Welcome to yet another HP-by God, we've made it to episode 3!

Firstly, we just need to clarify something. HP is not a fanzine which only prints articles etc about gay Dr Who issues, it is a vehicle for gay Dr Who fans (and friends) to voice their opinions about anything and everything. "HP, the voice of today's queer Who-vers!"

This episode is the "convention" episode, by virtue of the facts that it is being launched at TimeStorm and that your humble editors took the money and ran off to Manchester for a Bank Holiday weekend. The weekend in question was, of course, ManoptiCon 5. Apparently it was the last ManoptiCon, and so closes a brilliant chapter in the annals of Doctor Who fan history.

While we were over there, something quite amazing happened: eighteen years of Conservative (Tory) rule ended in the UK. Tellingly, ManoptiCon was marked with a light, celebratory spirit. Even Richard Franklin, who lost his chance to sit in the House of Commons, was delighted. Who cares what will happen to Doctor Who-we've a new boy in Number 10 (well, 11 actually, because he has a young family with him and apparently the whole Blair tribe can't fit in No. 10). Change will happen, my dears, and it seems on a moment too soon!

One of the things that's already happened is that there are now a number of openly gay members of the British parliament. There's talk about lifting the ban on gays and lesbians in the UK military, and various other reversals of Tory policy to do with gays and lesbians.

Also while we were away, history was made on network American TV. On 30^th April this year Ellen became the very first series (sitcom or drama) to have a lesbian as the main character.

As quite a few of you know, it's not the first gay character to appear in a series. Mad About You, Friends and Roseanne have all had dykes to appear as semi-regulars. And more series, including Star Trek, have had lesbianism as an issue, but there never has been a series to star one.

And as an added bonus, Ellen DeGeneres (who plays Ellen Morgan in the series) also chose to "come out", and in such style! Front cover of Time magazine. Wow.

Now, there's a certain number of other actors who could follow her lead... And when will there be a mainstream series with a gay guy as the lead? In the words of Mike Moore, formerly of Frontline, "Hmmm."

What else? Oh, yeah. kd lang has just released a new album called Drag and she'll be playing in Australia in Nov/Dec. Christmas comes early for your editors!

Despite the mourning of Doctor Who fans around the world on the passing of the series in 1989, and their desperation for the series to be recommenced in any form, the New Adventures were not embraced as wholeheartedly as some may have expected. Many fans took it upon themselves to boycott the written series, seeing it as sacrilege-a blasphemy against the memory of the "almighty" televised version. After all, Doctor Who depends on a person's imagination for part of it's impact, and once that imagination is sparked it leads viewers to creating their own storylines, filling in the gaps, and correcting continuity errors. The fans had spent two long years letting their imaginations run wild, and as a result they feel a kind of ownership of the series. The BBC has dumped it, but no they wouldn't abandon it, and for their loyalty the fans think they are owed something. This is bound to cause controversy when a fan, who happens to be a writer, succeeds in publishing their ideas, immediately dispelling all the fairytales other devoted fans have painstakingly developed since they were left high and dry in 1989. Something that each of these complaining fans has failed to realise is that the NAs are actually a blessing in disguise. Instead of bitching about how one writer or another is too self-indulgent and takes in-jokes too far, we should all realise that this is a much better situation than what we could be in. One, there could be no Doctor Who at all, and two, the NA writers could know nothing about Doctor Who's history at all. Having actual fans of the show to guide the course of the series using the knowledge that only a true fan possesses, at least provides us with some hope. I'm not saying that all the writers are not self-indulgent and subject to outrageous "in-joking", because anyone who notices the prevalence of "Groenewegens" throughout the NA cosmos, knows that is not the case. I'm just saying, maybe it's not a bad thing. I mean, these writers pour oodles of hard work into providing new Who for an never-tiring fan audience, which puts a strain on them mentally, physically and socially, so why shouldn't they be able to draw from their own lives for inspiration? Isn't that what writers are supposed to do? I think jealousy has a lot to do with the way some fans overreact. Now you're thinking, "Oh, she has obviously been written in to a New Adventure, so now she has the hide to say the rest of us are jealous!" Ok, I admit I've been in one NA, but the result has caused me just as much frustration as not being in one. I really understand the whole "envy" thing, but I know that if it was me writing the book, you wouldn't be able to see the plot through the endless jungle of in-jokes and references to the people in my life. And why should that matter? Most of the people who will read the book won't "get" the references, and they won't be any worse off for it.

Then there are the continuity tie-ups. To look back over the long history of Doctor Who, recognise inconsistencies, and then work explanations into a new adventure, takes a lot of thought and research (and no life!). And what does a writer get in return? Often all they get is exposure to the wrath of fans objecting to them playing God. Hello?? They are Gods. The entire book is coming from their mind, and as long as they don't do anything drastic like kill the Doctor (permanently), they can do what they want. Get over it... if you think your discontinuity corrections are so f**king fabulous, you go out and write a book. Besides, Doctor Who isn't real, it's one long fairytale, and if you find yourself on rec.arts.drwho every night flaming an author for whatever pathetic reason-ring the little men with white coats to take you away. This world has enough negativity floating around in it already!

Homosexuality is not an easily definable thing, it is a condition of the mind or a desire that the brain substitutes for a lack of sexual understanding. I heard a shrink say this to me when I was talking to him about the problem of sexuality, or, rather, my own sexuality. I had followed my parents' advice and gotten professional help, or, at least, advice on how to best deal with my apparent state of confusion. Coming out to my parents had not been the nightmare I had expected, or was told, in part by what I had read in the gay press, would be something through which I had to go. They took on the information well, although I don't think they believed I was sure of myself. I was fortunate that no one in my family or group of friends had suspected that I was gay. When I finally came out to my parents my mother thought I needed to experience more of life before committing myself to a lifestyle of uncertainty and social rejection. But both my parents would respect me whatever my decision, so that meant a lot.

