As I write this, a colleague is playing something completely horrible of the gay musical theatre genre at a volume loud enough to kill a nervous guinea pig. Down the Star hall, another workmate is playing a special mix of Whitney and Mariah, and I really, really want to know: why do gay men have such crap tastes in music?

Here is my first sweeping statement of this column: gay men have their musical tastes in their arses. The whole “Girls, Grannies and Gays” mantra -“ otherwise known as the Rob Mills

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