Anyone who grows up in a crap town miles from the city will know the excitement of discovering, on a Saturday excursion into Bristol, that some pubs are gay pubs. Pubs for real gay people, to be gay in. We were agog. In the end, we dared Joe to run in, and run out again. Just to see what happened, like. I think we thought it would be something like running into a crowded chicken shed, and Joe would come flying out followed by a burst of feathers, glitter, and a gaggle of irate, clucking homosexual men. This didn't happen. Sadly.

To Gay Bar someone, pin them down and punch them repeatedly in the anus with a big swiging motion of your arm shouting "GAY BAR!"

I can neither confirm nor deny whether such behaviour is widespread in drinking establishments on the other side of the street.