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My night in a gay sauna

Heterosexual Howard Lake tells the story of how he got experimental on a visit to a gay sauna.

Before anything else, I need to explain that I'm not a seasoned sauna veteran. I'm writing about my first and, more than likely only visit to a gay sauna.

It was to explore a side of my sexuality which, for many years now, I'd been curious about. When I was 18 (now quite a bit older) I joined the jeers when two male schoolmates drunkenly snogged each other on a night out.

Inside, part of me I wished I was one of them. Years of mulling things over, the occasional mild dalliance and, on the night, six pints, climaxed in me visiting a gay sauna.

My lack of previous experience was evident when at the entrance I blushed to the receptionist: "I've not brought any trunks with me..is that OK?"

His manicured eyebrow rose sharply and said it all. He then sighed and said: "You don't need trunks. This is a gay club, you know?"

I nodded over enthusiastically, handed over £14, and was given two towels before disappearing down the stairs. (You might think £14 is a lot but another local spa, not gay, charges £20 for the same facilities where sex is a no-no).

Once inside the communal changing area was much like a swimming pool – benches in the middle of the room and your own, numbered locker. You then strip and put a towel round your waist. The facilities were impressive: a sauna, warm room, swimming pool, dark room and, upstairs, individual rooms with either a wipeable mattress on the floor or a bench with a mattress on it.

I'd read about 'cruising' before, and read about bars being 'cruisey' but never experienced it. Simply put, if at any point catch somebody's eye and the gaze is held then it's generally on. No codified rehearsal of buying drinks and dating a few times – you just get it on.

The thing that's really interesting from a straight guy's point of view is that in this environment you're seen as an object of desire instead of the pursuer. I'm not the kind of guy who gets admiring glances from women in general, so to be looked at like that was a pleasant surprise.

It was also interesting because it gives you an idea how women feel when men look at them. And it makes you instantly picky. There were a lot of quite old, overweight and unattractive men there. I found myself becoming pretty choosy within minutes, which was a surprise.

For rooms that are occupied there seems to be a code (I'm happy to be corrected here). If there's somebody in there lying in their front, and exposing their bottom ... well I think you can guess.

If they're sitting up they seem to want a bit more of a mixture. If the door is open and something's going on it's a possible invitation to watch or join in. If you pop your head in when this is going on, as I did, you either get a shake of the head, as I did, or you're welcomed in.

Men also position themselves on the edge of some doors groping themselves which is much the same as cruising but they've already claimed their room. It was rather busy so I thought this rather inconsiderate.

The dark room (it's very dark) was a bit much for me but this was primarily because I didn't know how to conduct myself. The pervasive groans and dim silhouettes of multiple bodies left little the imagination, but I didn't feel ready to gift my bottom to just anybody.

Whilst wandering around I visited the steam room, sauna and the TV room which came complete with water fountain and drinks vending machines. People were hanging out there watching TV and having a chat.

Speaking to other sauna-goers, I got the impression there were many regulars who would go there and meet other regulars. Some people asked for my name, others didn't. It didn't appear to matter either way: the atmosphere was relaxed, mature and respectful. Any unwanted advances were quickly recognised as such and met with a polite retreat.

After an hour-and-a-half of, metaphorically, fumbling around, I met a guy. Within five minutes we'd gone off to one of the private rooms. I will spare you the details, but suffice to say it was safe and enjoyable.

Would I go back? Probably not. Am I glad I went? Yes. Odd as it may sound I now feel more secure in my (hetero)sexuality than before. It's not going to stop me reading features about women's fashion or being a bit fey. But it does means I'm more than likely going to be asking myself one less question in my next relationship - with a girl.

Ralph Steadman for the New Statesman.
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Tim Farron: Theresa May is "the prisoner of the Ukip wing of her party"

The Liberal Democrat leader on his faith, Blairism and his plan to replace Labour as the opposition. 