When I went to see this middle-aged Jewish psychiatrist about the problems and issues in my life that would account for my sexuality I knew that only I could solve the problems on my own. He was a typical middle-aged married guy with 2.5 children, a big house in an Eastern suburb and knew where he stood in life. His political views were conservative, and being a left-wing student union demonstrator didn't help our conversations. So, what is it that attracts you to other guys, he asked during our second session. I told him that I had dated girls when I was in school and had three major close friendships or relationships with them. But I was always thinking about other people when I was with them. I found their company easy to get along with, but I liked being with my school mates more. Sometimes I did feel threatened when I was in close female company, like I had a duty to be macho (or act in a way that was expected of me). But I was not comfortable in this schoolboy role and wanted out. I did have crushes on other guys when I was in school, but I had to be careful not to reveal this desire because it was a very homophobic environment. There was one guy who I remember who always got called 'faggot' and a 'pansy' because he walked in a feminine manner, didn't do sports and talked with a lisp. He did project a certain sexuality and was bullied mercilessly because of it. The jocks who did the bullying were on the football team and were highly respected by the school community. One of the jocks as short, well-built with dark brown hair and a very tough attitude, but I thought he was extremely cute. It was probably in the gym locker rooms that I realised how attracted I was to the same sex. I was not, oddly, threatened by these guys and so I acted tough too, to hide this realisation. I know this is sounding like a gay cliché because I have been reading other gay guy's memoirs and autobiographies, and mine does not seem to differ too much, except I like masculine guys more.

Self esteem, too, has a lot to do with one's sexuality. Or so the shrink told me, and I have to agree (in my case). I have always had a low self esteem, not quite suicidal, but very close. Sometimes, when I consider my situation, I realise that selfish feelings such asdepression to the edge of taking one's own life, is ridiculous, but when self worth becomes so low it is too easy to leave logic behind.

I have always been a Christian, going to the Anglican Church to pray and ask the Lord for forgiveness. But what am I asking to forgive? When I see a good looking guy on TV or at university and which I were going out with him, is that the crime against God that I want his forgiveness for? I no longer think of same-sex desire as a sin. I have no reason to think of homosexuality as a bigot would because I am educated and rational. People who are insecure in their own place in the world are the ones who are frightened, feel threatened, and are full of hatred. But we are human. As a gay man it should be okay for me to question whether or not this lifestyle that I have chosen is the right one. Sexuality is not about sex, but individualism. We have a right to choose, every one of us.

I am an angry young man living in the nineties and I am angry about stereotypes. The gay community wants to become more accepted and mainstream, and still it persists in catering only to the camp elements of it. Surely there is more to a gay man's life than facial cream and Calvin Klein briefs? The magazine Outrage has a very strange attitude to dykes, too, and diversity is not something the gay community shows any sign of promoting. Much of the problems are not the community's fault. The media is a destructive organisation that exploits difference in human society for financial gain and treats human rights as a trivial aside to be brought out when it feels is necessary. Doctor Who fandom, in particular fanzines such as 'Happiness Patrol' and the Presidents' Panel at WhoVention 3, have helped me to come to terms with myself and sexual orientation. I do value my privacy, and the topic discussed in this fanzine is very private, but there is a need for people going through the same confusing stages of life to share each others feelings so that a feeling of uniqueness is no longer felt. I think people who come out at Doctor Who conventions are very brave. Fandom is more accepting of other people's sexuality, ethnicity or disabilities than the outside world. The outside world must still be confronted, however, because you can't live in a science fictional universe forever, but fandom has done a lot to raise self esteem in the individual. For this, fandom's current figureheads, or BNFs if you like, are to be praised for being out and proud, not criticised. People who condemn this courage as 'arrogant' are simply afraid to confront their own insecurities. That is dangerous and a real concern. At this point in time, I am not suicidal. I am not one hundred percent comfortable with my sexuality, but I am working towards it. That is all that can be expected. I do like my life, and I want to live it as I see beneficial to myself and others around me. I am lucky that I have my parents' support, not anger, and I feel badly for those who don't. It does count for much, and has helped in bouncing ideas around about why the human psyche is what it is. Talk is good, it helps understand complex processes, and few are as complex as sexuality.

Ellen: ...I just want somebody that I can click with.

Therapist:And obviously you didn't click with Richard.

Ellen: [shakes head]

Therapist: Has there ever been anyone you felt you clicked with?

Ellen: [nervous nod]

Therapist: And what was his name?

Ellen: [after a pause] Susan.

And so it was that television history was made on 30 April 1997. That's how Ellen Morgan, main character from the ABC sitcom Ellen, finally realised that she's gay. The remainder of the episode, that won its slot easily in the US ratings, is classic. Very, very funny comedy, but with poignant parts. Parts that you know are coming from Ellen DeGeneres's heart.

