There is no one else on the planet that I would have trusted with that moment. For me, it was her finest hour and I will never forget it.
The interview ended, Eamon and Ruth came over for a hug and we went to a break. I walked across the studio floor and the This Morning team clapped as I walked past. I loved them so much for that. Downstairs and into my newspaper interview, and then it was done. That interview, which I was very happy with, said two things that were either misunderstood or I wasn’t clear about. One of them I have already corrected at the start of this chapter. I absolutely did not know I was gay when I got married, or indeed, for many, many years after that wonderful day in Ackergill Tower. I also appeared to say that in coming out, there was ‘no confusion’. I may not have been clear. But for me, there was nothing but confusion. Crippling, damaging confusion that still occasionally sits at the head of the table in my head. If you are gay and have no idea what to do, there will be mountains of confusion. It’s okay, it gets better. Please talk to someone.
I finished the interview and walked back into the corridor, and there was Tony, with tears in his eyes.
‘I’ll always be proud to drive you,’ he said.
If you call a This Morning phone-in and you need extra help, we might say, ‘Stay on the phone.’ The chances are you will talk to our counsellor, Penny Jordan, who is literally an angel in human form. My dressing room is next to Penny’s office. One morning a few weeks before ‘The Event’, she was lying in wait. As I left my dressing room, she gently held both of my shoulders and looked me in the eye.
‘I see you pass my office countless times every day. Every time your head is down as you walk. I want you to tell me what is wrong.’
‘There’s nothing wrong,’ I said.
‘You are a lying bastard,’ said Penny.
Her office was next on my travels. She was in bits. We had a big hug, and after that and until lockdown and the building becoming practically empty, I visited her office a lot.
Back in the days that This Morning came from the Southbank, along with the charity CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably), we launched Project 84, one of our proudest charity involvements. It was an art installation that placed eighty-four life-sized statues of men on the This Morning building and the ITV Tower. Every statue represented a man who had taken his own life in a week in the UK. Some of the statues were dressed by families in the clothes of the loved one they had lost. It was a heartbreaking representation of the pain felt by so many, and by the ones left behind. It led to the appointment by then PM Theresa May of the first UK Minister for Suicide Prevention.
Back downstairs in the quiet of the dressing room, and surrounded by my treasured friends and colleagues, I felt that maybe I might have helped advance the LGBTQ+ cause just a little further forward. It absolutely wasn’t a flag I ever expected to wave, but I am proud to have picked it up. My friends got in touch in their hundreds, and people who I didn’t expect to hear from, people who stunned me with their love and support and words of kindness. From all across the business and all across the world, I felt a very tight hug.
On social media, there were so many words of encouragement, I was a ‘legend’ and an ‘icon’. I felt like neither, but I know that I have helped a lot of other people to take that step and I’m incredibly proud of that.
At the end of that extraordinary day, I was desperate to get home to hug my family, the three people who now had to pick their own way through the debris that I had caused.
It was done. I had opened up Pandora’s box. Now I would find out what was inside.
The mainstream press was incredibly supportive. I was pleased across the board with the way they had handled my story, and I’m immensely grateful to them for that. Sauron’s eye was again firmly fixed on me, but this time I felt genuine kindness and support. It obviously also focused on Steph, but that was understandable, and we all hunkered down together. This was not the attention that I ever wanted to be fixed on her. I felt such overwhelming love for her. She was still by my side, still my girl.
I had agonized over this decision for a long time. It was vital for me and my family that I was as dignified as I possibly could be, for their sake. Over many, many sleepless nights, I had approached the chaotic loops from every point of view, weighed up every angle and consequence. I knew what to expect and I knew we’d get through it. I also knew that amid the kindness there would also be cruelty. I’d always had a relatively easy ride on social media, but it can occasionally turn against you and the relentless negativity of the professionally outraged can sap your ability to see the good in people.
Twitter, in particular, is a strange beast. I was one of the first telly folk to join, after Stephen Fry and Jonathan Ross. Back then, it was a small and very funny club. You could post an observation or something you found amusing, and the Twitter folk would happily jump in and continue the joke. And then the miserable, perpetually angry keyboard warriors found it. Those who were on the constant look-out to find something that would offend them. I’ve so often had my finger over the delete button, but then just decided not to look at it for a while. I just stick it in a far-off folder on a distant page on my phone and let it fester for a bit. Years earlier, one set of Tweets had me in that ‘hovering delete’ mode, until I saw how ludicrous it was.
Me: Oh, great, the Brit Awards are on.
Twitter: They’re shit, the music this year has been shit.
Me: Great! Love that Mumford and Sons have won best album.
Twitter: They’re a shit band with shit music.
Me (the next day): What a beautiful day.
Twitter: The weather is shit here, stop rubbing it in, just shut up.
Me: I think I’ll go for a walk.
Twitter: You’re lucky you’ve got legs.
It had become like the comments section of an online paper. You could post a picture of a basket of kittens and someone would find a way to be offended. I’ve often said that the comment sections of some online papers is like staring directly up the devil’s arse.
The comments section on Instagram is, sadly, going the same way. For the moment, the good folk on Snapchat are still mostly funny.
