Gok does men

Interesting to see Gok Wan do his first makeover on a bloke in last week's How To Look Good Naked. The chap in question certainly had his demons, having suffered from serious curvature of the spine but now lacking in confidence because he was so skinny. (Would that we all had such problems as being thin!) To bulk up he would wear layers of T-shirts under everything. But like most people on this programme, he suffered from his own perceived image of his body not reflecting reality.

Of course, when it came to dressing the man, Gok could have put him in anything and he would have looked great - especially the skinny suit he was given. Not exactly a challenge, then. I like what Gok does but perhaps he is less confident in dressing men. You'd think, as a gay man, it would be no problem. But then I could never dress women....

Roll up, roll up!

Is it just me, or is the fashion for rolling up the bottom of your trousers really annoying? Not only does it reveal an expanse of - often sockless - ankle (not the most exciting part of the anatomy), it shortens the leg line to stump proportions. Yes, it's another summer fashion best left to youngsters and those who have the physical resemblance to a rake, but still there are those on the streets who should know better.

Just take a look at the wedding pics of Swedish singer Peter Joback (should have been this year's entry to Eurovision instead of the dirge they sent) to his boyf in Stockholm last week. Not one but two sets of hairy ankle on view. This just won't do...

Let's be beastly to the English

I wouldn't normally comment on football as I can't abide it. Always have. Always will. I'd rather roll around naked in a vat of tapioca with Theresa May.

But the inept display by the England team in the World Cup just confirms that these days our footballers are a spoiled, overpaid bunch of lazy tossers who don't seem to have any passion or hunger when wearing the Three Lions shirt. And if that nasty Mr Capello tries to instil some kind of discipline, they yell boo-hoo, foul!

They couldn't even beat Algeria. In their first match, the excuse for our butterfingered goalie letting one in from the USA was about the new ball used this year. The Germans, it seems, have been practising with the new ball for months! It's not exactly rocket science, is it?

What palls most is the amount of money these guys are paid when the rest of the country is struggling financially and many are losing their jobs. Their performance is just an insult, a kick in the teeth. And, yes, footballers have short careers but they still do quite nicely, thank you. Have you ever heard of a poor ex footballer?

This all, of course, brings me to this year's Eurovision, a subject on which I'm on home rather than away ground. What happened in Oslo? Oh yes, Germany won and the UK came last. Perhaps Germany did well because they took some trouble in choosing their song and performer this year. Unlike us, they actually put in some hard work. I'm sensing a pattern here....

I am not Spartacus

Is it because of the rise of sword-and sandals-epics on film and TV that gladiator sandals have become popular with women? Well, now it seems, style fans, that men can get them too. Wearing them won't turn you into Russell Crowe (should you want to turn into a scruffy, arrogant, potty-mouthed Aussie), and will make you look like a complete prat.

I have a general gripe with summer footwear for men, even the regular sandal. Why should you end up paying a fortune for a few small bits of leather stitched together (Prada £250, Jil Sander £345, John Lobb £465)? Even at the cheaper end (Aldo, £70!) they're overpriced - and don't look that great. Feet aren't the most attractive part of the body, though the fact that I have a "criminail" infection on one big toe probably makes me as jaundiced about open footwear as the colour of the affected toenail (apologies).

Still, at least sandals can sometimes look cool and are a sight better than the ghastly flip-flop (often seen at this time of year with nasty baggy cargo shorts and a tatty tank top), which should ONLY be worn at the beach or on hols. In town they're definitely a no-no!

