5th June 1999
Bored.
No Match of the Day tonight. No Premiership fixtures. No classified results. Just transfer rumours, pre-season friendlies and endless speculation about who might finish where next season.
The rumours about Lineker taking my chair haven't gone away either. Every time I walk through White City somebody suddenly stops talking. Not that I'm bothered, obviously. If they want a presenter who looks like he should be advertising aftershave rather than introducing Coventry vs Wimbledon, that's entirely their decision.
Anyway.
Bit of a fuss about Pride it seems.
I must admit, I don't entirely understand why it's still such a talking point. I mean, it's the 90s for God's sake. Surely people have got more important things to worry about. The millennium bug, for one. I still don't understand how a computer can forget what year it is.
I've never been one for making a song and dance about these things. People are people. End of story. Rosemary and I have spent plenty of holidays in Spain over the years and have often ended up in the gay bars by accident. Or on purpose. Usually because they had the best music and the shortest queue at the bar. Never seemed like a big deal to me.
Some of Britain's most famous people are gay. Freddie Mercury. George Michael. Elton John. Boy George. The list goes on.
Actually, writing that lot down, I've just realised I'm essentially listing my record collection.
Perhaps that's my point. I've spent years listening to their music without giving it a second thought. Never seemed particularly important compared to whether the song was any good. The newspapers might disagree, but I've always found life gets a lot simpler when you stop worrying about things that are none of your business.
Football feels a bit behind the times, mind you. There must be gay footballers in the Premiership. Statistically there has to be. It's just a shame they can't be who they are without turning into a front-page story. Maybe one day they'll be able to. Hopefully sooner rather than later. Seems daft that a bloke can score thirty goals a season in front of forty thousand people but still feel he has to keep part of himself hidden.
Anyway.
The whole thing reminds me of something my father used to say. "Judge a man by how he treats other people." Simple enough. He also said never trust a man who orders a Guinness with blackcurrant in it, which is equally sound advice.
Off out shortly. Rosemary wants to pick up a few bits from Boots before it closes. Then home for a quiet evening.
And before anyone asks, no, I still don't understand what the millennium bug actually does.
– Des