Gay Lorry Drivers

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It must be so exciting being gay. You get to go to great clubs, wear meaningful clothes, and have full licence to generally bugger about. Girls tell you their secrets, go to the toilet in front of you, that kind of thing. I’ve always envied the freedom and clear unselfconsciousness of gay men. There are two threads running through GLD, one is when the drivers are away from home, shacked up in a lay-by and have had enough of their porno mags – they venture into one another’s cabs to release their sexual frustrations.

But call them gay, and they’d beat you to a pulp. Same as being in prison I suppose.

The other strand is about a straight man feeling unfulfilled and feeling that perhaps the Gay lifestyle is for him.

I got bored hanging around with the hunger strikers,
I got tired of all those leather motor bikers,
And so I looked to God and asked for some salvation.
I said “I know you’re busy, but I’d like some information”.
“Is there a society or a club around here, to light my fire and make me feel alive?”
“A sect or perhaps a cult on a recruitment drive, where I can wash this oily grim from my skin?”

God replied, “Have you met the Gay Lorry Drivers?”
They vent their sexual frustration in the motorway service stations,
Enjoy the spoils of an all day breakfast with an apprentice boy from Belfast.

I was saved from a life of petty crime by a close friend of mine,
I failed the entrance examination to work in a nuclear power station,
So I scoured he local press for some information,
There must be a place for me in this great nation.
Have I at last found my place in life,
To rest in peace amongst devotees?

To the untrained eye they’re upstanding moral guys,
But all those miles from the matrimonial bed,
They are so easily led,
These Gay Lorry drivers.