Thursday, 25 June 2009

The One That Is 'Gay Enough'. . .


A while ago, Leg-Iron posted a commentary on this article about Canterbury City Council being referred to the ombudsman as the city wasn't 'gay enough.'

Thankfully, the ombudsman has decided the city is gay enough. I'm not sure how they do this. Perhaps from above with a gaydar mounted on a plane taking off from near-by Manston airport?

There was another to-do a little while ago when wine-bar 'Scribes' opened up a lap dancing club. You'd have though the world had come to an end, the bar has a view of the Cathedral (Canterbury is a small city, everywhere has a view of the Cathedral) and the professional complainers were of the opinion that it would have been a handy stop off for Satan en route to him doing whatever it is the anti-Christ choses to do with his evenings.

Scribes was the only lap dancing club in Kent, apparently. Not any more it isn't. It's closed. No doubt the professional complainers will be pleased.

Or not.

It is now CO2, a bar dedicated not to men paying for young women to thrust their bouncy bits in their faces, but it is now a gay bar. So there'll be men kissing each other, for free.

Given the bar's proximity to the Cathedral, I should imagine it will get more trade from the clergy in this guise than in its former incarnation. The report lists the activities on offer:

drag artists, tribute acts, DJs and camp bingo.

I thought all bingo was camp. No doubt this heralds another collapse of civilisation. Tribute acts? DJ's? I think the comparisons between this sort of thing going on and the last days of Soddom are startling. I've seen a number of tribute acts in my time, perhaps I've been living a lie all these years?

Thing is, Canterbury is a fairly normal town. OK, we get far more of our fair share of tourists than other towns in Kent, but it isn't Vegas, neither is it Riyadh.

It is amazing that a gay pressure group wants, well I don't know what really, whilst others think everyone should live the lives of Benedictine monks. They're all bloody mad. . .

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