Murder Mystery Weekend

It's a weekend in August and I'm at a loss as to what to do. I'm fed up with clubbing and chemicals. I want something different; something where I'm not banging my head to a rhythm that shakes the walls. Then someone told me about a themed weekend at The Fairhaven Hotel in Beeston (0115 922 7509). The theme was to be a Murder Mystery Weekend. Ah, I thought, lots of dotty old women running around in daft hats, long frocks and croquet mallets; I'll fit in like a diabetic at a Tate & Lyle refinery.
Imagine my surprise when I turned up, 5 fashionable minutes late, to find the hotel full of (fairly) young guys and girls fresh from Leicester's club scene. They'd already started the fun and frolics but it didn't take me long to catch up on the story line.
The weekend was supposedly one of the regular meetings of the Unexplained Phenomena Society (UPS), a group of like-minded individuals who were fascinated by UFO's, ghosts and things that go bump in the night. Conveniently (for the plot) the guest speaker that weekend was a police specialist seconded from Scotland Yard. We hadn't been there 20 minutes when the first victim fell through the door, covered in blood after having his throat cut. The policeman found several clues, along with personal profiles, which were pinned up for all to dissect. Much discussion ensued during which those of us that didn't know each other had ample opportunity to make new friends.
The exchanging of ideas was rudely interrupted when a bitch fight started between the current, pregnant, girlfriend of the victim and his ex-. The consensus was that the victim was at the centre of some sort of love triangle. Every permutation was explored, including some which can't be repeated, even in Hype. Then, just as we were venturing into the realms of the hard core pornographic, a second body was heard to fall down the stairs, covered in blood. The laundry bill for this weekend was going to be high.
Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said. We racked our brains to find a link between the first and second murder. We were really getting into this Agatha Christie thing and I was beginning to feel a Poirot moment coming on. I had this overwhelming urge to lock everyone on a long distance train and prove the guilt of each participant according to their star status.
This thought was interrupted by the dinner gong and we all trooped into the dining room where we were able to interrogate the members of UPS on a more informal basis. It was over desert that we found out about the drug habit of one member; discovered the foul temper of another; and the drinking problem of a third. Mixed in with this was a fair sprinkling of child abuse, blackmail and confidence trickery. But we were no nearer nailing the murderer. Several of us had an inkling that one particular nasty bitch deserved to be the perpetrator, but we didn't have much evidence.
That theory was effectively shot down when she was found shortly after with a knife in her back, much to the delight of the assembled throng. Her death even occasioned a round of applause! In all the best murder stories the detective always says 'When the most obvious has been discounted then it must be the least obvious', and so it was with the Fairhaven Hotel Murders. I shan't give away the ending for you, suffice to say that we should all have been a little suspicious of the faint waft of lavender water at the scenes of each of the crimes.

I have to shamefacedly confess that, having gone along thinking it was a stupid idea for plonkers with nothing else to do of a weekend, I really enjoyed myself and look forward to the next one which is on Saturday 31st October. This Murder Mystery Weekend was a great way to get to know new people and was a right laugh into the bargain.

