Discrimination, Homophobia - the truth is what matters most

9:26pm Saturday 20th September 2008

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My worst month ever was January 1985. January is never a good month for me, but 1985, well that was special. Kevin, my good mate reminded me of it recently, everything was going wrong. Let me tell you why.
From September 1984 one disaster followed another, resulting in me being in a state of severe and extreme depression. I'd split up with my woman, ended the most successful band line up we'd had. Rough living had taken it's toll.

St Lucia's day in December my stomach ulcer burst. How I survived, I don't know. I was laid in bed, out of action for 6 weeks, hurting, wasting away, unable to eat. By January, I was home, off drink. Life wasn't worth living. Friends and family all did what they could, but to no avail.

Could anyone cheer me up, I didn't want to leave home at all. My Dad asked my friend Kev to entertain me. He was the one person who he knew could always give me a laugh, he always said Kevin was the funniest man alive.

He is a natural comedian. He played guitar and the idiot in the band for a few years. He is a natural showman, and is someone with no shame at all.

It was arranged that I would meet Kev up the pub. Now I'd been to this pub many times with Kev, the favoured choice for a few beers locally. We'd often take our guitars up and jam in the garden. Regulars knew Kev, he's a flamboyant character, many also knew he was gay. Never been a problem and never had any hassle there. Now in the short time since I'd last been to the particular boozer in question, I'd been seriously poorly, I'd lost over 5 stone, going from 13 stone to eight. I'd now started to resemble a living corpse.

Because my Dad had been so keen to make me go, he even gave me a lift (unheard of). An evening in a pub with a friend would lift my mood and I'd soon be my awful old self again. Unfortunately the night didn't really turn out how we'd planned. Straight as I entered the pub, the landlord glared at me.

He glared at me as I asked Kev what he wanted, his expression was one of pure hate. What did he say?

My heart still boils when I recall it. He shouted angrily "Poofs with AIDS are not welcome here". Kevin looked at me with astonishment. I'd had enough. I turned and walked out. I'd could not stand living anymore. I was humiliated.

Strangely enough my dad was driving back, he'd thought it was a good excuse to visit his friend Arthur at the local Off license. He saw me and turned around. He knew something was wrong, the emotion etched on my face. "Whats up?" I only mumbled at him what happened. He was a man rather easily riled by injustice, he was also someone never afraid to stand up for what he believed. He trouped into the pub, saying "Look in the window, soon as I've got the drinks come in".

I did what he said. As I entered, the Landlord landlord yelled "It told you we don't serve poofs with AIDS get out". At this my dad, a bit of a bruiser grabbed him by the throat. "That's my son, he's been in hospital with an ulcer an nearly died. This is his first night out and you have ruined it. For your information he's an international rock star and his girlfriend is a page three model and if you ever speak to him like that again I'll kill you, understand?" My Dad then said come on and proceeded to take Kev and me for a slap up meal at La Katerina restaurant in Mill Hill Broadway.

The sight of the Landlord turning purple, followed by the finest Steak I've ever eaten made life suddenly seem worth living again. I'd hate to think what would have happened if he'd not been driving past. As we discussed the incident, my Dad, who had been an investigator for the RAF during the war said "I had to go in and see for myself what was happening". He gave me some advice which I hope I've taken heed of. he said, "Before you start a war, always make sure you know what you are fighting for". I'd advise a few other people to reflect on this piece of wisdom.

P.S. Kev isn't my mate's real name. It might embarrass him to recall this publically so I changed it.