Monday, 6 August 2012


This weekend, while also drafting the next chapter of my thesis, the flatmate and I took one final outing in London to see the Olympics. I think it's fair to say Greco-Roman wrestling wasn't a sport either of us had been particular keen to see but, apart from the unfortunate lack of togas, we were far from disappointed. Men – buff men – in skin-tight, elasticated singlets thrashing around on a giant crash mat, mounting each other and grunting whenever possible. The air in the arena was at least 50% gay (easily confirmed by a quick check of Grindr – gents available for action at 10m, 11m, 12m, 13m...). The row of guys in front of us erupted in giggles when the hilarious commentator referred to the wrestlers taking the 'top' and 'bottom' roles for what we discovered was the par terre position. We drank beer, ate pie and mash. For once I felt like a real man...

Wearing t-shirt by Christopher Kane, shorts by John Rocha.


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