Drew Payne

In this coming General Election, there is no point in me casting my vote because it will not change anything. I don’t mean that all politicians are the same, and all those simplistic arguments against voting. I mean that because I live in a safe Labour constituency, it doesn’t matter which party I vote for, my constituency will return a Labour MP (Member of Parliament). In the 2019 election, my local MP kept her seat with a 32,000 majority. She received 70.1% of the constituency votes. The next candidate only got 16.3% of the vote. It doesn’t matter who I vote for, my local constituency will always return a Labour MP. A “safe” constituency is where an MP/political party are guaranteed to be re-elected at whatever election, even if the old MP is retiring (such as is happening in my local constituency) the same political party is guaranteed to hold the seat. And this has been going on for decades. 192 parliamentary seats haven’t changed hands since 1945 or earlier (30% of MPs), while 65 seats haven’t changed hands since 1918 or earlier (10% of MPs). This means that nearly 14 million voters are living in constituencies that have not changed parties since the Second World War, and nearly 5 million voters haven’t seen their constituency change parties since the end of the First World War. How is this fair? This has happened because we have the First Past The Post electoral system. Each voter gets one vote with which they elect their local MP. The candidate that gets the most votes, even if it is only by one vote, wins the seat. The voter only votes for their local MP, they don’t vote for the party they want to govern. In reality, most voters vote for the party they want to govern, but their votes don’t go towards that party because their vote is only for the local MP. Because of the nature of First Past The Post, the number of MPs elected to parliament does not reflect the percentage of the national votes their party received. The 2019 election: the Conservatives won 43.6% of the national vote but won 52.6% of the seats in Parliament, Labour won 32.1% of the national vote, 12.5% less than the Conservatives, but they won 31.1% of the seats in Parliament, 21.5% less than the Conservatives, the Libdems won 11.5% of the national vote but won only 1.7% of the seats in Parliament, the Greens won 2.7% of the national vote but won only 0.2% of the seats in Parliament, and The Brexit Party won 2% of the national vote but won 0% of the seats in Parliament. How is any of this fair? First Past The Post doesn’t mean that the candidate who won the majority of the votes wins the seat. The more candidates standing in a constituency means that the winning candidate doesn’t have to win the majority of votes, just more than the candidate who came second. In the 2015 general election, Claire Hanna won the seat of South Belfast with just 24.5% of the total votes – the lowest winning proportion in UK history. In the 2019 Election, Michelle Gildernew won the Fermanagh & South Tyrone seat by only 57 votes, out of a constituency of 72,848, a 0.07% majority. Again, how is many of this fair? How can we say we have elected our government when the electoral system often, effectively, does not allow our vote to count? Having so many safe seats also makes our politicians, in these seats, lazy, they don’t have to work to get re-elected. In the last two General Elections, my local MP barely telephoned in her campaign. She scarcely appeared in our constituency, only taking part in a few high profile hustings. She certainly didn’t do much door-to-door campaigning. The only door-to-door campaigning we received were election leaflets pushed through our front door. We didn’t even see many local activists. Why should they bother? She was guaranteed to be re-elected. And in-between elections, she has been a rare presence in our constituency, but again why does she need to bother? There’s no question she won’t be re-elected, or that the Labour candidate won’t be. This only makes for poor political representation for local communities, when they live in a safe seat, no matter which political party. When I lived in West London, in a marginal constituency, my MP actively campaigned during elections and she was seen very visibly in the local area between elections. She had to work to ensure she was re-elected. Britain is the only country in Europe still using First Past The Post. 40 out of the 43 other European countries use some form of proportional representation to elect their governments (8). Why are we still clinging onto First Past The Post? Proportional Representation or Single Transferable Vote systems will help remove safe seats and make our votes count more, it will also make politicians have to work for our votes. They would not be able to rely on being an MP in a safe seat. It would also mean that our government will better reflect the votes cast for them nationally. No longer will a political party win 43.6% of the national vote but win 52.6% of the parliamentary seats. It would also mean that there would be a higher chance of a hung parliament, were no one party has an overall majority of seats and could not form a government on their own. But this would mean that political parties would have to form coalitions and political packs, they would have to work closer with other parties, they would have to work harder. It would mean that small, fringe parties would also get parliamentary seats, though only a small number. If we’d had some form of proportional representation at the 2019 election, then The Brexit Party could have won 2% of the parliamentary seats and The Greens could have won 2.7% of MPs. This would still force all our political parties to work at their politics and work more closely together. With a coalition government, would we have had the chaos of this government, were we’ve had three different Prime Ministers in one parliament, and only one of them being elected by the British people? Some form of Proportional Representation is the only way forward for our electoral system, otherwise millions of people will carry on seeing their votes just not count, the make-up of our parliament will not reflect the national votes cast and far too many MPs will see their re-elections green-light, without them needing to work for it. Of course, all that said, I have no say on the make-up of the upper chamber of our government, the House of Lords. All their members have been appointed by different governments, and appointed for life. How is this fair? This country is well overdue electoral and parliamentary reform, but when will it happen? Drew

