By Jonathan Jones

Is it true that lesbians love nothing better than a spot of DIY, attacking walls with spirit levels to affix shelves while espying the latest flat-packed purchase with relish as they set to work with the requisite amount of spanners, drill bits, wrenches and screwdrivers as the lowly gay male can only look on shaking his head in utter disbelief and amazement?

Growing up, I did shirk these types of duties mainly because I was fascinated by how things worked rather than the actual fundamentals of piecing them together. Then I went through a period where I did want to actively get involved but would be held back by others who perhaps could do it better or they might have thought the fact I’d before then not shown an interest was due to the fact I didn’t want to do it.

This is a very gay statement but I have to be honest, a lot of the jobs were messy and I didn’t want them to mar the pristine clothing/hair arrangements I had going on at the time.

I’ve just been helping out a couple of family members with moving some furniture about and loved it. Am I however loving it because I feel guilty for the years I did nothing because I was finicky about my appearance, now I’ve not only lost any sense of fashion style I once had but also because if you shaved off all my hair it wouldn’t look too different to how it does currently?

Am I wishing to help out because I want to assert some kind of masculinity on the proceedings because I’m still fighting on some level the fact I’m gay and simply not interested in doing the rough-and-tumble stuff? Or am I genuinely interested and wishing to get involved?

I do know that screwdrivers hold a fascination for me but is that because a (clean) round-ended screwdriver with a large wodge of Vaseline on it was one of the first decent-sized things I attempted to stick up my arse as a teenager? Who knows.

All I do know is that when I do finally have enough money to get my own place, I’ll invest in some tools and see about putting stuff together and/or repairing what’s already there. That way if it’s not for me, I can always call in a big burly plumber who hopefully has his arse hanging out of his trousers and leans over quite a lot to get to what needs fixing. Plus, I’ll have the added extra of another talking point when I next hang out with dyke pals. It’s a win-win situation.