For those of you who don't know (and, let's face it, that's not that unlikely. Ellen is so far removed from Doctor Who why the hell would you watch it?) Ellen DeGeneres is the stand-up comedian who plays Ellen Morgan. Ellen DeGeneres also came out in the lead up to the screening of the coming out episode-and she did it in style, the front page of Time magazine. Both outings ended years of speculation (and hoping), and has resulted in massive publicity and debate. While there are heaps who have supported both Ellens (Oprah Winfrey, who played the therapist, kd lang, Melissa Etheridge, Demi Moore, Dwight Yokam, etc, etc) there are plenty who have been abusing both. Unsurprisingly, the religious right have publicly attacked both ABC and DeGeneres (coming up with the incredibly witty and original name "Ellen the Degenerate"). Gerry Falwell wrote a public letter of condemnation, advertisers withdrew their advertising for the spot, and at least one ABC affiliate station refused to screen the episode as it was considered an affront to American decency.

And I, as an Australian, have to wonder at Channel 7's yanking of the show at the first hint that something momentous was about to happen. Are they running scared in a country that's one of the most homo-tolerant? Or was it just coincidence? Whatever, but I am waiting to see what time slot it will get in "liberal" Australia.

So, what the hell has this got to do with a fanzine for Doctor Who fans?

Quite simply it's raised a whole set of issues that fits the Happiness Patrol brief quite well.

For a start, Ellen DeGeneres's current girlfriend is Anne Heche, and Ellen's outing has coincided with Anne's. Anne's playing the romantic interest in a movie starring Harrison Ford and Hollywood is once again faced with the awful dilemma of employing someone who may fail to convince audiences about that romance because they fear that all the audience will be thinking about is Anne being a dyke.

Funnily enough, they weren't so concerned about the believability of Tom Hanks playing a gay man.

Seriously, though, it's an old issue. If you haven't already, hunt down a copy of Vito Russo's The Celluloid Closet for a fabulous account of the problem Hollywood has with gay stars who played romantic leads. Frankly I credit the audience with more intelligence. I think most movie-goers know that the characters in the movie are played by actors, and that acting involves convincing audiences that the character is real in its own right. A gay person playing a straight person shouldn't ruin that actor's career, just as winning an Academy Award® for playing a gay man hasn't adversely affected Tom Hanks's career.

Doctor Who doesn't have romantic leads (except for Doctor 8, of course) for the simple fact that there is no romance in the series. The closest thing it has are heroes, and I'm not necessarily talking about the Doctor himself.

Because of William Hartnell's age, Ian was designated Hero in the first stories. The Doctor was more of a cantankerous anti-hero, in order to accentuate the fact that he was an alien. But, this was the early sixties and a new series still needed a hero to get the boys and girls involved. You know, for the boys to identify with and play games in the school yard, and the girls just to swoon over. You could even think of the male companions throughout the entire sixties as clones of Ian-Ben, Steven, Jamie. All white, all clean-cut, all young.

It started to change with Pertwee being action-orientated, but even with the dashing (!?) Davison, "action-adventure gorgeous hunk" are not words that could ever describe the Doctor. His gift has been his brains.

Even in the Pertwee years when the Doctor (apparently) no longer needed a strong young male companion to be the surrogate hero, he still wasn't exactly the Hero. The real men were the men from UNIT. The UNIT chaps allowed the boys to play Doctor Who games in the playground, and probably got the girls watching, too. Although there was a relationship between the Doctor and Jo, it was Captain Yates who might have stolen her heart. And Sarah probably felt a twinge in her heart for the ex-UNIT man who kept getting involved in the wrong causes. Harry turned up purely because they didn't know how the fourth Doctor would turn out, and he was pushed pretty much as soon as they realised that Tom was young and fit.

Which is all very heterosexual, and nice, and pleasant. Especially if you're a TV executive trying to get decent ratings for a series that shouldn't be successful.

We'll ignore the JNT years for now.

As most of you know, there have been a few homosexuals and bisexuals who have played major roles in Doctor Who. I'm not going to name names for two simple reasons. The first is, I don't know for a fact who is and who isn't. All I know are rumours and stories. Secondly, while I strongly believe that being out is so much better than being closeted, I respect the rights of people to come out in their own time, and on their own terms-unless they're complete raving bigots who deserve to be outed so people know their hypocrisy.

John Levene told people at NovaCon 2 that a large proportion of the UNIT men (ie support cast) were gay. Good for a giggle, and it lent weight to the saying "Camp as a UNIT bivouac". But even with that knowledge, UNIT is still UNIT to me when I watch those stories. They are still the same old guys battling the same old monsters. I don't know anyone who watches those UNIT stories any differently for knowing who the actors preferred to bonk. Why? Because we all know they're actors.

Real life intercedes. Mel and I went to ManoptiCon 5 in May this year. It was a fascinating experience, and I loved every minute of it.

And I want to share two anecdotes with you that tie into what I've been raving about so far. The first happened last, at the final panel. All the remaining guests were being asked by host Gary Gillatt (editor of DWM) questions from the Dalek video tin. One of the questions was for them to tell the story of their first date. Harmless enough question, isn't it? Except if you're a closeted gay. Somehow, if you're clued in, you can tell who really is in the closet. They're the ones who are slightly awkward in giving their answers, and dredge up some silly story of their distant, often pre-teen past. It's the awkwardness that gives them away. And it would, wouldn't it. See, a Doctor Who convention is not the place to come out.

The second also involved various actors and the relationships they have with fans-especially the élite fans (no, nothing smutty, sorry). It shouldn't surprise you to know that a lot of these élite fans are gay. Yeah, it's not just Sydney. But it's not all of them, or even necessarily a majority. But there are a lot, and noticeably so. When you get to read Paul Cornell's Licence Denied (and do, it's fab) you'll notice just how queer Who fandom is in the UK! What amused me was that a certain group of actresses fawn all over these gay fans just like archetypal fag hags, which was all rather fun and leant to the theatrical atmosphere somewhat.

And now I've forgotten what I was going to say-but, then, I've raved on enough and it's time for someone else.