This was the second collection of short stories published posthumously after PD James’s death. Not known for her short story, this collection gives a very different view of James’s writing. She’s known for her very well written novels, where the handsome and cultured Commander Dalgliesh steps in and meticulously takes apart a vicious crime. Instead, these stories present murder where the guilty aren’t punished, and some are even rewarded. In several of these short stories the central character is the murderer, men plotting their revenge. The other stories are told from the point-of-view of an innocent caught up in a murder. The Girl Who Loved Graveyards is the stand out story of this collection. It begins with an almost modern fairy tale feel and ends with a nasty shock. The weakest story is by far Mr. Millcroft’s Birthday. It felt like James was trying for a lighter, more satirical tone, unfortunately she missed her mark. James excelled with a dark tone in her writing, where she leans into this with these stories then the story is far better for it. These stories rely on nostalgia, most of them are set long before they were written, and they benefit from it. This is not the nostalgia of cosy crime, instead she uses her setting to aid her stories. These are stories where people can be easily isolated, where the police are far away, where forensics are not there to save the day. Instead, these are stories full of dark human behaviour. But these stories also pack a punch with a twist in the tale, an unforeseen ending. These stories are very different to James’s Dalgliesh novels, and show she had a talent for dark, gothic stories. Maybe she might have had an alternative career writing novels in this style, or maybe she just enjoyed writing the occasional dark, gothic short story. This is still a fascinating and dark collection of short stories, showing why James was such an accomplished writer, which I finished reading all too quickly. Find it here on Amazon

