Sunday, 20 January 2013
It's our Tom with Olympic boxer Anthony Ogogo.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Ho ho ho.
I thought it was funny, but it's also rather sad.
And it's ultimately meaningless.
If you looked hard enough you could probably find photos of Fred Phelps that look like he's checking out some hot dude's bulge.
I know I've made jokes about Tom too many times myself, though like most people, I know nothing for sure, except he's clearly screaming.
I wonder if he even knows himself?
I do worry about Tom, now he's become a Saturday teatime TV superstar and is regularly exposing himself - meaning just by being himself - he'll just be the subject of ever more scrutiny and speculation - check Twitter for endless comments just on how he walks and talks.
Such is the power of social media this chatter will inevitably transfer into the papers.
This is the modern world; a virtual world where being in the closet is now virtually impossible.
And PR feeds and pap shots to the press about his possible "girlfriends" will ultimately only make it worse.
It's already seeping in, slow as sludge for now - nudge-nudge wink-wink ho ho ho etc.
It's usually quite benign good ribbing, who do you think writes celeb mags and tabloid gossip pages?
It's queens and their courts who think that being gay is almost boringly normal - and that now it's being in the closet that's a little queer.
While meanwhile the poor boy could be dying inside, silently screaming.
What a world.