"Taken in trade, do you think?"

Professor Bernice Summerfield straightened, wiped her face with the back of a gloved hand.

"Not likely. Even at the end of the Minyan empire, after worship had ceased, it wouldn't have been traded or sold. Stolen, I'd guess. It was an image of the goddess."

Hot on this miserable rock, hot and dusty through the tedious hours of scraping and brushing, delicately flaking dried blue earth away from the fragility of history with a thin-bladed knife.

Her blond hair drawn back in a smooth braid, eyes nearly hidden by the brim of a large and rather silly sun hat, Romana hadn't even begun to sweat. This in spite of laying out and recording most of the dig. Benny wiped her face again, leaving another smear of dirt mixed with blue and yellow zinc oxide ointment, and with a long exhalation bent once more to the figurine still half-entombed in the earth, the swelling painted curves emerging in low relief from the rock-hard mud.

"It's an image of the Pythia," Romana said, and something in her voice made Benny look up sharply.

Last night's notes.

"Yes," she said, letting the trowel drop, taking a long drink of water from the thermally cooled canteen. "The Pythia."

That night, the only sound was the soft burring of the hydrostatic blower that kept the tent inflated and warm in the brutal cold of the desert night, mirror of the day's violent heat. They were in the portable tub; wasteful of water, even with the recycling unit, but three weeks in the heat and dirt wouldn't have been bearable without it.

The water was blood-heat for Benny. Idly, she watched Romana wring out her hair and wondered what it felt like to someone with nearly thirty degrees less of core temperature. They'd soaped each other's backs, scrubbed off the grit of the day, and now they sat, mostly in silence, in the dim tent in the half-warm water. Benny looked at her wrinkling fingers.

"If we had a little whisky, there'd be no reason not to sit until we grew gills," she said.

Romana's face was preoccupied. She'd leaned over the yielding edge of the silvery tub for Benny's notes.

"Invocations, hymns, prayers. They must have wondered for ages why their Mother deserted them." She wrinkled her nose as she read. "They wondered in rather poor blank verse, I must say."

"There's a little yellow idol to the north of Kathmandu," Benny said, her tone flip. "It's doggerel in the original, as well. I won't be held responsible for the Minyans' underdeveloped sense of meter."

"Calling on a goddess who's long since been murdered, who can never hear. How sad." Romana laid the papers aside, her arm, her shoulder a wet opalescent curve. In the dim light of the tent, her skin shone pale through the darker, wet-gold strands of her hair. "They modelled themselves after us. They worshiped us. How long do you suppose Gallifrey was a gynarchy?"

Benny bent forward, ducked her head, came up slicking back her hair. Her fingers felt rough against her skin. Likely a new blister or two as well.

"Can't say. Millennia, from the evidence, or what there is of it. There's never been much co-operation from your people in researching the old time, the time when the prophetess ruled."

"The curse," Romana said thoughtfully, and took Benny's shoulders. "With her dying breath she struck us barren. They'd rather forget all of it." She turned Benny to face the wall, her small, strong hands rubbing at the tightened muscles along the other woman's shoulders and neck. Against Benny's back, her skin felt cool and sleek, like a dolphin's or a seal's.

"Our Pythia was worshiped as a goddess here, in cities and in temples and in rich abundant fields; everyone worshiped her," she continued. "Afterwards, after her destruction, our gender differences became vestigial, for all practical purposes. Females are rare now on Gallifrey. There are fewer of us every year."

Benny sighed, settled back into the curve of Romana's arms, against the soft hills and valleys of the other woman's body. Beneath the warm water, her hands rested against the cool smoothness of Romana's thighs.

"That's no accident. Eve all over again; someone's got to take the blame. It's what you risk when you let other people do your breeding for you in a vat."

The little sounds of water lapping in the tub; the slow doubled flutter against her back, between her shoulder blades, beneath the soft skin made softer in the water. A strand of golden hair clung to Benny's cheek, bringing with it a faint, dizzying scent, unidentifiable; not spice, not fruit, not flowers.

There was the noise of blood in her ears, the muteddelicious rhythm of her own quickened heartbeat. Benny turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing the other woman's. Their lips touched.

Romana looked at her, her eyes distant and untroubled, the soft pink bow of her mouth pursed thoughtfully. Her face was as calm and absent as though she were waiting for a bus.

After a moment, Benny moved away.

"'Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.' That garden which the Minyans loved," Benny said, "is all just so much desert now. This water's nice, but I'm beginning to prune. Speaking of becoming dry, my sister, shall we?"

Who does the Doctor fight for?

That's easy. He fights for the outcasts. He fights for the margins, for the dispossessed, the lonely and the frightened. He fights for those who cannot fight for themselves. Some do not need the Doctor to fight for them-they are already strong, confident, know what they want from the world and just how they're going to get it. They know how to fight, how to control, use, hurt others.

Some of us don't. For us, the Doctor fights.

When I was at school, I was a nerd, a dweeb, a woos. Teacher's pet, frightened, bullied, part-time Christian, full-time homosexual. I didn't belong. Call me 'outcast' and be done with it-although I would never have dared to claim such a glamorous status for myself in those days.

There were others like myself. Shobogans, perhaps-we lived outside.

Certainly, we weren't popular, charismatic, we didn't shine with glorious contempt like so many of our contemporaries. We hid, when we could, and we were scared a lot of the time. I had my head shoved down a toilet by those who knew their own power, and didn't I cry that night.

But then there was the Doctor...