Winter 1985 So much of my life, until then, had revolved around Evangelical Christianity and suddenly it was all gone, leaving an empty void of time and friendships. All of my social life had gone, over ninety percent of the people who called me friend had disowned me, I was on my own and I was nineteen years old. What was I to do? I wasn’t thrown out of that church’s congregation, no one spoke the words and told me to leave, but they expressly made it clear I wasn’t welcome because I was homosexual. I had been outed to the church’s youth fellowship. They reacted by first trying to cast daemons out of me, one Sunday night, before disowning me. Suddenly, all the people who had called me their friend, turned their backs on me and would have nothing to do with me. It was terrifying. Being subjected to an exorcism, just because I was gay, by people who had said they cared about me, left me feeling confused and betrayed. I had turned to these people for help, I was so confused and afraid of my sexuality, and they had reacted as if I was possessed by the Devil himself. The disowning by the majority of my friends hurt the most. They rejected me solely because I’m gay. I was hit over the head by their message, I wasn’t welcome in that church anymore. Reluctantly I left. Reluctantly because I had believed that being a member of that church was the right thing for me, where God wanted me to be, and leaving that church meant I had got that all wrong. But for my own health and sanity, I had to leave. The people of that church had told me that Evangelical Christians, like them, were the only people who would care for me and accept me. Non-Christians, they said, would just use me and then cast me aside. I believed them because I had thought they were my friends and that they cared for me. I was wrong. To my surprise, and then relief, I found people who weren’t Evangelical Christians not only welcomed me but also accepted me. Though it took so much strength to push myself forward to find a new life. Having all of my old life taken away from me was so hard and very isolating. Suddenly my whole social life and most of my circle of friends were gone, I had to start to rebuild all that and all over again. I was also so depressed by what had happened to me, had it all been my fault, why had I been so harshly rejected? I was beginning to accept my sexuality, finally admitting I couldn’t force it away, and then I was severely rejected for doing so. That took so much out of me. But I didn’t know how to rebuild my life again. I was only nineteen and no one gave me a guide book how to do so, there was no internet then. I found my first entry into a new life in a newsagent, near to Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral. On the top shelf, above the rows of magazines and newspapers, were the usual collection of porn magazines, and at the end of them were two gay lifestyle magazines, Gay Times and Gay Life. It was the 1980s and any gay lifestyle magazines were considered “adult reading”. Nervously I bought both those magazines, as I paid for them, the man behind the counter told me that Gay Life was a good read. He was right. Gay Life was a Manchester based magazine but it also contained listings and details of Liverpool’s small gay scene, where I lived. In its Community Listings section there was a listing for the LGCM (Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement) Liverpool group. Nervously I contacted its convenor, Billy, and started to attend their meetings. I was still a Christian and this seemed the logical place to finally start coming out. I had tried the Evangelical Christian approach, the ex-gay gospel and to deny a large part of who I was, and that had failed completely. Maybe it was time to try and accept my sexuality? Did I have any other alternative? The guys at the LGCM group were warm and welcoming, not a single “predatory homosexual”, as per the Evangelical Christian stereotype I had been previously been repeatedly told. These were men who befriended me, without trying to force their opinions and beliefs onto me. There was no condition to their friendship. It was a wonderful breath of fresh air. I also started to attend a writers’ workshop in Liverpool, The Old Swan Writers. I wanted to be a writer, therefore I needed to get serious about being one, but I knew so little about it. The other writers there taught me so much, showed me were my writing worked and were it didn’t. It was through them that I learnt how and where to submit my writing, and I had my first pieces of writing published while I was a member there. I was also the youngest member by a long stretch. The other were middle-aged or older, but none of them seemed to have any problems with me or my writing, which was beginning to explore gay themes. Next I started to attend Liverpool’s gay youth group, on the recommendation of one of the members of the LGCM group. At this group I met Tommy & Ashley, a pair of bright and lively friends, who quickly took me under their wing. They took me out clubbing in the few gay clubs there were in Liverpool. They introduced me to gay club life, taking away the mystery and apprehension too. And they were friends so there was no pressure, and that was what I needed then. The chance, every week or so, to dance and enjoy myself without any pressure. Lastly, I joined the Merseyside AIDS Support Group (MASG). This was 1985/86 and the AIDS panic was running high. Daily I saw the prejudice, ignorance and sheer homophobia