Why Oslo was priceless

And so the Eurovision glitterball has been packed away for another year.
But we can be grateful to the Norwegians, who were charming hosts, for dragging the songfest kicking and screaming into the 21st century and investing it with gentle humour. There were no endless shots extolling the virtues of their country (remember the travelogue that was Athens 2006?), folk dancing or trolls (apart from some of those performing).
For the interval we got a flashmob dance filmed around cities of Europe - and performed live in the hall by the 18,000 audience, plus between-act postcards featuring fans of all the nations - that made it an inclusive and very contemporary show. Which helped bring about a cool and modern winner in German Lena's Satellite. A great result for the contest.
Not so good for the UK, of course, whose last place was widely predicted the whole week thanks to a song that was definitely from the 20th century. That said, all credit to performer Josh who, for a relatively inexperienced singer in an intimidating arena, handled himself with charm and professionalism the whole week - even after the contest. What a trouper.
Pete Waterman expressed surprise at the size and media circus of the whole shebang. He might have considered that - or even watched previous winners - before he pulled the desperately tired That Sounds Good To Me from the back of his sock drawer.
So what will the BBC do next year? Probably more of same. We can only hope they'll pull their finger out. The rest of Europe expects something that reflects our world-beating pop music. That's why they won't vote for our sub-standard, old-fashioned entries - it has nothing to do with so-called political voting, as the German win proved.
Still, even the UK finishing at the bottom of the board again cannot dim the great memories of Oslo: the Georgian party at the fabulous new opera house, walking up the pink carpet to the welcome party at City Hall like it was the Oscars, and chatting to one half of Bobbysocks (Hanne) while queuing for a small £8 glass of wine during the final. No, we won't forget the exhorbitant Olso prices either - but Tak Norge all the same!

Hello, this is Oslo calling

This week Man About Town - as I am also known to some - is Man About Oslo. Yes. I'm here for the Eurovision Song Contest. It's my ninth year at the annual circus of schlocky horror and dodgy dancing in the name of pop music.

It's not camp at all really. Take last night and the official welcome party at City Hall. We had to walk up a big pink carpet surrounded by paps and TV crews - it was like the Oscars, and some of the outfits were tackily Oscar-worthy. My pointy white shoes, by the way, looked particularly fine on aforementioned carpet.

Then we were entertained by first Norwegian winners Bobbysocks, who are completely faboo, and then a gay men's choir called the, er, Faggotkur. It couldn't have been more camp if the mayor had said "Call me Brenda".

Anyhoo, The Mark of Style was beady-eyed re the fashion. There were some horrors, I can tell you, and some of the performers were OTT as you might expect in Eurotrash mode. Though the style of the night for the average Euroboy seemed to be the  little blazer (H&M, Zara et al much in evidence), skinny jeans and tie, plus the occasional waistcoat. There was a handful of bowties (and you know what I think about those). Yours truly was in in slim grey jacket and waistcoat, white shirt with cutaway collar, black tie, faded black skinny jeans and my "occasion shoes" - shiny, white and pointy. Seemples but classy, I thought.

More of the contest and songs to come. Just don't ask me who's going to win!

The history boys

I felt part of a major piece of history this week. And I'm not talking about the election and the well-hung Parliament.. 

To the Trafalgar Studios in London's fabulous West End to see Holding the Man, a play based on a cult Australian autobiographical book by Timothy Conigrave. It's a love story really, from when Tim fell in love with the football captain at his Catholic boys' school in Melbourne, their relationship through uni, drama school (in Tim's case), early gay politics and sexual freedom (again in Tim's case) - until both men died of Aids in the early Nineties.

I remember that time of fear (mine) and loathing (other people's) all too well. I came to London in 1982 and was able, for the first time, at the advanced age of 25, to enjoy the burgeoning sexual freedom for gay men. I'd barely had time to shake a big pink stick when Aids arrived.

Sex with another man at that time meant standing on opposite sides of the room waving at each other - wearing Marigolds. I've been having safe sex ever since - that's about 27 years...

So  a lot of memories came seeping back as I watched the production - which is also very funny and has Jane Turner of Kath and Kim fame, who actually knew Tim and his lover back in Oz, stealing many a scene in various roles.

When I looked around the audience there were a lot of young guys and I realised that this was actually a history lesson for them. It was a sobering (and depressing, age-wise) thought. The production also brings home the fact that the battle against Aids  - both medical and in terms of social attitudes    - may have been more or less won in this country, but that is far  from the case in other parts of the world.