I found another, like myself-scared outsider-and he was Whomad as I was. More so. He knew every story by story code, a trick I never could master. We would spend time together, swapping gossip and comments about the series, hopes and stories and what might happen next. Brought together, held together by nothing more than a cheaply-produced British children's program. I won the Doctor Who Monthly short story competition (Under 14 section), and was presented with a fully made-up Severns Dalek. I knew that he liked the 'Dead Planet' Daleks best, so I had it made up for him. I gave it to him-a gesture of friendship and something more. Not sex, although I was certainly gay then, and in love with unattainable boys. It was a gesture of trust, of belonging.

We two, together, outside and brought together by the Doctor.

I am writing this for him.

His name was Stephen Beveridge, and I would like to mark it now, have it resound through our community. Stephen Beveridge is dead. He killed himself some six years later, when I went to University, began to study, Film and Television (an Honours degree in Doctor Who-it's true). I came back, and he was already buried. Gone but not forgotten.

The Doctor brought us together. Stephen he could not save. Me-I went on to bigger and better things. I'm the oppressor now, the lecturer who tells people what to do. Almost popular, just about charismatic, I've made it. When the Doctor comes to Australia, it'll probably be me that he's fighting against.

But not Stephen. The Doctor couldn't save him. I couldn't save him. But, for that short time, we were together. Outside. Held together by that pure love, of something daft, something trivial, but something so profound.

A cheaply produced children's program from the BBC.

The Doctor and his redheaded companion landed on the planet Fzschwizzy, and stepped outside. "Isn't it wonderful," the Doctor said. "So many different races in the universe. So many wonderful sights." He smiled at some green-skinned Fzschwizzians, who were waving all five arms, and smiling with both mouths.

His redheaded companion stared. "Aaaargghhh!" she screamed.

The Doctor frowned. "Really, Pauline. Do show our hosts some courtesy."

"It's not natural," she grated. "Not natural."

So the Fzschwizzians shot her.

Recently, a poster in rec.arts.drwho suggested that Pauline Hanson was really Tegan Jovanka-bitter after her travels with the Doctor, and losing her job to "an Asian lady". (His words, not mine). Apart from the superficial physical resemblance, I can see no similarities between Tegan and the Oxleymoron. Neither did quite a few other posters in rec.arts, who responded quite negatively.

But it would be interesting to send Pauline Hanson on a trip with the Doctor.

In his travels through the universe, the Doctor has seen many different cultures, people, and places. However alien these may be to Gallifreyan culture, I can't remember a single episode where he condemned anyone or anything for being "unnatural." He doesn't impose value judgements, or claim that his civilisation is superior, but respects the diversity of the universe. This attitude seems to be reflected by Doctor Who fans in general, and is directly opposed to Hansonism.

Sorry Pauline, but I disagree. I'm part Dutch, Czechoslovakian, Irish, German, Scottish, and British; and I've always been proud of that. I consider myself Australian-but that doesn't stop me enjoying all my cultural heritage. When I was little, we used to celebrate the Dutch festival of Sinter Klaas, as well as Christmas. (It meant I got two sets of presents!). I still enjoy going to the annual Holland Festival, and I regret that I didn't pay attention when my Dad tried to teach me Dutch. My father and grandmother always speak Dutch to each other, and I can only pick up bits here and there.

Does this make them weak, or anti-Australian? Of course not. My dad is a proud Australian citizen. He barracks for the Aussies in sport (even when they're playing against the Netherlands) and has told me on several occasions that his loyalties are to Australia, not Holland.

Interestingly enough, if Pauline Hanson had been in power in the fifties, my dad may not have got the chance to come to Australia. She thinks we should stop immigration of "unskilled migrants not fluent in the English language".

When my father arrived in Australia, aged 14 or 15, his English was poor. He was put into a 'special' class at school, where they did a lot of gardening and knitting. Several years later, dad was Dux of his year. He's now one of the world experts in his field.

Then there was the Sixty Minutes interview, where Pauline Hanson admitted to a dislike of homosexuality. On 1 March 1997, I stood on Oxford Street with several hundred thousand people, watching the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Parade. One of my favourite floats depicted Pauline Hanson, described by Tony Squires as "a Dalek on Mogadon" (Sydney Morning Herald). Her grating criticism of the Mardi Gras (and homosexuality in general) had been transformed into a kind of rap-"It's not natural... Not natural... not natural".

That night, I didn't have to worry about being a dyke, didn't care what my parents would think if they knew. It was great just to relax, and enjoy a night out with friends-most of whom happened to be Doctor Who fans, and gay.

After the parade, we were waiting at Town Hall station when some guy on a train called us "faggots". He waited until his train was moving, so there was no way we could do anything about him.

What do you think is "not natural"? A group of friends having a night out, or that idiot, abusing a group of total strangers?

Doctor Who presents a very diverse world, where things are rarely "natural" and "unnatural". It does this in a non-judgmental fashion, without resorting to stereotypes of Good and Evil. In "Galaxy Four" it sets up the usual stereotype-BEMs = Evil, Humanoids = Good, and then completely overturns it.

In "the Aztecs" the Doctor doesn't try and stop the custom of blood sacrifice. In "the Face of Evil" he doesn't criticise the Sevateem's culture. He even enters into their world when he undergoes the test of the Horda. And in "Damaged Goods" he doesn't criticise Chris Cwej for having a homosexual encounter with David.

There are always villains, but the Doctor tries to make them see sense. He offers to help fix up the mess they've made, and he inevitably tries to save their life when their plans go wrong. Just look at the telemovie where the Doctor attempts to save the Master's life, endangering his own.

