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It is a truth universally acknowledged that a homosexual teenager will sublimate his sexual fantasies into an obsession with tableware.
I thought I looked like a young aristocrat going to a regatta, but, in truth, I probably looked to the outside world exactly like every other closeted gay sixteen-year-old out with his recently widowed childhood drama teacher at a light operetta in a Croydon garden.
Looking back, I realise that, of course, I jumped in fast – I had been taught to be the most polite boy in the whole wide world and if an adult asks you a question, you should respond to it quickly and positively. My whole life had been about trying to seem polite and nice, charming even, to make people like me (and the desserts on my trolley). I didn’t know you were supposed to leave them sat there while you pondered something insightful to say. What if during that pause they realised that I was gay?