Cynthia Nixon of Sex And The City has caused controversy by stating that for her, being gay was a choice. Cue gay commentators in the US accusing her of letting the side down and providing ammunition for religious bigots, who apparently we must appease by insisting that we are all ‘Born this way’.

For many being lesbian or gay is not a question of choice. But the whole concept of a gay identity has come about in response to homophobia. Adopting a narrow definition of who is gay and why we are gay is restrictive and damaging.

The famous Kinsey report presented sexuality as a spectrum, with most people towards the ’100% heterosexual’ end and a minority towards the ’100% homosexual’ end of the scale, with varying degrees of bisexuality in between. So it stands to reason that some can choose their preference, and that it can change over time. And that doesn’t take into account situational sexuality, for example in prisons.

So to criticise someone for ‘choosing’ to be gay just because there are fears the religious right might seize on it is counterproductive. The debate as to why people are gay is just an unfortunate diversion from the real issues LGBT people face.

Isn’t in time activists, especially in the US, instead of trying to justify the legitimacy of gay rights by insisting that we are all born this way just gave our critics the finger and move to the simple mantra that ‘some people are gay. Get over it!’, as Stonewall did in the UK.

Tying ourselves in knots and criticising those who identify as bisexual (‘Bi now, gay later’ is a common dismissal) or have a different view as to why they are gay creates a certain kind of bigotry in itself. This would be repression of our own, of our own making, all to try and persuade people who will probably never see eye to eye with us. So why do it?

Based on iTunes plays, how much I annoyed other motorists playing it very loudly, how often I sang it in the shower…

1: Rihanna – “We Found Love” feat. Calvin Harris

Uptempo R&B cuts were on life-support as artists, faced collapsing USA sales, roped in a combination of David Guetta, autotune and lyrics about clubbin’ for those vital Euro downloads. Rihanna jumped on the bandwagon and in true fashion eclipsed them all, with euphoric production from Calvin Harris, icy vocals that were just the ticket and an on-trend Brit-riot-chic video. Bow down.

2: Adele – “Someone Like You”

I tried, I really did. After about April this year there was absolutely no need to listen to Adele’s album given its omnipresence on TV, on the radio, in shops, in lifts, bloody everywhere. But Adele reminded us that a ballad should sound like pure heartbreak.

3: Teedra Moses – “Another Luvr” (Mixtape track)

Beguiling bhangra-inspired slick vocals, a loping hip-hop sample, and smooth backing vocals make this the perfect tune to bump in your car as you drive through the city at night

4: Christina Perri – “Jar of Hearts”

Epic balladry brought to our attention by way of Glee. Proved the theory that it’s all about the melody, stupid.

5: Melanie Fiona – “Gone And Never Coming Back”

A monster of a ballad, in a 90s classic style, with a crashing chorus and a smokily sublime vocal performance that strikes a fine balance between tone and bombast.

6. 

6: Jill Scott – “So In Love” feat Anthony Hamilton

A duet that’s as uplifting as a breeze on a tropical beach. As soon as the infectious bridge kicks in, you’re hooked.

7: Kelly Price – “Not My Daddy” feat Stokely

Supremely talented vocalists come together for a relationship negotiation over some classic backing. 

8. Jessie J – “Price Tag”

It’s not about the money, money, money…. and that one line sums up the incredible hookiness of this tune. A deserved number 1 hit.

9. Syleena Johnson – “My Shoes”

She called her album “Underrated” and she’s right. The burnished grit of her voice oozes the required angst.

10. Lady Gaga – “Edge Of Glory”

Despite the great build up suggesting that Born This Way was going to be the greatest album of all time, it proved to be just as fillertastic as the last one. Still, it had a few epic moments, and this is one of them.

BUT WHERE ARE THE MEN?

I dunno. NeYo was missing in action, Usher was recording duff euro dance tracks and Justin Timberlake is STILL doing Rom-coms. Get it together boys!

UBERFLOP OF THE YEAR

Beyonce – Run The World (Girls)

This single, on paper, has everything: It has Beyonce, it has her tried and tested theme of female empowerment, it has “Umbrella” and “Single Ladies” producer The-Dream. But before they spent zillions on the video, someone at the record company should surely have shut everyone up and said ‘Hold on a minute guys, this is an UNSEEMLY RACKET“. But apparently not. However the record buying public saw through the massive hype and voted with their feet – with embarrassing chart positions on both sides of the Atlantic for a lead Beyonce single. A massive fail.  