One of my favourite moments from the show is in "Genesis of the Daleks" when the Doctor's trying to decide whether or not to destroy the Daleks. In the end, he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't have the right to destroy an entire species. No matter how evil the Daleks are, he's not going to deny their right to exist. Perhaps they're even capable of some good.

To me, that scene completely sums up the Doctor's character. He's willing to believe that anyone can be capable of goodness, and he's not quick to make judgements, or to apply his values to another culture. Perhaps this total acceptance is what makes the Doctor a role model for so many gay people. Perhaps it's something we should all take to heart, Ms Hanson included. 

Robert Zemeckis's film version of the late pulitzer-prize winning author and scientist Carl Sagan's novel, Contact, unfolds as a parallel exploration of the realms of physical and emotional space. Narratively the film recounts a series of events concerning humankind's exploration of the physical reaches of outer space, whilst thematically it explores the different ways in which people fill the empty spaces in their emotional lives. The result is a fascinating examination of humankind's twin faiths: science and religion. The contest between and yet intriguing common ground shared by science and religion are embodied in the lead character Elly Arroway, played by Jodie Foster, and her love interest played by rising Hollywood star Matthew McConnaughey (A Time To Kill).

Arroway is a radio astronomer, obsessed with finding intelligent alien life, an obsession which began as a child following her parents untimely deaths. Her work brands her as an eccentric in the modern scientific community, while her gender exacerbates her placement on the periphery of that community-Arroway is the only female scientist of any significance in the entire film. In fact apart from the role of White House advisor and spokesperson played by Angela Bassett, Arroway is the only significant female character of any description. The political and scientific worlds in Contact are still distinctly male dominated. As a result, throughout the film Arroway takes on the traditional underdog role, fighting against the establishment for funding, recognition, legitimacy, credit and ultimately a voice and a place in the history she has made possible with her discovery.

This struggle makes Arroway a typical Foster character. For several years Foster has consistently played marginalised women who have had to struggle against both the handicap of their sexuality and the confines of either the society or the childhood trauma that limit them. Foster dedicated her second Best Actress Oscar (for Silence of the Lambs in 1991) to-"all the women who came before me who never had the chances that I've had and the survivors, and the pioneers, and the outcasts: my blood, my tradition."

But Arroway is not FBI Trainee Agent Clarice Starling and differs from previous Foster characters in a significant way. Starling was traumatised by sound as a child and found strength and comfort within the system. Arroway exists on the edge of the system and struggles against its centre. And while Starling was a controlled and disciplined character who carefully chose every word, look and movement, Arroway is like a bull in a chinashop. Both characters share an inner strength and self-belief and a fierce dedication to their work and drive to succeed, but Arroway is a passionately unrestrained individual, a risk-taker not afraid to speak her mind. While Starling is a realist, Arroway is an idealist.

Arroway is the voice of writer Carl Sagan, and Foster captures his warm, infectious excitement about the infinite possibilities of the cosmos, and makes that not only the centre of her character, but the heart of the film. It is because of Foster's shining performance in the endearing character of Arroway that Contact is such a moving, inspirational and life-affirming film. The success of the film was firmly on her shoulders and she delivers admirably, taking a non-violent science-fiction film with a female lead over the US$100 million box-office barrier to make it one of the year's ten most successful films. She deserves to receive her fifth Oscar nomination for her work.

The other performances in the film are solid, but cannot compete with Foster who commands the cameras attention at all times. This is not, however, just due to Foster's acting. Director Robert Zemeckis, also uses visuals to develop the character of Elly Arroway and represent the films theme of space. Throughout the film Foster is placed in wide-angle or slow-panning shots that make the audience aware, not just of Foster, but the space around her. Over time an affinitive association is established in which spatial context is a central element of her character, and in which the audience is continually reminded of the relationship between people and space which is the theme of the movie. It is rare for American cinema, usually focussed on characterisation, to pay so much attention to setting. Zemeckis, who won an Oscar for Forrest Gump, proves himself to be an intelligent director able to create a film that operates on visual as well as narrative levels. He is far more deserving of the award for his work on this balanced and well-crafted film than on the episodic and emotionally manipulative Gump.

This is not, however, to say that Contact is not without flaws. The flashback sequences towards the beginning of the film exploring the relationship between the young Arroway and her widower father are too numerous and drawn-out. In addition, Alan Silvestris musical score is intrusive, distracting, over-done and clichéd.

Finally the several of the supporting characters, notably that played by James Woods, are simply underdeveloped, especially next to the depth allowed to Arroway.

These few criticisms aside, however, Contact, is a rewarding film. It resists the big-budget special effects geared around action and violence and avoids the simplistic good vs evil plotlines, that together have recently come to define American science fiction cinema.

Instead, Contact is a serious, intelligent exploration of important themes which are given the time to be absorbed and considered by the audience (which is allowed to answer the questions posed by the film for themselves-another relief considering how many mainstream American films dictate to their audience exactly what they are supposed to think and how they are meant to feel). It is a particularly well-acted and surprisingly well directed film with a depth of heart and soul rarely found in sci-fi these days. Hats off to Jodie Foster once again, and to the inspirational spirit of Carl Sagan. This film is a fitting tribute to him and his work, and will constitute a significant part of his legacy.

Carl, we are all OKAY TO GO!

I hate writing articles. It involves too much concentrated thought. It also involves trying to think of a way to get the damn things started. Perhaps this will suffice: We all have parts of ourselves that we hide away, that we show only to certain people. I know that after a particular episode of NYPD Blue, there are some things I now can't say to both of my parents, and that sucks. I could say more, but that'd make it too easy: part of the game, part of doing this article (or rambling confession) is seeing who works out who I am. To quote a movie I can't recall, "we play for the highest stakes"-my identity, the way I am perceived.

