Perhaps we secretly miss the homophobia of days gone by, and thus are more than happy to perpetuate it among ourselves, or maybe it's all those years of being ostracised which make the gay man strive to fit in.

October 12 in the UK is National Coming Out Day, the day when the collective force of a zillion closet doors being thrust open is enough to knock you off your feet. If someone stares intently at you and clears their throat, there's a good chance they're about to tell you they're gay - or they have a peanut stuck in their throat and are unable to speak, silently willing you to decode their desperate stare. Before you put on your best understanding face, check their airways just in case.

There is no ego boost greater than being contacted by someone very good-looking. I know that beauty is both only skin deep and in the eye of the beholder, and you can call me a shallow old sucker, but you can't beat a winning smile and a pair of bright, sparkling eyes.

What we conveniently forget as we attempt to drag celebrities from the closet is that just like mere mortals, they too may be struggling with their sexuality. Having an expanse of wealth and discreet rent boys at your disposal doesn't mean that you're any more ready to admit to yourself that you're gay.

I don't know whether it is because autumn is the first brush with a chill in the air for months, but it feels like autumn is for couples. It's for kicking up golden leaves while walking in the park arm-in-arm and adjusting each other's woolly hats.

Wear your poppy with pride, yes - and I shall once more this year - but don't feel that little red paper flower gives you special dispensation to shame those who don't. That is not the brand of freedom our soldiers fought for.