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I’ve certainly moved house a lot in my time, living in all sorts of weird and wonderful places. As part of my blog ‘Spanish Views,’ I want to talk about some of the more memorable aspects, of my life in Southampton, including a few of the homes I have lived in; the ones that left an indelible mark on me. One such place was called ‘Pinkies.’ As the name suggests, it was a gay public house, painted a luminous shade of pink. The place looked out over the dual carriage way, between Southampton City Centre and Bitterne village, situated in the rather down market area, of St Mary’s and Northam. St Mary’s seemed to be a dumping ground for the less desirable elements in society; alcoholics, drug addicts and prostitutes. It also offered affordable accommodation for students from the near by University; equally it had a large ethnically diverse population, from every corner of the World. From a personal point of view, I quite liked my time living here. Despite my sexuality and overly camp demeanour at the time, I never experienced any adverse reactions, from anyone who lived in this rough, rundown part of town. In fact the opposite was true; everyone passed the time of day, shouted a greeting, patted you on the back or waved happily, as you went about your daily business.

My partner, a friend and I, lived in this historic building on the edge of St Mary’s and Northam; an area full of antique shops, still retaining the cobbles from an altogether different, more gentle, Edwardian time. The pub had always been a gay venue, for as long as I could remember. Currently called The King Alfred. You can see a photograph of the place above; Sadly, when I lived in the building, in 1994, I took no photographs of the outside; at a time without digital cameras. I do however have a few pictures taken inside. These days, I like many others, have a tendency to document everything, always taking photo's and selfies whenever I can. In 1994, no such luck; I did take a few snap shots of my life back then, but would have loved more, as a reminder of the most colourful time in my life.

We entered our three story flat, using the back of the rather run down building. There was a basement below, where another friend lived, Steve, who is sadly no longer with us. One of the enduring memories I have of Steve, is sitting on the toilet, at the same time he was sat on his, below, chatting away, talking to each other as we often did, looking at one another directly through the floorboards. Conversation finished, I pulled the chain, water poured all over, my overly friendly neighbour; at least I hope it was water! Not the most salubrious time in my life, but certainly the most unforgettable. The exterior of the old pub, was painted pink and black and was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. When I recall these events, I am mindful of the conditions, I used to live in. A crack ran the entire height of the building; you could fit your hand inside. Single glazed windows, no heating, no washing machine! The winter was cold and damp; wooden doors and windows rotting; thread bare carpets, smelly and filthy!

The inside of the flat was vast. It had an interconnecting door to the bar itself and the living quarters of the landlord and our friend Andrew (Annie Baxter,) also no longer with us, dying in tragic circumstances a few years ago. I have been racking my brains, trying to remember the landlords name, to no avail; it is just too long ago. I can remember his appearance vividly though; a large man, with a big bushy greying beard. He wasn’t the tidiest person in the World, his apartment above the bar, rather sparse; he was however a kindly gent; mostly happy, always there to help if he could. I distinctly remember him boiling his white Y fronts, in a large iron saucepan, full of Fairy Snow, on the antiquated stove in the kitchen; using a large wooden spoon, to prod his underwear, as they simmered vigorously. The next day, it was quite usual for him to be cooking a curry in the same pot. I was offered a portion on many occasions, politely saying no!

The pub itself was a mishmash of styles; if I had to pick one genre, I would say ‘high camp’ and a little bit seedy. Many distinctive acts played at Pinkies; Drag Queens, Strippers and musicians. The shows were risque, bawdy and always indecorous; certainly not for today’s terribly Politically Correct generation. Swearing, sexual acts and nudity part of the course; commonplace; most hardly blinked an eye. As a young man, who had just come out on the scene, I was shocked at times, more often not. After all it was a liberating period in my life, that I wouldn’t change for the World.

The decor itself, was shabby and tired looking, old fashioned in style. The landlord once told me, the whole place ran on a single extension lead. In my early twenties, without a care in the World, I thought nothing of it; today I look back in horror at would could have happened. The electrics often tripped and the place went dark. I would regularly sit in the bar with just a candle for company, but it was just part of its character  and I like everyone else, just took it in my stride. In 2018, the place would be condemned; people just don’t understand, the way we used to live back then. When you talk about it, they just think you are exaggerating; nothing could be further from the truth. The old building was akin to a squat, a hazard in every respect, but I truly loved living there; it has a special place in my heart!
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Pinkies really came into its own during the summer. The pub would be thronging with party goers, drinking in the bar, before moving on to the Magnum Club, to party the night away. The Magum is no longer there. It was an old fashioned gay bar, with blackened windows and a peep hole, to confirm ones identity at the door; the oldest gay club in the country apparently! There were always people in and out of our flat, one never had a moments peace. It did become tiresome towards the end, but I can only look back with enthusiasm; these were carefree days, spent with like minded friends. The summer of 1995, was a fantastic time. It was hot, boiling hot, we were sunbathing on the flat roof, just outside the top of the bar. Colourfully dressed in the campest swimwear of the time, in full view of passing traffic and those double decker buses; people waving, gesturing, wolf whistling and yes making derogatory comments; we took it all on the chin. I was burnt to a crisp, one Saturday afternoon, red as a lobster. In the evening we were due to go clubbing; squeezing into my white Jean Paul Gautier Jeans, that I still have to this very day; a necessary chore, in order to look ones best for the night ahead. Needless to say, I have always tried to avoid the sun ever since, the pain of tight fitting jeans was a game changer.

Talk about jumping out of the frying pan, into the fire. Two years after I came out as gay, I moved into Pinkies, this notorious gay pub, in the worst part of town. I do have many regrets surrounding my circumstances living there, but I always cherish the evocations of a life long since passed. Pinkies was the ‘family home’ I needed, a place where I grew up, changed dramatically and most importantly met my husband Darrell. I can not forget the difficulties, lack of money, poor living conditions and undesirable people but if you asked me, would do it all over again? I would always say yes. These were times of great significance, change and upheaval, times when life long friendships were formed, and I was finally able to be, who I wanted to be!
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