Now I appreciate that I am a man of tweeds and corduroy’s, a modern day Compo if you like, albeit that I wear a felt hat and not a woolly disgrace, but this being said I just have to tell you about an item I heard on the radio the other day.
A chap who goes by the name of ‘Simply Gok’, appeared to be beside himself with fashion anxiety and a self-esteemed style crisis, over those folk who apparently are in dire need of ‘support’ to help them manage the serious business of what clothes they should wear.
Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour is to be treated with caution at the best of times, the glucose overloaded voices of the presenters alone can attack the unwary with hyperglycaemia, but one has to ask how on earth such a condition of ‘style crisis’ even hit the airwaves in the first place?
Have we really become so monstrously shallow, that what clothes we wear can bring on a nervous breakdown? Do we really feel a visit to the GP for a Valium hit is in order, just because we can’t find the right blouse or dress to wear ?– by the way, I’m only a cross-dresser on Sundays or when I visit my dentist Dafydd ap Islwyn, another cross-dresser ( his mother still won’t tell him who Islwyn is, but he sure as hell isn’t from the Punjab with a name like that!).
Actually, while I’m on the subject of cross-dressing, I am drawn to all this recent hullabaloo in respect of love and the Church.
Many years ago, as young and horrible little monster, I was dedicated to a Welsh Baptist Chapel. I remember so well, being told many times that ‘God is love’. This being the case then, what difference does it make if a man loves a man, a woman loves a woman or a cross-dresser loves a cross dresser?
God is love, love is love and that’s that.
Oh and I don’t really cross-dress, the missus just won’t have it, but I thought such a notion might liven up my column a bit, it’s been getting a bit too serious lately!