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Not quite the only gay in the village...

Believe me sweeties, it’s not easy being the only gay in Mellieħa.

Anybody’d think we were a bunch of raving jessies, dead set on colonising the north of the island to the exclusion of everybody else

People say to me: “It must be sooooooooooooooo difficult for you living in such a macho environment.”

But you’d be surprised, shocked even, to hear what goes on inside the closet on the hill, known as Mellieħa.

I said I was the only gay in the village; let me qualify that: I am the only known, out and proud gay in the village.

Believe me, Mellieħa is bursting at the seams with wooftahs of both sexes... and persuasions.

Don’t take my word for it, ask my cousin Karmnu.

On second thoughts, better not ask him any­thing at the moment, he’s still smarting from not being al­lowed to wear his Vivienne Westwood kaftan for the ox-tossing marathon on the parvis last weekend.

You’ve never heard such language! I blush at the very memory of it.

We’re an extremely close-knit community up here at Mellieħa and we don’t take very kindly to usurpers questioning our sexuality.

You know, people like itinerant colonials, who, without so much as a by-your-leave, take advantage of our hospitality by trolling in here and accusing us of fairyfying ourselves all over the village.

As I said to my especially dear friend Sergeant Anastasi Sitwell, outside the bank this morning:

“Anybody’d think we were a bunch of raving jessies, dead set on colonising the north of the island to the exclusion of everybody else.”

Absolute nonsense, we welcome all sorts here... especially if you bat for the opposition.

But apart from me, nobody here advertises their sexual inclinations.

Take Tonino my mechanic. Lovely boy Tonino, butch as a bulldozer... on the surface. Brilliant mechanic, he specialises in Fords and there’s nothing he enjoys more than stripping down an Escort.

Oh yes, life in Mellieħa is far more than what immediately meets the eye. Take my mother’s friend Mrs Deguara Debono – sweet woman and married to the same man for 43 years... bless her.

Then just last Thursday she ups and runs off with a lady wrestler from Qormi.

Can you believe it? I mean Sliema or Balzan I could understand... but Qormi?

Oh yes, we’re a regular mixture up here, although you’d never know it. Mind you... a quick peek into Joey Buttigieg Carnaria’s gents outfitters might offer a clue or two.

Gone are his rows of flannel and terylene trews and polyester shirts; these days his bestsellers include PVC hot-pants and lurex singlets.

Even Imelda, the local newsagent, has entered into the spirit of things.

In her shop, as well as the obligatory copies of Gwida, Burda and Shoplifting for Profit... you’ll find (on the top shelf naturally) copious editions of Gay News, Attitude and The Beginners Guide to Mincing.

And just lately things on the Mellieħa gay scene have particularly looked up. We now have a real and actual gay bar in the village – and I’m delighted to report business is booming.

It used to be called the Friend to All bar; but its change in fortunes has come about since Damien, the owner, renamed it Friends of Dorothy.

Even the village bakery has altered its status. Yes, it’s been tastefully converted into a men-only sauna and tanning parlour.

Where once I used to get my toasted buns – now I am able to get my buns toasted.

So like I say, if you’re looking for a bit of action up north, if you know what I mean... you know just where you’ll be welcome.

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