There is something deeply cathartic about unburdening one's soul to strangers via some third party means, such as this zine. It's safely anonymous because they have no way of violating the break in one's emotional armour that such a confession entails. There's one person out there who knows who I am, and there are probably more that will be able to guess. There'll also be people who'll find out that I'd rather didn't because, well, they'd be so damn irritating about once they did.

So, why am I doing this? I mean, it's not like I enjoy letting people in; over the years, that's become a very painful thing for me. Perhaps I don't entirely know, though there is the obvious sense of cartharsis. I have been told that the telling is a good thing for me; hopefully these sages were right. I still feel a great sense of trepidation in opening my self up like this, because the dark is where I feel most comfortable, and I'm not used declaring things about myself-it's more amusing to stay in the back ground, but I'm resolved to do this. I just hope it's not the equivalent of putting a gun to my head or eating my gazpacho soup hot.

Last episode, Alan McKee remarked that beats were specific to poofs. Well, in the real world he's probably right, but in the world I seem to spend more and more of my time these days, it's a lot different. There are the chatrooms, where any one can go and meet anyone else for their meaningless little fucks; no need for intimacy, just the act, just the fantasy. I however prefer my world, the world of the online game. It's a world where it's the chicks that have the beats. And the blokes pretending to be those chicks, of course. Of which there are a lot. Including me.

Why is this, you ask?

I'm not a particular fan of the tub of suet calling itself Clive James, but he hit the nail pretty square on when he described the standard fantasy of the typical unreconstructed (white het) male as being two women fucking their brains out. Given the way our culture has equated women with sex, it's not a hugely surprising fantasy. I've had it, and written really, really trashy slash about it. Involving elves. And toys of all sorts, and vegetables and cream and...

Well, yes. Enough of that. And no, I'm not putting that Lord of the Rings [We hope this is what you mean. Eds.] quote in either, even though I want to. Reactionary Hollywood bastards terrified of male bonding and the conjectures filling the void they've so two-facedly made...

Back to my point, and I do have one. The fact is that once we enter the Net, we are not who we are, not if we don't want to be. We can be whoever, whatever, we want. The Net is that place where we can be who we should have been instead of who we are. So, freed of the encumbrance of our mortal bodies, we replace them with ones of electrons and the written word with which we can do what we want without having to worry ourselves about the possible consequences, things like VDs or STDs or pregnancy or intimacy (though it's amazing at just how intimate you can and do get with total strangers). And what people want is sex. Probably because they don't get it back in the World. We've all heard of the chat rooms that people go to for sex-mostly because the media like that sort of story, especially if they can make the people involved look like sad dweebs even trainspotters laugh at.

Chatrooms, as I mentioned above, are really good examples of the cyber-beat. Two (or more) strangers meet, find a mutual fantasy and share it in a flurry of words, then depart. I detest chatrooms because they're insubstantial and crowded and ephemeral. Again, very like the beat, but I say that never having been on one in either World for the reasons I just stated. I prefer my sex with more meat. More detail.

I've mentioned that the Net is a world of the word, and I also mention that the brain is the most versatile sex toy around. Our brain creates fantasy images that excite us, and words allow us to communicate those images to others. And as with anything, effort is admired and rewarded, laziness flamed or even worse, ignored. Who'd you rather go with, a vague person with short black hair, dressed in t-shirt and jeans, or someone with eyes of jade green that glimmer like lambent pools, perfect oval features and quirky smile framed by soft copper hair cascading down to broad shoulders, black leather and sensuously soft purple velvet clothing an athletic body that presses against you with obvious erotic intent? In these games, you interact with other people through the persona you create and describe, and that's as close to one another as you have to get if you want. Like chatrooms, you can then spend hours having sex as much or as little meaning as you care to have, but do it often enough with people you 'know' and it often goes from just sex to unbelievable intimacy. I've met several people who indulge in fantasies they'd never do in the flesh: Bondage & Discipline, S&M, Butch/Femme, Domination and Submission, homosexuality, fetishism, transsexualism (that last one is a real biggy). In an attempt to bring various points together, I'll just grab the one left dangling from my mention of suet-boy. It's curiosity and lust that, initially, drives guys to start fucking as chicks, and obviously the results are good enough to continue with. It's one thing to watch a fantasy, another to be physically a part of it.

I play chicks on-line for a few reasons. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that a really big one is great sex; truthfully, most of the guys I've fucked online have been rather lame and unable to arouse me the way the chicks do, and doing it as a guy hardly seems to excite me at all, except with a few people I've become very close to. Doing it as a chick, however... I know the chances are that any particular virtual female I encounter will actually be a guy, but that doesn't bother me, in fact I find it somewhat exciting. See, I'm attracted to both sexes, women just happening to be my favourite of the two.

Another of them is a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, a feeling I've perhaps been born into the wrong time for my sex; sometimes it's even a feeling I've been born into a sex I alternately feel quite happy with or loathe. I usually ignore it, but at times it has inspired me to write bad poetry and even attempt to create a companion for the Doctor. It also in a way inspired this article. Personally, I share Kryten's amazement that whoever or whatever is responsible for us being here saddled men with the dead chicken look for their genitalia. I mean, not only can it be physically inconvenient at times, it's plain ugly. True, it's ugly in the manner of most things useful, but it is a great thing to have when it comes to waste disposal if nothing else.