around AIDS and it sickened me. This was my way of trying to fight that, so I joined MASG’s training course for their helpline. That training taught me so much, not just about HIV and AIDS, but it helped me look at myself. I also met some amazing people through it. Two nurses, a teacher, a HIV worker, gay men and women, a bisexual man, and straights. Different people but for all of them, being gay wasn’t a problem. I also met a man who I quietly looked up to, John Sam Jones. He’d been an Anglican minister, lived and worked in San Francisco, and was now back in Liverpool, working in HIV prevention. All through this he’d remained a Christian, and that was something I was trying to do but finding it such an uphill struggle. I make this narrative sound so easy, I took step one, which led to step two and then steps three and four. But it wasn’t that easy. I was silently carrying the baggage from the True Freedom Trust (TFT) and that Evangelical church. Most of the LGBT people I met in Liverpool, especially those I met through the LGCM group, knew of TFT and despised them. Rightly, they saw TFT as a dangerous and deeply homophobic organisation that only harmed LGBT people. Wrongly, I thought they would be angry at me too, for being involved with them. So I kept silent about that part of my past. I wish I hadn’t because I now know those people won’t have rejected me, they would have supported me. But the experience of being rejected by that Evangelical church was still sharp in my memory and I didn’t want to risk it happening again. I also found making friends difficult and scary. The people at that Evangelical church had told me that they were my friends, better friends than any non-Christians would be, and yet they so quickly withdrew their friendship when they found out I was gay. Would that happen again? Again and again I met people, after leaving that church, who openly accepted me, but that fear wouldn’t go away. It nagged away at the back of my mind. During this time in Liverpool, I never had a boyfriend, I never even tried to find one, I stayed single and celibate. This wasn’t out of any religious belief but it was out of fear. Fear that I couldn’t get close to anyone, fear that my parents would find out I’m gay, I was living with them at the time and I didn’t know if I could hide a relationship from them, and resting at the back of my mind, was the fear that those Evangelical Christians were right and I would go to hell for being gay. It was completely irrational but I couldn’t shake it. I had the realisation, slow at first but soon gathering speed, that the people at that Evangelical church had been lying to me. At first I noticed small lies but as time passed, I noticed bigger and nastier lies. The people at that Evangelical church told me I would never find “truer” friends than them, but those people rapidly withdrew their friendships when they found out I was gay. Their friendships were ultimately so shallow. Outside of that church, I found real friendships, people who didn’t reject me just because of my sexuality. Being a member of MASG, I learnt so much that also opened my eyes. AIDS wasn’t the “judgement of God”, as I’d been repeatedly told at that Evangelical church. The evidence didn’t support all the homophobic lies I’d been told about it. It wasn’t caught via casual physical contact, though people at that Evangelical church had behaved as if it was, even though no one with AIDS had dared to cross its doorstep. Then I met Nicholas & Robin, again. Nicholas had been the organist at that Evangelical church, until it was discovered Robin was his partner. Nicholas & Robin were rapidly and coldly thrown out of the church. I’d watched what had happened silently from the side-lines, terrified that that would be my fate. I was told Nicholas was not a Christian, he was only a member of the church for its social life, so it was right to throw him out of there, for being gay, because he wasn’t really a Christian. Then I met Nicholas & Robin, again. They were both Christians and very involved with a different church. I had been lied to, and to justify a very homophobic act. It left a very sour taste in my mouth. That Evangelical church had told me that the “homosexual lifestyle” was a lonely, cold and sterile life, and I’d only find true friendships and happiness as an Evangelical Christian. But as one, my life was cold, empty and lonely. I was so unhappy, having to hide my sexuality and struggle silently trying to accept it. Only leaving that Evangelical church, saw me start to turn my life around, trying to turn away from a cold and empty existence. My story doesn’t have a Hollywood ending, I didn’t walk away from that Evangelical church and straight into a much better life. It was a struggle and hard work to rebuild my life, especially as I was still haunted by what that Evangelical church said and did to me, causing me to be far from open with other people. I also had to come to terms with all the lies that that church told me, and how I foolishly believed them. It was a hard struggle, finding a new and honest life outside that church, but I am so glad I did. The alternative would have been unliveable. Drew Postscript: I have used the names these groups used back then in 1985/6. Groups called themselves “gay”, rather than Lesbian & Gay or LGBTQ+. In 1995, Merseyside AIDS Support Group (MASG) and Mersey Body Positive (MBP) merged to form Sahir House In 2017, LGCM changed its name to One Body One Faith, with a change in its focus.