© Paul Towers August 1998

Mr Gay UK 1998

The Grand Final of the Mr Gay UK contest at The Town & Country Club in Leeds was a star studded fest of beefcake and I, for one, had a fabulous time - despite a couple of faux pas worthy of Victor Meldrew. I was introduced to the gorgeous Ivan Massow, he of financial genius fame, who asked me if I had seen his `Don't Pay Rent, Boys' ad currently running in QX and the rest of the quality gay press. Well, I thought he was referring to the very popular middle section of QX and asked if his picture was in the ad or did he use a body double. Sorry Ivan. Ooops! No sooner had my blushes cooled than I put my foot in it with Scorpio from Gladiators, alias Nicki Diamond. I thought she was Cleo Rocos. At least I wasn't one of the queens in the cottage who frightened her straight manager half to death by discussing dick size while he was trying desperately to pee at the urinal. The poor guy now has an inferiority complex the size of Blackpool Tower, shame nothing else is! And who do we espy drifting amongst the celebs but Mr Gay UK himself, Terry George. We know it's Mr George because of the delicate odour of carbon tetrachloride that emanates from the lining of the Mr Gay UK 1998 jacket that he is wearing. Again!
The contest, excellently staged by Terry George and Channel Five, got off to a thumping start with a PA by Soriah who preceded the hosts for the night, Sonia and Graham Norton, both very popular with the crowd. Celebrity judges included Scorpio and Hunter from Gladiators (the crowd wanted him to strip off but he left them wanting); Christopher (I'll turn up for the opening of an envelope) Biggins looking as though he had rushed straight from a dress rehearsal for Aladdin; Michelle Collins fresh from success both in and out of Eastenders; Scott Neal, everybody's favourite Beautiful Thing and cute Bill copper; Debbie Curry, daughter of the Egg Queen and pop star hoaxer trying to expose payola in the nineties; the shy, beautiful and very rich Ivan Massow; and finally Richard Corley, that butch little chefette from Can't Cook Won't Cook, who turned up tastefully dressed as a black angel (no, I didn't understand either). Oh, and there was one sad bastard whose friends had clubbed together and paid £2,700 so that he could be a judge. Some friends!
The event got off to a roaring start when Graham Norton disappeared into the dressing rooms with a camera crew to help rub down (and up) the contestants (I bet that get's edited out) leaving Sonia to giggle her way through the introductions. 26 beautiful bods paraded and performed for the audience before being whittled down to 10. During the interval Sonia treated us all to a couple of numbers which the crowd lapped up. It could only have been topped if Michelle Collins had been persuaded to reprise her Wilsonette days. Then it was time for the last 10 to be paraded and asked, in time-honoured tradition, what their aspirations were and what they would do if they won. This was supposed to be the time for them to show their personalities. Fortunately the judges had been able to talk to them during the day as many of them were so nervous that they came across as planks.
While we waited for the judges to make up their minds on the three winners we were treated to another PA, this time from cute looking but only OK sounding, boyband Ultra. Finally it was time for the winner to be announced and Michelle Collins took great delight in announcing that 21 year old Ben Harris representing Central Station, London was the winner. When she and 1997 winner Sean McVeigh presented the winner's trophy to bricklayer (honest!) Ben he revealed that the televising of the contest was especially nerve racking for him as it will `out' him to his parents. They think he is at a body building contest. Friday will be an interesting viewing night in the Harris household! Ben, although now carrying a hod for a living - witness the incredible muscles - was previously a student of the German language so he can say yes in more than one tongue and is going to use his winnings to pay off his student loan - Aahhh. Congratulations go to the runners up Chris Geary from Wow in Cardiff (2nd) and Chris Niblett from Dot Cotton's in Cambridge (my personal fave).
Backstage assorted journo's were all of a flutter when a certain well-known drag queen appeared to turn up, complete with entourage, en-route to the Treat In The Street Party at Granada Television. The poor hack from the Yorkshire Post, when she was eventually convinced that the blonde celebrity was NOT Ms Savage, nearly burst into tears at the thought of her lost syndication fees! Some of the sleazy tabloid snappers there are probably still none the wiser.
After the mess that was Mr Gay UK `97 it was heartening to see such an improvement this year, especially the use of such gay-iconic comperes. If I were being cynical I would say that the improvement is solely because of Channel Five's involvement. But I'm not, so I shall assume that Terry George learnt by his mistakes last year and pulled the stops out to make sure it went well for `98. Special thanks have to go to Tracey Blecker of Channel 5 who managed to make sure that the booze backstage kept flowing, celebrity egos were plumped and the right people were allowed to gatecrash. Let's hope that Channel 5 are involved in next year's beefcake parade and we shall be able to rival Eurovision. Roll on 1999.
 

(c) Paul Towers 1998