Occasionally I just go off drinking. The concept of sobriety in ‘gay culture’ is something that, in the UK at least, seems to be more of a cult than a full-on phenomenon. Indeed, as a country of established binge drinkers, it appears that we are trailing behind our mainland European cousins when it comes to ‘responsible drinking’.

One only has to see the look on the Spanish barman’s face, as a gaggle of Brit-Queens stumbles into the bar to order ‘Ten large margherita’s daahhhlin.’ The general rule is that, if it’s before 9pm, they must be British. More often than not, the assumption is correct and highlighted when, at midnight, said gaggle will drift off, convinced that the bar is dead, only to miss the post-midnight rush of jaded Latino boys, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 1am, partying like its 1980-something until dawn, while the Brits crawl back to whatever apartment they emerged from, pissed as farts with kebab encrusted D&G jeans.

Of course, we are improving. Any trip to London will prove that Soho is officially dead. If you didn’t get the memo, I’ll update you: it’s now quite alright to venture down to the capital, and not - not- get so off your face in the basement of Barcode that you wake up next to a steroid-chugging air-steward with Judy Finnigan’s haircut. We are now accepted in most quarters of the Big Smoke (just don’t start licking the face off your man in Brixton at 2am and you should survive easily enough).

In Leeds, however, we are lagging slightly. Sobriety equals exile in most cases. Gay culture not only embraces irresponsible drinking, but somewhat encourages it. Young gay men and women coming out onto the scene are given a choice: be out and proud, go out and meet sexually likeminded individuals (read: go out and get off your nut) or, alternatively, stay in.

The emergence of the internet is, in fairness, beginning to quash these stereotypes. As young gays become more sexually, politically and globally aware, a general understanding is beginning to emerge that you can be pro-active and connected and not feel obliged to lock yourself into a gay bar because ‘that’s where we belong…innit’.

It may be a while before Leeds progresses to the stage where we have something that resembles a ‘gay café’, or at least a ‘gay something-that-isn’t-connected-to-booze-or-porn’ but, in the meantime, spare a thought for the young-uns; and, seeing as anybody reading this is likely to be reading it in a bar, allow me to make a suggestion. That wide-eyed 18 year-old stud who you’ve been eyeing up for the last half hour needs rescuing. Don’t insult his intelligence by offering to buy him a pint -, buy the guy an orange juice and accept the new millennium. Cheers!

Karl Arbuthnot