I expected a wave of hatred. It didn’t come, and on the whole people were very kind and supportive. Some attacked on behalf of Steph. I understood that and, although it really stung, I was glad for her that people were so kind. A few accused me of ‘lying to her for twenty-seven years’. That is absolutely not the case. When I eventually knew, so did she. It was, however, lovely, on the whole, to see a kinder, more inclusive side to the online comments.
What I didn’t expect was the Wild West cesspit of fake-news websites online. Unregulated and able to concoct any story they cared to invent. Family friends and valued work colleagues plus their friends and families were dragged into vile lies and wicked innuendo. It was the very last thing I expected to happen, and it stunned me. The saddest thing is how many people are happy to lap it up and repeat it back to me. Like sheep being led, bleating from one story to another, happy to believe anything. Apparently, there were super injunctions in place. Apparently, a national newspaper was bribing me to come out (which is illegal on so many levels). All total bollocks.
There is still, sadly, a seething pit of homophobia in our country and, just as I was happy to pick up the rainbow flag, I’m also happy to point a finger at the unregulated filth that pollutes our online news.
Make sure you get your news from reliable sources. Don’t be a sheep, obediently following where you are led and bleating your beliefs online. Give people the benefit of the doubt and above all else … be kind.
I felt like I was wearing new clothes and now I had to go out to see how people felt to see me wearing them. The first test after that Friday was Dancing on Ice on the Sunday. Our production meeting was loving and supportive. The faces of the people I loved working with so much still smiled, they still cracked jokes. It was still them. I was still me.
Rehearsing in the studio
was odd, though. I said to Holly, ‘It doesn’t feel right.’ She said, ‘They probably don’t know how to react.’ Halfway through the rehearsal, mid-link, I stopped and said to everyone at the rink, ‘I know there is a massive elephant in the room, but if you want to give me a hug, I’d really appreciate it.’
The atmosphere in the room changed. It was as if everyone just needed permission to acknowledge what they knew. There was a collective sigh of relief. I got a lot of hugs that day. I wondered how the audience would react when I was introduced to them just before the show went live. The applause as I walked out with Holly was loud and sustained, and so needed. It was a very emotional show. But not as emotional as the one we would present a week later, when it was announced that our friend Caroline Flack had taken her life. Another lost soul who fell through the net.
15
I came out on 7 February and my phone went into meltdown. My friends were anxious to check in on me.
‘We need to check you’re okay.’
‘Come out to dinner.’
‘You’re amazing, and so brave.’
My family were astonishingly supportive, constantly texting to see if I was all right.
Suddenly, I was being asked for advice and guidance from people, young and old, who saw me as some kind of torch-bearer. They felt trapped; could I help them? How had I got the guts? How should they come out to their families? I’m very careful to explain that I’m not a professional therapist or qualified adviser, but I help where I can, and it’s been deeply heartening to hear back from people who took a brave step forward because of me and who found family and friends to be sensitive, loving and supportive. I had a message from a guy who was married with a child and realized he was gay. He had come out a few years ago but it had been very difficult. He said to me:
‘Up until this year I struggled with it and wanted to end my life as a result. You changed that and changed my mindset. Thanks to you, I have never been more proud, and I look at you and you continue to inspire me every day. Thank you for changing my life for the better, you rock.’
That meant the world to me. It’s moments like that I cling to if the clouds roll in.
I’m also very aware that understanding and sensitivity is not always the outcome in many families and that the struggle goes on. I have had some desperately sad conversations on social media and have had to come to the conclusion that the best help would be in the comforting arms of the Samaritans. If you are one of those people I spoke to, I hope you’re okay.
I have also had people stop me to confide in me. I’ve been told extraordinary secrets in confidence by people who felt that because I had been so honest, I could obviously be trusted. As I’ve said before, I’m the best secret-keeper!
My world was new and different. I stopped to buy a card in a card shop; it was the first time I’d ventured out to the shops. The lady behind the counter looked at me and asked if I was all right. I said yes, I thought I was. As I got to the door of the shop, a well-spoken and elegant elderly lady grabbed my arm.
‘It’s you!’ she said. I braced myself for a negative reaction.
‘You have no idea the good you have done, you have no idea the lives you have saved and I am so very proud of you.’ I felt the tears well up in my eyes as I thanked her for her kindness.
People were kind in the street, too, coming up to me and offering hugs, which I accepted. Complete strangers just walked up to me, looked me in the eye and asked if I was okay. They told me I was brave. Straight or gay, they told me how much I had helped move the country forward a step or two and then they put their arms around me and gave me a hug. One of the things I miss the most in lockdown and with social distancing are hugs. It has been made very clear to me just how much we humans need physical contact. A reassuring touch of the hand, a hug when you most need it. For many, it is what changes us from a lonely island into a loved village.
Two of our experienced female team members on Dancing on Ice called me into their office and told me that because of what I’d done, they had finally decided to declare their love to one another publicly and set a date for their wedding. A journalist who had been part of Sauron’s machinery texted me to say that she thought I’d advanced the cause by ten years.