And I will answer those questions. I hate stories where authors ask questions and then fail to answer them.

Thank you for your wonderful feedback but, unfortunately, all I can say is "spoilers sweety". The questions asked here will be answered, and in some ways, soon.

Liam sat on the battered old armchair in his room in the B&B hotel. The damn thing was still uncomfortable: he was sinking down into it because of the rotten springs in its seat. However, it was the only chair he had there. Dusk had fallen outside, so he’d already drawn the thin curtains at his room’s tiny window. Now the room was lit by the single electric light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It gave out a harsh yellow-white light that cast heavy and long shadows in the room. The edges of t

Lynne was and is a beautiful person, inside and outside. I wrote this part because I remember the shock and disappointment I felt when that lad told me God had sent Lynne to be his wife, but he'd barely spoken to her. Thanks for your comment, I did want this essay to be a tribute to a person who had such an important impact on my life.

Thank you. She's a wonderful person and friend

Summer 1985 “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Lynne said and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. We were sat together in my parents’ kitchen, while my parents were in the living room, watching television. Lynne and I were members of the Young People’s Fellowship (YPF), which was the young people’s group at our Evangelical Anglian church. We were also friends. I really admired her singing voice, which was one of those voice’s that could claim the attention of a whole room with its purity and clarity. She admired my writing, which was strange and humbling. She was one of the handful of people then who encouraged me to write, which was so eye-opening to me. Lynne was and is beautiful but her beauty is more than skin deep and stays in the memory long after meeting her. She radiates a confident sexuality which is so attractive to others, and yet she is so oblivious to it herself. In the YPF, there were so many young men who were attracted to her, some even claimed to be in love with her, and yet Lynne barely saw this. I, though, was fascinated. These young men projected so much onto her, one even claiming that God had sent her to be his wife, but none of them seemed interested in Lynne as a person, none of them looked further than Lynne’s attractiveness. To me, she was a wonderful friend with an amazing intellect and a warm personality. That summer Lynne was eighteen, preparing to go to university that autumn, I was nineteen and struggling to deal with my sexuality, and failing, believing that the only choice I had was celibacy because I was an Evangelical Christian. I had also started my first job and had fallen into a hopeless, unrequited and very secret love for a male colleague. I can’t remember why she called on me but that’s the least important part of the evening. For some reason Lynne asked to see one of the poems I’d written, one about loneliness. So I showed it to her, in the notepad I used to write my poems in. My poems were very teenage poems. They were high on emotional content and low on style and format. I simply copied the styles of poets I liked, not understanding the form or style and struggling with rhyming couplets. My poems were much more of a way to explore and vent my emotional life, to try and make sense of my emotions and the things I was living through. Lynne read that poem, nodding to herself, and, to my horror, turned over the page and started reading the next poem. After she finished that one, she read the next and the next one. She must have read a dozen of those poems. To my horror, she read poems were I expressed my struggles with my sexuality and my unrequited love (crush?), poems that talked about my love for him. I didn’t use the gender neutral “you” because I never intended anyone to read them. But Lynne was reading them (!!). I couldn’t just snatch the note pad out of her hand, so I just sat there and watched her read them. Though the expression that graced her face wasn’t disgust, it was realisation. After she’d finished reading, she put the notepad down on the kitchen table, said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” and gave me a big hug. Then we talked. I tried to explain to her my therapy that it was the “act” of homosexuality, not the desire, that was the sin, and if I could remain “pure” then God would be “happy” with me. I was still in the thrall of the True Freedom Trust. I must have sounded crazy but Lynne didn’t act negatively, but she did ask me an important question. She asked me what I really wanted. Quietly I answered, I wanted a boyfriend. I didn’t know what form that relationship could take, especially with my believes then, but I wanted a relationship, someone to love. She was the first person I admitted to that I wanted to love someone, to love another man, and she didn’t condemn me for it, she simply accepted it. Her acceptance meant so much to me and was so eye opening. There were people who didn’t hate and condemn me just for being gay, and maybe wanting to love another man wasn’t so wrong. Her acceptance wasn’t a light bulb moment, I didn’t suddenly realise it was okay to be gay, but it stayed in the back of my mind, it held out the hope that I could be accepted. All these years later, I am still in contact with Lynne, though we live at almost opposite ends of the country. She is one of the few people I remained in contact from that time. So many people, back then, who called me their friend, quickly dropped me when they found out that I’m gay, not Lynne. Many, many years later, Lynne sang at my wedding. She sang a marvellous version of O Tell Me the Truth About Love by WH Auden. Her beautiful and clear voice filled the registry office, being the perfect ending to our marriage ceremony. She was one of the four people I dedicated my first book to, she was one of the people who encouragement kept me writing. There are some people, through their simple acts of kindness and love, that leave a deep impact upon our lives, Lynne was one of those people for me. Drew Postscript: In the previous essays in this series I’ve used pseudonyms for the people mentioned. This essay is different because I’ve used Lynne’s real name, with her permission. I want this essay to stand as a tribute to this wonderful person. Find the next story in this series here

@Luke Past thanks for the wonderful feedback but please STOP READING MY MIND!! I am finishing off the next chapter at the moment, and, yes, it is set in the present day. I don't want to say any more than that. Thanks for the encouragement.

Liam and Ed are two damaged souls but their love for each other is a positive thing. Liam killed another boy because he made the wrong decision, but he had no one in his life to advise him and care for him. The saddest thing is that he has only found those important relationships because he killed another boy. He'd have never met Ed if they both hadn't been sent to this hospital. Mark, who has a very parental relationship with him, is his former solicitor from his murder trial. Aiden, who is caring for his mental health, is a paid professional whom Liam would never have met if he hadn't been sentenced to Nurton Cross. Liam is growing and maturing, but the irony of how he was able to... Well, is uncomfortable.

