I was chauffeuring Mrs Woog around the mean streets of Sydney the other day when we found ourselves on Oxford St. Surrounded by Rainbow flags and Mardi Gras posters Mrs Woog casually asked me what I was doing for Mardi Gras. Well she almost dropped her wine cooler when I replied… “Not this year love.”

She was flabbergasted and understandably so. She knows my great passion for all things gay and I do love a good party. But I’m just not up for it this year for a whole host of reasons. We discussed them and I now fear she finds me ridiculous. Top of the list is that I’m just not feeling pretty and if there is one weekend you need to have your confidence about you its good ol’ Mardi Gras. Sydney boys can spend months preparing for this week – it can involve an intensive gym, waxing, tanning and stretching regime - even more so than the boys from Jersey Shore.

Yes, I am speaking in generalisations, for gods sake I am a publicist, of course I speak in clichés. But it is the biggest night of year, a massive celebration, it means a lot to a lot of people. It means a helluva lot to me but this year I just couldn't get myself up for it. Back in the day I’d have been planning which mini-skirt to wear with which army boots for months. Now I’m a man of a certain age with the distinct beginnings of a middle-aged spread so I think I’d best be comfy on the lounge with a bag of chips, my laptop and a good dvd rather than on a podium jiggling.

But oh how I will miss it when the big night comes around. I do need to clarify for visitors to Woogsworld … when the gayers talk of Mardi Gras they mean the party, unlike the straights who immediately think of the parade. It’s all about the party! It kick-starts after the parade, officially ends around 10am but unofficially ends when you finally have to go back to work. That could be days. Oh how I used to love the Recovery in the Beresford Lane. And I mean the dirty old Beresford, not the shiny new one. What seemed like 1000’s would come straight from the party and cram into that alleyway that ran up to the Flinders. I’ve gone all soft of heart just reminiscing about it.

Mrs Woog was intrigued. I continued to explain that there were quite a few things about Mardi Gras that, if not at the top of your game, can leave you unsettled. “See, look at that” and I directed her attention to a poster for Fomo – a particularly glamorous foam party. I look at that and all I can think about is the practicalities. If I’m at a party in nothing but my undies and shoes where the hell do I keep my wallet, phone, keys, ciggies, lighter and ventolin? I wouldn’t be caught dead at any party without easy access to these life-essentials. I fear it’s a young persons thing. And also for someone who feels good about being in a room of 1000’s of men proudly standing in their jocks. You wouldn’t see my freshly washed DKNY’s because of overhanging back-fat.
Now I am being a bit of a drama-queen here, just a little bit. Mardi Gras is an event that caters for every walk of life among the gay community. That’s what the whole festival is about – community. But the way I like to celebrate it, and have for the past 15 years, is being fabulous and camp and OTT with my shirt off is just a little out of my reach this year – mentally and physically.

So I will be toasting the gay-community in my own special way this Saturday night! In the privacy of my own home I will sing Gaga’s Born This Way at the top of my lungs and dance like no one is watching in front of the mirror. I’ll play in my dress-ups bag with all my previous costumes and make up dance routines using pom-poms. I’ll have a quiet double-vodka-lime-&-soda and toast my community and that fact that we are so goddamn FABULOUS!!!!

No one knows how to throw a party like the gays!