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

Adele – 21

For an album that wears its heart on its sleeve, it’s the coldhearted quality control that makes this untouchable. Everyone else in the music industry take note – if you don’t want people to cherry-pick a few tracks off iTunes instead of shelling out for the whole album, then deliver a consistently excellent experience. Maybe one day I will listen to it again after the overexposure has finally died down.

It was still a shock to hear the death of Amy Winehouse, despite years of troubles documented in not just celebrity rags but broadsheets too. Such was the level of interest in her, in no small part to the fact that when she was on form, Amy was simply an immense talent.

When Rehab became her breakthrough hit in 2006, sending Back To Black into the stratosphere, it was a barren time for female artists. The era of the multi-octave diva was over and the next generation of pop starlets were also in decline. Into the void came an incredible voice, soaring, intense, and bearing the scars of heartbreak.

One of her many strengths was her uniquely heartfelt lyrics: in in era of tunes about clubbin’ and trite sentiment, you totally believed that she was telling your her life story through music.

American artists’ tales of heartbreak were empowering and even aspirational (smashing up his BMW / maxing out his credit card). Meanwhile, Amy sang of chips and bitter, of being no good, of crying on the kitchen floor and the blackness of addiction and depression. It was a uniquely British voice, and unfortunately in light of the tragedy they now seem far too raw.

It transpires that Amy got a lot of support from her friends, family and her label, it’s just a shame she never made the breakthrough only she could make to finally overcome her problems. She leaves a small but fine body of work and many imitators and influencees, but history will recall there was only one Amy Winehouse.

Barack Obama visited Ireland last week, and celebrated his Irish ancestry with a pint of Guinness. His great-great-great grandfather left the village of Moneygall in 1850 in search of a better life. This was a cue for much sneering from right-wing commentators, on Twitter and on the Graham Norton show (!)

For example, James Delingpole in the Telegraph blogs section spewed forth a rant entitled ‘O’bama? Oh Puh-lease!’. The main thrust of the argument seemed to be that Obama embraced whatever side of his cultural background dependent on where he was. What seems to be hard for twits like Delingpole to understand is that a person of mixed race can embrace all aspects of their identity. It’s not rocket science.

President John F Kennedy made a similar pilgrammage to his Irish roots back in 1963. His great-grandfather left County Wexford in 1848 to escape the ravages of the potato famine. I wasn’t around in 1963, but you can bet that Kennedy’s Irish ancestry was not subject to the sneering that Obama’s did last week.

The undercurrent to me seems to be that because Obama has a brown face, celebrating white European roots is somehow inauthentic. The caricature above says it all: ‘isn’t that strange! A brown person wearing a leprechaun hat!’

Coincidentally, a family member sent me some genealogy, tracing a branch of our family through six generations – all in the Manchester / Cheshire area – all the way back to the early 1800s to a chap called John Johnson who was a tailor in the Parish of Rostherne, Cheshire.

Of course this all meant nothing to the racists in the youth who told me to ‘go home’. It meant nothing to the salesman in the posh car dealership I visited recently. When I showed enthusiasm towards a car on display, he enquired whether I could afford it. I was smartly dressed at the time, so I can only assume that he came to this conclusion as he subconsciously concluded that ‘black person = poor’. I bought an identical car from a different dealer.

For most mixed race African/European people our European ancestry means nothing to overt racists, casual racists and the plain ignorant. So while we accept we are ‘black’ in the political sense of the world, we should celebrate and embrace our European roots as much as possible. Not only is it giving the finger to the racists, but it’s also recognition of the fact that without those roots, we wouldn’t be here.

This week the Daily Express printed a front page splash entitled ’40% rise in ethnic numbers’. Not the Express’ usual scare-mongering about levels of immigration, but instead more concerned with the fact that more British people have brown faces.

“The huge rise over just eight years means more than nine million people in England and Wales – equivalent to one in six of the population – are now from a “non-white” background”

After detailing the increased numbers of Asian, Chinese and African people in the UK, it takes several paragraphs for the Express to point out the:

“The biggest increase over the period – a total of 553,000 people – is among the “other white” group which includes people from Eastern Europe, as well as citizens of New Zealand, Australia and South Africa’

So the biggest increase was in the “other White” category – which would include their cover girl Dannii Minogue. But the focus of the article is on the brown people, with quotes from the odious Andrew Green of the scaremongering Migrationwatch:

“This rise is part of Labour’s legacy. Whether they meant to or not, they changed the face of Britain forever.”