The nurses know about Liam and Ed. Pearl calls them "Jonathan and David". Aiden has had, a rather embarrassing, talk with Liam about sex. If they were breaking important rules then Janet, the Ward Manager, would put a stop to it and she hasn't. His relationship with Ed is so important to him and the nurses can see that. They have discussed it in their weekly Ward Round.

It’s 1970s North London. Middle class and conservative accountant Edward is married to Helen, but he is also having an affair with Binny. But single mother Binny is tired of being the other woman and wants a social life with Edward, a part of one anyway, more than just occasional meals in restaurants were Edward is sure no one will recognise him. To this end Binny wants to host a dinner party for Edward and his friends George and Muriel Simpson. The two couples duly sit down for their dinner party, at Binny’s home, though she managed to arrange for the children to be elsewhere that night, but Edward has to leave by ten-thirty, so his wife doesn’t suspect. But Binny’s friend Alma gate crashes the party, because she’s having man trouble. Then four people barrage into the house, three young men with guns and a young woman with a pram. This isn’t a thriller but instead its Bainbridge’s dark take upon middle-class married life and adultery. In her world adultery isn’t unfaithful and disguising, it is sordid, complicated and very messy. This book is populated with unhappy people living dull and damp lives. No one here is happy, even the criminals holding these people hostages are sad and rather useless. No one here is near living a fulfilled life. Bainbridge captures so well the dull grey life of North London in the 1970s, with Binny’s house more than a little neglected. She also captures these people’s dull and rather sad lives. Being held hostage isn’t exciting or dangerous for these people, it just makes their lives more complicated. Bainbridge is at her best here with her understanding of these people. They are not heroes or anti-heroes; they are people who lives are passing them by. Even when their lives are in danger, it is their unfulfilled existences that come to the front. When one of the women is raped, by one of their captures, she doesn’t feel violated or victimised, she just feels it’s her bad luck. The ending of this novel is sudden and strange but it also feels strangely right. This is a fine example of Bainbridge’s dark but accurate view of life, and an antidote to the Saccharin sweet view of the seventies, we all too often get now. Life wasn’t always better in flares. Find it here on Amazon

Mark stood up from the table he was sat at and waved across the room at Liam. Mark was wearing the green shirt he’d so often worn before, though he seemed to have had his hair cut since Liam last saw him. His curly hair wasn’t as thick as last time he was there - it lay over his head only one curl deep. Liam walked between the tables in the Visitors Room, heading towards Mark. The place was surprisingly full - more than half the tables were occupied. Usually, only a handful of them were occ

Liam really needed to realise this. It's a hard lesson to learn, that your parent is a crap one, but his mother's lack of caring and love lead to Liam's actions. It's another way to show that he isn't a "cold-hearted killer", just a boy who made a bad decision.

Liam sat down next to Ed on the sofa, in the Common Room, that evening. He’d spent an hour finally finishing off an essay for Mrs Williams. He just couldn’t get into it and kept restarting it and restarting it. Finally, he just wrote it, just got it down on paper. It was crap, not his best work, but Mrs Williams would know what to do with it. As he sank back into the sofa, Ed said: “Everyone wants to watch that Celebrity Love on the Beach shit,” Ed’s voice dripping with disappointment.

But Liam is growing up and maturing, and he is living in a very supportive environment. I wanted to show that here. Also, it gave me the chance to revisit his awful mother and show someone with no insight, who can't change their behaviour.

It's nearly three years since he's seen his mother and Liam has had some really good quality care and therapy since then. This is also a unique chance for Liam, to see his mother when he wasn't there, i.e. strutting her stuff on a reality dating show. The last time he saw his mother, Liam barely had a relationship with anyone else. Now he has a therapeutic relationship with Aiden and Janet, a good friendship with Mark and a very close and caring relationship with Ed. These people have changed his life, and he isn't the same person he was when he killed Rhys Clarke. Many, many years ago, a very heavily pregnant friend of mine went to a wedding with her family. She was the only person in her group who couldn't drink. She watched the antics of her drunken mother and was horrified. She saw how badly behaved her mother was and was horrified. That story has stuck with me ever since, I've used it in another story, I thought it would work so well here, Liam gets to see how badly behaved his mother is when he isn't there.

