Aberystwyth in the late seventies. We met at Welsh classes. I’d got it into my head that since I’d come to Wales to study I ought to learn my granny’s mother tongue. I had little understanding of what I was taking on. Krista’s motive seemed more lofty; she was into Celtic languages. She was into Abba and disco too… a real dancing queen. In those days it wasn’t so easy to come out but by the middle of the first term Krista had sussed me. Walking down Penglais Hill one Saturday night after the disco in the union bar she asked me straight out. The alcohol had loosened both our tongues and by the time we reached the prom I was in floods of tears. Southport wasn’t exactly the best place for a gay boy to grow up and come to understand himself. I was still very confused and still very much a virgin. We sat in a shelter by the bandstand for ages, just talking.

There was a sense of covertness about the Aber Gay Soc. There was no phone number, just a PO box in the old union building. Krista helped me write the letter. I didn’t want it to sound too pathetic. It took more than a week for anyone to respond. I was invited to meet two of the members in the front bar of the Belle Vue… I could bring a friend if I wanted to. Krista held my hand.

I fell head over heels with Patrick and we had an intense couple of months. Krista consoled me when he went off with Jimmy. On the re-bound I found myself in bed with Hugh, one of the lecturers from organic chemistry, who must have been at least forty (though he kept himself in good shape). It was in the days after that frantic night of lusty tumble that I learned the meaning of the term chicken queen: Hugh liked them young and wasn’t looking for love and I was just another weekend treat from the meat counter. Then Owain screwed me over and screwed me up and I started to hate gay life in Aberystwyth and wonder if it would always be that way.

That summer after our first year Krista and I went inter-railing. Every other night we slept on a train to save money. We managed a month in Europe, nine countries, fifteen big cities and one decent meal a day on a hundred and twenty-five quid each, money we’d saved from our grants. On the nights we stayed in hostels and cheap hotels, we shared a room and shared a bed, and whether it was something about being in foreign lands, or something in the air, we slept together. Well, more than just slept, I mean.