly, this turned out to be incorrect and having been going to the gym for a few months, I decided to invest in a personal trainer.

Now, I should be quite clear: I have a great personal trainer. Honestly, it is the best money I have ever spent - outside of a bar. Allan has learned that the moment I become bored, things become tricky and therefore keeps up a steady stream of banter. When I'm not sure which arm to use and start flailing around Allan knows it's time to shout out, "Use your drinking arm!" Plus, it has thankfully gotten to the stage where I actually do enjoy the gym now and I would definitely recommend it to anyone. Only caveat is take advice, because without Allan telling me things, I think I would still be running on the treadmill and achieved practically nothing for a year's work. My personal fitness is up and so is personal strength - and I feel great. Also, I've learned a lot about diet and fitness that I literally wouldn't have had a clue about and it's great to have someone who can correct various myths about weight loss and fitness.