Embittered and jaded hack, lethargic novelist and general curmudgeon. My so called work has appeared for many years in City Life magazine in Manchester. After eight years I finally managed to run that publication into the ground. On other occasions I have been known to celebrate the merits of corned beef for The Guardian, been sacked by Attitude magazine after libelling Barbara Windsor and once appeared on the front cover of The Pink Paper, hailed (quite ridiculously) as the fresh new voice of gay Manchester. With the best years of my career behind me, I can usually be found sinking pints in Taurus, probably near the disabled loo. If you should come across me, please don’t ask me about my intricate spinal surgery; you’ll be stuck there for hours.
 
Otherwise known as the long-suffering Iain. A marvel of human tolerance, Husband has put up with me for a record breaking amount of time. Having met in slightly strange circumstances involving a benefits fraudster, the two of us were ‘married’ in a puddle in a tent in 2004. When not tending to my unreasonable demands, Husband can be found in a royal blue shirt selling electrical components to the ungrateful denizens of Salford.
 
Had the misfortune to stumble across me during a shift behind the bar at the Palace Theatre in Manchester. The two of us were, for a short time, flat mates in Salford until Eliott dragged himself out of that slough of despond. Now a high-flying graphic designer, Eliott recently masterminded a campaign for a sexual health hotline. He can usually be found reluctantly in the gay bars of Manchester accompanying me into drunken oblivion. By the way, he’s single.
 
Talking of misfortunes, Rachel has had the dubious honour of knowing me since the distant days of primary school. By a nasty turn of fate, we ended up at the same university and, out of a misplaced sense of obligation, Rachel lived for several years with me in a hideously cold flat just behind Tesco’s in Northenden. Unlike myself, Rachel has managed to hold down a successful career doing worthy things for the betterment of society. Mind you, she’s as strong as an ox and could drink you under the table.
 

Belligerent cat who loved shitting all over anything that I have ever done. Then he came squeaking round my face of a morning demanding attention like a feline puff. I tended to hiss at him and hoped he went away like everything in life. Just leave me alone. Strangely, he loved me more than Husband but somehow Husband loved him unconditionally. Beamish couldn't stick him.

R.I.P 1991 - 2006

 
Urban sophisticate and idiosyncratic glamour-puss, I first met Lynne at university where she spent much of her time in stripy tights. After the experience of living with me, she spent many years travelling the world until a near death experience on an Indonesian island forced her to return. You may have seen her testing bath products on ‘Watchdog’ or read her subtitles to ‘One Man and His Dog’. She now lives the high life in London but occasionally visits Manchester. Not to see me, you understand, just to sniff out bargains in Primark.
 
Was bridesmaid at mine and Husband’s so-called wedding. She too had to endure me through her days at university and, like Lynne, fled the country shortly afterwards for a number of years. A buxom blonde who kept her hand on her ha’penny for as long as she could manage, Sarah spends far too much of her time tolerating unbridled wittering from drunken Mancunians who think it’s fine to bother people on the phone at 3am.
 
Otherwise known as the karaoke queen of Salford, Emma initiated the ‘Sex and Self-Pity’ column at City Life. Emma and I  both went for the same job on the magazine, unfortunately I turned up drunk for the interview and clearly the better candidate prevailed. When not singing Elkie Brooks until dawn, Emma is destined to be a successful novelist. As you can imagine, for my own part, I'm quite jealous.
 
 

Having met Etienne on the cusp of his own homosexuality whilst he was also working at the theatre, I despaired as he smashed bottles of tonic against the wall irreverently, whilst wearing inappropriate footwear – which has been a characteristic of his presence since. Having had the most absurdly traumatic family history, he has made matters worse with a catalogue of the worst relationships in the history of bad relationships. Having been ensconced on a dizzying amount of undergraduate courses, he finally managed a BA in ‘The History of Shopping’ and an MA in Fashion Journalism. He spends too much time contemplating potential Damehoods, white shoes and embarking on ‘situations’ with bisexuals. Crippled or otherwise.

RIP 14/09/1975 - 05/07/2007

He will be sorely missed.

 
Renowned for his hairiness and ability to sweat, Andrew was a former colleague of mine during my short stint writing about the Billingham Folk Festival for Metro newspaper. After frittering away his life in the pub with me, Andrew went down to London to work as Inside Soap’s Beverley Callard correspondent. He now occasionally commissions me to write embarrassing features for Attitude magazine. One of Andrew’s finest moments was spent impersonating a peacock on North-West Tonight.