That’s right, the face. I don’t think they can be any more overtly racist than that. My family has traced a branch of my English ancestry back to a tailor called John Johnson who lived in Cheshire 200 years ago. But because I have a brown face, that means nothing to the Daily Express. I am a problem.

I would complain – except the Express has removed itself from the jurisdiction of the already toothless Press Complaints Commission, so it can continue to spew its vile racist bile without censure.

The newly refurbished St Pancras Renaissance hotel – a building world famous for pretending to be King’s Cross in the Harry Potter movies – is the perfect place for nostalgic dining, and sure enough the surroundings of the Gilbert Scott definitely evoke a certain romance.

The loving and painstaking refurbishment of the building is inspirational, and the restaurant itself with its booths and retro lamps has the charming feel of an early 20th century VIP station dining room. It seems ideal for a brief encounter with someone you shouldn’t be seen with, before they guiltily depart on a steam train.

In keeping with the nostalgic theme, the menu is largely hearty, traditional fare, but with a modern approach to seasoning and presentation. I expected my crab salad starter to be the usual refreshing but slightly drab crab affair – but instead, flavours made my tastebuds sing in a glorious three-part harmony.

A pigeon main course was complimented astonishingly well with the intense sweetness of prune, and a taste of my husband’s rabbit and prawn pie revealed the kind of perfectly judged pastry British matriarchs were famed for making a couple of generations ago.

Even the side dishes – a weak point in many restaurants – were carefully prepared, with roast potatoes to die for and a cauliflower cheese that warmed the cockles of your heart.

One pet hate of mine as a non-drinker is when restaurants lace desserts with alcohol to make them more ‘grown-up’. Here, although alcohol was listed in many of the desserts, it was always subtle, and you don’t get less grown up than selections such as Manchester Tart, Jaffa Cake and Kendal Mint cake. These school dinner staples were assembled in a modern, intricate fashion. My Kendal mint cake choc ice zinged with fresh mint while still managing to evoke childhood memories.

It would have been faultless culinary experience – if the service hadn’t been so haphazard. Staff didn’t keep track of our booking and direct our group to the right place as they arrived. Having to wait an age to order your food then having to ask to order is never good news. Side orders were missed and mixed up, drinks didn’t arrive. Despite the standard 2-hour sitting, we were there for close to four hours and not by design, though in truth we didn’t seem to notice until we left.

The evening was saved with free cocktails for the drinkers and extra desserts to try, and a tour of the kitchen where we said hello to chef Marcus Wareing. But being apologised to once is acceptable, hearing it several times on the course of an evening becomes, well, wearing.

Hopefully the Gilbert Scott will address these issues which I shall put down to teething trouble. They only served to make astonishingly good cooking into a merely good overall dining experience. For now I shall just shut my eyes and remember how it all tasted. Great Scott, it was amazing.

I have to admit that after four BMW-era Mini hatchbacks I found the
Countryman rather super-sized myself when I first set eyes on it. If
the classic Mini is an Espresso shot and the new Mini a small latte,
this initially felt like a Grande Mochaccino of a car, but it’s
actually shorter than a VW Golf. The raised seating position meant I
initially was scrabbling around for controls now set lower down, and
as ever, intuitive the layout is not. The new satnav interface also
seems to have additional menu levels for added complication.

But any reservations about the agility of this Massive Mini was erased
as soon as I left the dealer’s forecourt. It’s darty, pointy and still
great fun at the speeds you and I drive in the congested UK. At low
speeds, I’d say it has kept about 70% of the agility of the Mini
hatch, and given the extra height and length, that’s no mean feat. It
rolls little in bends and still has that wheel-at-each-corner feel.
I’m sure things get a little untidier at “the limit” but I’ll stay in
the real world and leave that to motoring hacks thanks.

The biggest revelation is that for the first time, this is a Mini you
can ask friends and family to travel in the back with no apology.
There’s plenty of room back there and the same funky ambience is
carried through, with sporty bucket seats, and chunky movable
cupholders attached to the centre rail which lights up in a selection
of colours at night. The interior – with a few carefully chosen extras
- is superb, and it’s built like a tank. There’s decent boot space
too, with a removable flat load floor increasing capacity.