Maybe things might be okay. There is a red-flag emoji on my phone and I have a code with my family and my closest friends. If I send the red flag, I’m in trouble. I’ve been close, but I haven’t yet had to fly it.
I was beginning to feel happy in the warmth of the people I was meeting. The kind words and unexpected hugs were beginning to make me feel better about myself.
Then along came 23 March 2020 and Covid-19 put the UK into lockdown.
No friends to meet, no dinners, no plans.
I came out and the world went in.
Holly and I were given key-worker status, so we could travel from work and home. In case Television Centre was closed at short notice, all of the Daytime presenters had mini studios installed in their homes so that we could work remotely. The wifi at home is too weak to broadcast, so the studio has been built in our flat in London. So far, it hasn’t been needed.
And so, it is today.
We are, miraculously, still on air with This Morning from TC3, sharing our limited facilities with Good Morning Britain and Lorraine. No guests are allowed into the studio and so everyone is ‘down the line’. I counted the staff in our studio at This Morning. It’s usually heaving. If you include me and Holly, today there were eight people. The team spirit is remarkable and we’re all holding each other together. We often look at each other as we wait to go on air with expressions of ‘what the hell has happened here?’
I think our viewers are finding some comfort in the ‘normality’ of us being there each morning. We just got our highest viewing figures for seventeen years. I know without a doubt that presenting the show each day during lockdown has been my saviour; it’s given a sense of normality in my head in a suddenly very different world.
So, what happens now for me? What am I supposed to do next? There’s no rule book here, no roadmap. Holly has continued to be my daily therapist each morning in the make-up room. It’s just the two of us getting ready these days, but although we both desperately miss our ‘glam squad’ friends, I’m loving the one-to-one time we get with each other. I’m lucky to have such a wise, kind and loving friend. I said to her today that she has a calming, spiritual aura around her that is so soothing. She said she wished she could really hug me rather than send virtual, socially distanced hugs from two metres away. I’d like that. I’m really ready for it.
I’m not fixed, though, not yet. I wouldn’t want you to go away thinking that I am.
In so many of the texts and messages I’ve been sent, people have said I can now ‘live my best life’. I wish it was as simple as that. For a very long time, I thought I was! I wish I had the vaguest notion of what ‘my best life’ actually could be. I will always be aware that each step I take, in any direction, will have consequences. I seem to be walking through a bizarre minefield. Wherever I step, I blow someone else up. My mental health is still a work in progress. I talk regularly to a professional team who tell me that everything will be okay. Sometimes I have my doubts. If I’m totally honest with you, as I’ve said before, it’s not in my nature to hurt people and so, with that in mind, I’m finding it hard to pick my way through the debris. Is there a way to reveal a secret like this to the world and not hurt your wife or your family? The answer is obviously not. But we are close and loving. We’ll get through. Am I struggling with it all? Very much. I’m wearing new clothes, but they don’t quite fit. Maybe I’ll grow into them.
I still have dark days full of confusion, days when wading through life would be easier if the water wasn’t at chest height. The overriding question has always been ‘How do I make this work?’ The dominant emotion is still guilt – I’ve found out I’m really good at guilt. I would go so far as to admit that I am now a guilt ninja. I should have realized that, though. When
I was about seven, my mum lovingly made me some fish-paste sarnies for me to take to school for lunch. I hated them and threw them in the bin. I still feel guilty about that even now. Yes, I’m good at guilt. I like to think that I’ve always been sensitive and empathic towards others, but maybe now I’ll be on higher alert for those who run up their own red flag. I know that I am profoundly changed as a man. I think I’ll properly find out how changed I am when my head isn’t so bloody exhausted from all the self-analysis and worry. How can you think about moving forward if the entire world is paused?
Life at home is as loving as it has always been. The girls are here in lockdown with us, as is Ruby’s boyfriend, Will, who, right from the lockdown announcement, chose to be here with us and is great company. It’s a tight family unit. We wish Molly’s boyfriend, who is also called Will, could be here, too. It’s a great feeling to know that both of my girls have their own wonderful support. It’s like a thriving office with so many people working from home, but there’s also lots of baking and lots of puzzles and, thankfully, lots of sunshine and laughter. The girls don’t talk about it very much. I guess they are at the start of their own long healing process.
I talk a lot with Steph, though. She continues to be the most incredibly understanding foundation to my head, spirit and soul. She’s very good at guiding me through the bleak moments when they wash over me. She is kinder to me and more understanding than I deserve. Am I a good support for her? Again, how does that work? What is my role? For the moment, our best currency is hugs. She knows how much I love her. I’m glad that ‘The Event’ has enabled her to talk this through with her friends, because for so long she didn’t have anyone to talk to, and I hated that. I want to make good on my promise to her dad, John. I will always make sure she is safe and secure and I will love her for ever. She is constantly loving and thoughtful. The other day she gave me a wrapped gift. I opened it and it was Charlie Mackesy’s The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and the Horse. She said it might help my head. When I read it, it made me cry. So much of it was what I felt, and it was immensely comforting. If you’re struggling with heavy thoughts, I highly recommend it. It was such a typically beautiful thing for her to do for me.
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