Before coming to Oxford, I used to watch Sex and the City with morbid curiosity. Samantha’s surreal escapades were funny, but far removed from all reality. Since Michaelmas 2012 however, fornicatio illuminatio mea, and I want to share here just how life has been spiced up for this unsuspecting but fun-loving homosexual Oxonian.
First on the menu: LGBTQ drinks, or, as I like to call them, gay-boy drinks. This term is not due to any personal disdain for Ls, Bs, Ts, or Qs, but is rooted in the bitter reality that aside from a couple of lesbians and the odd transsexual, the event is just a room full of alcohol fuelled queens and awkward freshers desperately trying to find this Tuesday night’s treat. Nowhere in the heterosexual world is an equivalent to be found, for which ye straights should be ever grateful, and also just a little bit envious.
Following the pissed procession from the aforementioned event, however it ought to be named, Oxford’s finest selection of woofters tootle into Babylove for its weekly LGBTQ night, Poptarts. Babylove is normally inhabited by those English students too cool and edgy to be found frequenting the floors of Park End and Junction, but on Tuesdays the swanky ‘80s grooves and ‘90s R&B rhythms make way to the foul melodies stuck in limbo somewhere between modern club music and the last time British anthems were appropriate for the human auditory system. The sweat seeps from the pores and secretes from the floors, and lines the building through and through. From time to time, a particularly drunk or carefree clubber can even be found centrifugating around, or perhaps even ascending, the pole. In the forlorn alcoves by the cloakroom fornication thrives among the lonely hearts. Though each individual aspect of the evening sounds abhorrent, the overall effect is, I assure you, unquantifiably quaint.
Once a year, Oxford’s own Sodom, Wadham, opens its gates for Queerfest. This is the one night of the year when all those who do not fall under the rainbow glow of the LGBTQ umbrella are allowed to partake in all things glittery and glamorous. There’s great music, great food, great cocktails, and great drag queens. Invariably, certain members of Oxford’s gaytriachy manage to make complete fools of themselves in outfits which at best are as substantial as Vladmir Putin’s moral values. If you missed QF 2013 then be sure to boogie on down next Michaelmas!
The last thing to discuss, which is not specifically LGBTQ territory but is very much linked to sexuality and coming up this term is R.A.G blind dating! Essentially, you answer a few silly conversation starter questions on a form which is then sent to your beloved-to-be, indicate whether you’re looking for ‘friendship’, ‘NSA’, or ‘love’, (for fuck’s sake don’t tick love), and then you have to organise your date! This was universally great fun last Hilary, which is otherwise one of the more dull terms due to the gloomy weather, the echo of Christmas and the shadow of Trinity (which is the best by far). I therefore recommend that to dispel the oncoming blues you go on a blind date – you’ve nothing to lose!