This is Tim Farron’s seventh general election. His first was in 1992, when his Tory opponent was a 36-year-old called Ther­esa May. He was just 21 and they were both unsuccessful candidates in the Labour fortress of North-West Durham. He recalls talking “to a bunch of ex-miners who weren’t best pleased to see either of us, some kid Liberal and some Tory”. Now he sees his former and current opponent as “the prisoner of the Ukip wing of her party . . . I think it has rendered Ukip almost pointless – she is Ukip now.”

May was elected to parliament in 1997, but it took Farron until 2005 to join her. She leads the dominant Conservatives while he heads a party of only nine Liberal Democrat MPs. Still, their reversal of fortunes gives him hope. “After the 1992 election, every­one said there’s no way for a non-Tory government, and it turned out there was. So let’s not assume it’s a given there’s a Tory government [for ever].”

In April, I accompanied Farron to Manchester Gorton, in the lead-up to a by-election that was cancelled by May’s decision to call a snap election on 8 June. Still, the 46-year-old’s party has been in campaign mode for months; Lib Dems spoke of using last December’s Richmond Park by-election to test their messaging. It clearly had an effect: the incumbent Conservative, Zac Goldsmith, lost to their candidate, Sarah Olney.

Brexit, to which the Liberal Democrats are vehemently opposed, will be a dominant theme of the election. Their party membership has just exceeded 100,000, close to an all-time high, and they have enjoyed much success in council by-elections, with more to come in the local elections of 4 May.

However, any feel-good factor swiftly evaporated when Farron appeared on Channel 4 News on 18 April. He was asked by the co-presenter Cathy Newman whether or not he believes that homosexuality is a sin, a question that he answered obliquely in 2015 by saying that Christianity started with acknowledging that “we’re all sinners”.

This time, he told Newman, he was “not in the position to make theological announcements over the next six weeks . . . as a Liberal, I’m passionate about equality”.

The Channel 4 interview divided opinion. One Liberal politician told me that Farron’s stance was “completely intolerable”. Stephen Pollard, the influential editor of the Jewish Chronicle, described it as
“a very liberal position: he holds certain personal views but does not wish to legislate around them”. Jennie Rigg, the acting chair of LGBT+ Liberal Democrats, said it was “as plain as the nose on my face that Tim Farron is no homophobe”.

Farron declined the chance to clarify his views with us in a follow-up phone call, but told the BBC on 25 April: “I don’t believe that gay sex is a sin,” adding, “On reflection, it makes sense to actually answer this direct question since it’s become an issue.”

For his critics, Farron’s faith and politics are intertwined. He sees it differently, as he told Christian Today in 2015: “. . . the danger is sometimes that as a Christian in politics you think your job is to impose your morality on other people. It absolutely isn’t.”

Tim Farron joined the then Liberal Party at the age of 16 but didn’t become a Christian until he was 18. Between completing his A-levels in Lancashire and going to Newcastle University to read politics, he read the apologetics, a body of Christian writing that provides reasoned arguments for the gospel story. “I came to the conclusion that it was true,” he told me. “It wasn’t just a feel-good story.”

In speeches, Farron now takes on the mannerisms of a preacher, but he had a largely non-religious upbringing in Preston, Lancashire. “I don’t think I’d been to church once other than Christmas or the odd wedding,” he says. “I went once with my dad when I was 11, for all the good that did me.”

When we meet, it is Theresa May’s religion that is in the spotlight. She has condemned the National Trust for scrubbing the word “Easter” from its Easter egg hunt, a row it later emerged had been largely invented by the right-wing press in response to a press release from a religious-themed chocolate company.

“It’s worth observing there’s no mention of chocolate or bunny rabbits in the Bible,” Farron reminds me. “When people get cross about, in inverted commas, ‘us losing our Christian heritage’ they mean things which are safe and comfortable and nostalgic.” He pauses. “But the Christian message at Easter is shocking, actually, and very radical.”

