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Isn’t it always the way that as soon as we’re told we shouldn’t do something, we want to do it all the more? How inevitable of us. How pathetic, and predictable. But we are who we are. As we watch the beginnings of a Covid-19 pandemic play out – like the first five minutes in a disaster movie, pretty sure Cillian Murphy will be wandering the streets in a surgical gown soon enough – we have been told, among other things, that we shouldn’t be touching our own faces. When...

I have been going to the gym on and off – more on, I have to say – for the last 15 years or so. I remember summer 2004, at the age of 28, contracting chicken pox for the very first time and lying in a bath of bicarbonate of soda, peering down at the small, but insistent dome of my belly, thinking, “here we go, then, the middle aged spread I have heard so much about”. Incredible, really, how ready you are to consign yourself to the knackers’ yard...

When it never goes further than one night, are you doing something wrong? Something you said? Regrettable hookups, straight mate experimentation, and the frenemy that is dating in the digital age…   Ben writes: I’m 23, a classic young gay millennial – working in the arts, attempting to make the jump to vegan, I learned who Cher was through RuPaul and Mamma Mia 2 (sorry!) – and I’m in a predicament. I’ve never slept with a guy more than once.  The notches on my bedpost from the last six years...