Me Lesbian Writer.

Apparently there’s such a dearth of lesbian writers under the age of thirty-five that the LGTB Green Goblet Prize for first novels is up for grabs. It’s just been on Woman’s Hour and I may not have remembered the details correctly but I do regularly listen to Woman’s Hour, which I believe shows some trans-gender credentials. Then again having a totally unfounded confidence in achieving the impossible is a male trait and may count against me. But I do like writing. So why no young lesbian writers when the ranks of gay guys coming out of the closet suggests its internal dimensions are that of a Tardis? Gok Wok for example, fashion guru turned cook turned slimmer of the year turned whatever his manager thinks he can turn to next is taking over the tele-visual world like an Islamic terrorist on a Fatwa. So where are all the lesbians? I mean other than on Woman’s Hour bleating about a prize they can’t give away because no one can get off their fat arse and write a book? Isn’t this, as in the days of your, a perfect opportunity for a noble knight to ride in on his white charger and save the damsels in distress? But ‘oh no yea trousered one, we do the woodwork now.’ Well let me tell you I was wearing them before you were knee high to a transvestite. It was those of my ilk you got the idea from in the first place, before you ungraciously cut us out of the loop. Well I can sew; I’ve made a cushion cover! True I can’t have babies but I’ve installed a central heating system, in fact three come to think of it. And I didn’t do them lying in a comfy bed! No sod it, sod RSI, I’m going for that prize, I can do it. I will go to the ball as an under thirty-five lesbian! If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from my wonderful lesbian and gay friends it’s that the sooner we grow out of old stereotypes the better.