British politics is tolerant of atheists (such as Ed Miliband and Nick Clegg) alongside those who, like David Cameron, are culturally Christian but whose faith is “a bit like the reception for Magic FM in the Chilterns: it sort of comes and goes”. But the reaction to Farron’s equivocation on homosexuality prompted many to wonder if a politician who talks openly about his faith is now seen as alarming. Nebulous wishes of peace and love at Christmas, yes; sincere discussions of the literal truth of the Resurrection? Hmm.

Tim Farron’s beliefs matter because he has a mission: to replace not only Jeremy Corbyn as leader of the opposition but Theresa May in Downing Street. Over lassis at the MyLahore curry house in Manchester, he tells me that Britain is facing two calamities. “One is Brexit, indeed hard Brexit . . . and the other is a Tory government for 25 years. We have to present a genuine, progressive alternative that can not only replace Labour as an opposition, it can replace the Tories as a government.” This is ambitious talk for a party with nine MPs. “I understand the ridicule that will be thrown at me for saying those things: but if you don’t want to run the country, why are you in politics?” He pauses. “That’s a question I would ask most people leading the Labour Party at present.”

What does he think of May, his one-time opponent in North-West Durham? “She strikes me as being very professional, very straightforward, somebody who is very conservative in every sense of the word, in her thought processes, her politics, in her style.” He recalls her 2002 conference speech in which she warned Tory activists: “Our base is too narrow and so, occasionally, are our sympathies. You know what some people call us: the nasty party.”

“In many ways, she was the trailblazer for Cameron in being a softer-focused Tory,” he says. “It now looks like she’s been trapped by the very people she was berating as the nasty party all those years ago. I like to think that isn’t really her. But that means she isn’t really in control of the Conservative Party.”

Voters, however, seem to disagree. In recent polls, support for the Conservatives has hovered between 40 and 50 per cent. Isn’t a progressive alliance the only way to stop her: Labour, the Liberal Democrats, the Greens, the SNP and Plaid Cymru all working together to beat the Tories?

“Let’s be really blunt,” he says. “Had Jeremy Corbyn stood down for us in Richmond Park [where Labour stood Christian Wolmar], we would not have won. I could have written Zac Goldsmith’s leaflets for you: Corbyn-backed Liberal Democrats.

“I’m a pluralist,” he adds. “But any progressive alliance has got to be at least equal to the sum of its parts. At the moment, it would be less than the sum of its parts. The only way the Tories are losing their majority is us gaining seats in Hazel Grove –” he ticks them off with his fingers, “– in Cheadle, in the West Country and west London. There’s no chance of us gaining those seats if we have a kind of arrangement with the current Labour Party in its current form.”

What about the SNP? “Most sensible people would look at that SNP manifesto and agree with 99 per cent of it,” Farron says. “But it’s that one thing: they want to wreck the country! How can you do a deal with people who want to wreck the country?”

There’s no other alternative, he says. Someone needs to step up and offer “something that can appeal to progressive younger voters, pro-Europeans and, you know, moderate-thinking Middle England”. He wants to champion a market economy, strong public services, action on climate change, internationalism and free trade.

That sounds like Blairism. “I’m a liberal, and I don’t think Blair was a liberal,” he replies. “But I admire Blair because he was somebody who was able to win elections . . . Iraq aside, my criticisms of Blair are what he didn’t do, rather than what he did do.”

Turning around the Tory tide – let alone with just nine MPs, and from third place – is one hell of a job. But Farron takes heart from the Liberal Party in Canada, where Justin Trudeau did just that. “I’m not Trudeau,” he concedes, “He was better-looking, and his dad was prime minister.”

There is a reason for his optimism. “I use the analogy of being in a maze,” he says, “You can’t see a way out of it, for a progressive party to form a majority against the Tories. But in every maze, there is a way out. We just haven’t found it yet.” 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

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