Married
On Saturday I got married. It was wonderful. The memories make me break into this enormous cheesy smile.
Now, eating canapés in a fancy suit is hardly a radical act, but for the first 31 years of my life it wasn't even possible. After a childhood under the long shadow of Section 28, just saying the words “my husband” feels surreal.
Photography by the excellent Lyndsey Goddard
So, on Saturday I got as far as “...take you” before my voice cracked and I cried my way through the rest of the vows. I wasn't expecting it. My husband and I - still feels weird, still feels brilliant - have been together for twelve years. We have a mortgage, for goodness’ sake. Surely this was a paperwork formality with a party attached?
I was utterly, utterly unprepared for just how much it was not. It was powerful and beautiful, and my little concrete heart was in pieces.
I never thought I would get to do this. I never thought I would meet someone I loved so much. I never thought I would get to be this happy. Perhaps I didn’t think I deserved to.
Male homosexuality was decriminalised in England in 1967. The ages of consent were equalised in 2001. Section 28 was enacted in 1988 and only repealed 2003. 2003! Civil partnerships came along in 2005, marriage equality in 2014. This isn't deep history, queer rights aren't a solved problem, and we need only look at the recent wave of anti-trans rhetoric to see them under attack.
My husband and I (I'm not going to stop saying it) said thank you to our guests, to the venue staff, to our excellent caterers, and to each other. But there's a huge outstanding thank you to all the people, the activists, protesters, and campaigners, the people who did and are still doing the hard work of years to advance gay liberation and queer rights so that we got to feel proud and defiant saying “I do”.
An enormous thank you to them for making this possible.
(Photography by the excellent Lyndsey Goddard)