Liam sat on the sofa, in the Common Room with his book on his lap. Like this, he could just look down at his book, quietly read it, and no one would notice him doing so. It was a Tuesday evening, so there was little chance of anything on the television there that would interest him. He glanced down at his book and began to read the first paragraph on the left-hand page. “It’s starting now,” Ed said, as his elbow nudged Liam in his side. “What is?” Liam looked up from his book and at th

A small time Dublin thief (we’re never told his name) suddenly finds himself out of his depth. Used to stealing cash and jewels, which he can easily fence and sell on, he now finds that the paintings he stole, from a country house, are a Rembrandt, a Gainborough and two Guardis. How does he sell them, for a good profit, without alerting the police? And the police are becoming more and more interested in him because his alcoholic mother has been loose-lipped around her new friend. This story was originally included in Toibin’s collection Mothers and Sons. In June, 2006, Picador published it as part of their Picador Shots, pocket-sized books containing one story. The premise of this story is interesting, a criminal falls into a personal existential angst because he has stolen paintings he can’t easily sell, and is facing trusting people he doesn’t know. Unfortunately, the excursion of this story just fades away. Toibin spends a lot of time on the thief’s past. At first this is interesting, but when so much space is given over to it, it means we get so little on thief’s present day life. Why is his falling apart? We have little discussion of that, so little time is given to thief’s current relationship with his mother and we’re not even told thief’s wife’s name. What is most disappointing, is the ending. This story doesn’t end as much as it just fades out with an unexpected event, running opposite to the story’s narrative. It felt as Toibin hit his word limit and had to hastily bring this story to an end. The ending was so disappointing that it left a sour taste in my mouth. I wanted to like this story but was disappointed by its poor ending and the way Toibin did not explore his interesting premise. Maybe other stories in Mothers and Sons are better, but I hope this one wasn’t the best. Find it here on Amazon

I know there are good people who are religious. I know good Christians, good Muslims, good Jews; but I am torn because I also know the harm religions do to people, the hate they foster and the pain they cause. My series of blogs is about how I overcame the harm done to me, in the name of Evangelical Christianity, just because I'm gay. The problem for me is how deeply religions abuse their power and encourage hate, and I don't know how we stop them from doing this. It's far more complicated than saying ban them all. These are just some of the examples of these abuses: Salman Rushdie: Losing an eye upsets me every day BBC confronts man who abused boy in secretive Christian church The Gay Pastor, The Conservative Megachurch And The Fight Ripping Apart A Suburb Gay vicar who couldn’t marry in his own church says policy looks ‘ridiculous’ and ‘primitive’ Life after shunning: what I faced after coming out as a queer Jehovah’s witness Catholic priest says sorry for KKK cross burning on black couple's lawn The Woman in the Wall: Ruth Wilson drama examines Magdalene Laundries Church of England facing LGBTQ+ ‘safeguarding’ crisis due to internal homophobia Jayne Ozanne resigns from General Synod over its ‘callous disregard’ for LGBTQ+ people What do we do about this?

Eve was framed! They blamed black people for not being white. They blamed disabled people for not being able-bodied. They blamed poor people for not being rich. Evangelical Christianity seems to worship straight, white men. It is certainly geared up to give them power. It makes me so uncomfortable.

But if there weren't any gays, then Evangelical Christians would have to invent us, because who else would they blame when people ignore them?

So many religions talk a lot about love and yet there are so many people who experienced the opposite from them. Power corrupts, and making people fearful keeps you in power. It's all so distasteful, damages the vulnerable and shits all over those genuine people trying to follow that religion.

Wow, I wish I'd met religious leaders as open-minded as the ones you did. As a child, I remember people telling me that "every word" of the bible is true and that it was a sin to question it. Yes, I questioned stoning a woman to death for being raped in a city and not crying out for help, I question how a man can live in a fish's stomach for three days, and I really question the poor translation of the verses that have been used to condemn LGBT people. I also wish I'd had your religious education, not the Christian indoctrination I received. But, unfortunately, we can't go back in time and change what happened, what we can do is speak out and hope to influence modern education.