Another reason is that, dramatically speaking, I find women a lot more interesting than men, at least at this stage of my life. I was writing stories all through my schooling, and they were pretty standard ones: dashing hero, female sidekick needing rescuing, romance, yadda yadda yadda. Of course, I was also one of the countless number of kids being picked on at the time in schools everywhere for being that little bit different, so I also vented a lot of my anger and frustration in those stories. And now, well frankly, I like being these characters I've created and keep on creating. They do things I dream of but can't or wouldn't dare. They do it with a style that I have difficulty seeing guys managing. And they have really nice clothes. I can go crazy coming up with clobber my chicks can wear. Perhaps that's one of the things I really like about the Doctor, apart from his asexuality, or his moral superiority-he could wear clothes that would get other blokes bashed senseless by drunken righties with no brains and even smaller dicks they desperately try to inflate with acts of violence.

I mentioned before that NetSex can be as brief and anonymous as that on the Beat. But thing is, you find yourself coming back for more from the same, because you like the way they do you, or let you do them. You find yourself telling people things you'd never dream of telling people you know, deeply personal and intimate things. Soon you're trading little bits of your identities. Sometimes these people can emotionally screw you over-just as people do in RL, but other times you find yourself at the stage of trading names and addresses and photos and presents and vows of love.

I met Steve, my boyfriend, this way. It's frustrating, but I know we'll probably never get closer than electrons in the RAM of some computer in America, interacting in real time and fulfilling fantasies that we could never hope to do in the flesh, which makes them in some ways even better than if we could; we certainly couldn't indulge in a lot of things without expensive and irritatingly permanent surgery. I know it's one of the most incredible feelings to have him in me as h... well, give us some privacy!

Perhaps by the time he's been able to afford to become Robyn, I'll be able to afford the airfare and make some of what we've typed really happen. I know I'm going to give Robyn her first labrys: he's promised my that small significance will be mine. I know I'd love to give her her first kiss.

We all have to have our fantasies. 

Speaking as a gay man trapped in a lesbian's body, naturally I'm confused about my feelings towards Ellen's coming out episode-"The Puppy Episode".

As a dyke, I feel amazing. Totally uplifted, full of hope and excitement... but why? I mean, this is just another obviously gay celebrity who has come out "officially" after endless poking and prodding by every gay publication/organisation on the planet. Why should it make a difference to us that now the whole world knows, whether they wanted to or not?

As a poof, these questions and suspicions were whirling around my mind all the time I was anxiously awaiting that precious video post pack from Canada. I'd been lurking about the Net picking up as much feedback from the US fans about the 30th April screening, without actually reading any major plot lines, and it all seemed a bit... how should I put it? I could imagine crowds of dykes all arm in arm, swaying, waving lighters, and singing "I am woman hear me roar...". It was a bit much. So I became pessimistic about the whole "event", convincing myself it would be crap and I didn't really want to see it.

As a dyke, I realised that I couldn't lie to myself, especially since the day after the video arrived in the post (to a friend) I went to Marrickville, to a Data Extract (Doctor Who) folding meeting to pick it up. And that takes commitment! Seeing the episode changes everything. Maybe it's because coming out is such a "sacred" thing for homosexuals-it's something we have that the heteros don't. Sure it's something we'd all prefer not to have, but what does it matter what we want anyway? We still have to go through it, and the fact that Ellen's coming out was performed on national TV makes me feel really good. It's as if the more celebrities there are of "our" sexuality, the more our sexuality is justified to the rest of the human race. Because, let's face it, deep down acceptance is important to everyone, and each star that comes out signifies that the gay message has been forced into the lives of a few more of the unsuspecting public.

The public outing could have been an absolute disaster if done in almost any other way, but "The Puppy Episode", and the two that followed, were so thorough they managed to expose the audience so many issues and therefore cut through almost every misconception there is about homosexuality... in a serious, yet humorous way. There were situations concerning the ignorance of teenage crushes, recruiting, GayDar, the awkward best friend, being "normal", being outed, parental acceptance, workplace discrimination, and radical feminism. Plus there was a sprinkling of celebrity guests-kd lang, Melissa Etheridge, Billy Bob Thornton & Dwight Yokam from Sling Blade (go and see that movie!), Demi Moore,...

Oops, got carried away... as a gay man, I'm sympathetic to the bitterness some men would be feeling. In fact one of the first things most gay men say to me when we discuss Ellen is something along the lines of, "It's just not fair, WE need someone to come out, when is a gay male celebrity going to come out". Hello, what about footballer Ian Roberts? Oh well, I suppose on a grand scale everything must become a competition between gays and lesbians. But what can you do? We're supposed to be the gay "community", but how is that possible exactly? Unlike heterosexuals, we don't have anything except discrimination in common. Dykes like women, poofs like men... there is no in between, we have different needs, different causes, different agendas, and we only share the same friends. And while that should be an important bond, strong enough to hold us together, it isn't. Because when it comes down to the politics of it all, which when dealing with something as sensitive as homosexuality it inevitably does, friends are inconsequential-it's just the issues, causes and rights etc that rise to the surface-the things gay men and lesbians don't have as much in common. It does sound harsh, but take lesbians, we end up fighting a double battle-that of being a woman, and of being a dyke-and historically it seems that the rights associated with being a woman are dealt with first, as it is the more common problem, and a lot less confronting for the people you're fighting against. So, you have a gay "community" with men fighting for whatever men fight for (I don't want to make up something and get it wrong), and lesbians fighting for women's rights and therefore fighting against the men. It's hopeless... but none of it really bothers me, since I'm not at all political... in fact I've just been abducted and don't remember writing any of this-I cannot be held accountable. Believe the Lie.