For the purposes of this I’m calling myself Aethelread [*], although that’s not my real name. (No! Really?…)
I live in the UK, somewhere to the west of the prime meridian. So that could mean anywhere from Penzance to Thurso, or from Milford Haven to New Cross, although, actually, it’s none of these.
I’m in my early forties, male, and single.
I have been diagnosed with Recurrent Depressive Disorder. If you ever want to wind me up, just ask me, “Is depression that thing where you feel a bit down, but then you have some ice cream and feel better?”
You might describe me as: a friend of Dorothy’s; an iron; a faggot; an uphill gardener; an arse-bandit; an ass-pirate; a shirt-lifter; a shit-stabber; a pole-smoker; a cocksucker; a wearer of the pink triangle; a Uranian; a Dweller in the House of Sodom. You could even call me gay, but then you might tie yourself up in knots explaining that you didn’t mean “gay-as-happy”, but you didn’t mean “gay-as-a-bad-thing” either.
Me? I tend to call myself a poof.
[*] The original Aethelread was a king of England during the late 10th and early 11th centuries. He’s often called ‘Aethelread the Unready’, so the title of this blog is a pretty obvious pun – let’s just say I don’t anticipate a readership of thousands.