Loading the Mini up with passengers does impact performance, but with
one or two up front the 1.6 turbo diesel feels surprisingly brisk
bearing in mind it has only 112bhp, so long as you keep the revs in
the sweet spot. The engine feels smoother than the one I test drove
and is already achieving 45mpg in its run-in period, so 50mpg seems
achievable.

iPhone integration – via an optional cradle – is seamless, with the
central screen even displaying your iTunes album art as the simply
excellent Harmon Kardon stereo upgrade delivers your tunes with
astounding bass but crystal clear detailed percussion and guitar.
There’s also an iPhone app which delivers web radio and
Twitter/Facebook integration to the car, but do keep your eyes on the
road please.

Ideologically speaking, the Countryman is no weirder than Porsche
deciding to do a 4 door saloon or Mercedes a small hatchback. Mini is
now a brand rather than a car and had to cater for those of us who
have just one car but need more space. If you think of it as a
Mini-sized crossover (like the Nissan Juke) rather than a Maxi-sized
Mini you can just get your head round the idea. But that aside, it’s
one of the most fun ways to transport 4 people and their stuff. And
you get to make new friends too.

For St David’s Day, Odette’s in Primrose Hill served up a distinctly Welsh menu. To start, organic salmon was marinated in Anglesey sea salt and served with blood Orange – an interesting collision of similar texture but disparate tastes. For the main, Roast Elwy Valley Welsh mutton – from Chef Bryn William’s home town – was supple and delicious, proving that it need not be the poor relation of lamb.

Playing a supporting role in a side dish of shepherd’s pie, though this was not like your usual Shepherd’s pie, with the creamy potato whipped into a light froth, the creaminess the soprano notes to the rich bass notes of the meat. An accompanying carrot in its original purple shade carrot confused the brain, as if your synapses could not process a carrot taste from something so un-orange.

The cheese course included satisfyingly creamy Welsh cheeses such as Caerphilly and Perl Las Organic Blue, served with fine salty crackers and Bara Brith (fruit cake to William’s grandmother’s recipe), with the Bara Brith returning in a bread and butter pudding format for dessert, with nostalgically sweet and surprisingly salty elements.

Bryn Williams stopped to talk to us and I made the observation that there seemed to be a theme of sweet and salt, with the Anglesey Salt even making an appearance atop the chocolate petits fours, to which he agreed. He sung the praises of the often overlooked mutton and said he liked his menu to have a lightness of touch – it was true – we were satiated but not uncomfortably stuffed.

I had the good fortune to dine with three Welshmen, one of whom had bought us all Daffodil buttonholes to wear. Duffy regaled us in the background and a Welsh TV weatherwoman stopped to talk to us. It felt like we should have walked out into Valleys or a buzzing Cardiff rather than a damp Primrose Hill street, but I guess you can’t have everything. But food wise, we’d definitely had everything - among the very best London dining has offer in fact.

Some films astound: others amaze; some just disappoint. But there are very few films where you leave the cinema thinking “What on earth was THAT?”. Such was my response to Black Swan, where the (now-Oscar winning) Natalie Portman plays Nina, a ballerina who is chosen to play the lead role in a production of Swan Lake. As she struggles to meet the demands of the dual role of the White and Black Swans, she goes through psychological battles and the film soon plays a familiar game with the audience where it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t.

What is real is for the most part a remarkably restrained performance from Portman, with a finely judged intensity without resorting to full-on histrionics until it is ultimately required. Portman haters will need to give this film a miss, as every shot tracks tightly around her, adding to the feeling of claustrophobia and foreboding. There are no sweeping shots of the Statue of Liberty in this New-York based film.

Neither is at an ode to female empowerment and friendship – it is not Steel Magnolias – with women conspiring against each other, including Nina’s own mother, in the archetypal stage-school mom role, living out her dreams in her own daughter. And it seems that the only person with the real power is a man – Thomas, the company director.

At times plot points bear unfortunate similarities to camp classic Showgirls, and scenes veer between the bizarre and the ludicrous as things reach breaking point. I found myself laughing at what were supposed to be deadly serious moments, but ultimately left the cinema stunned. I can’t tell if was for the right or wrong reasons, and I can’t remember a film that has quite had that effect, so I guess that counts as an incredible achievement.

I think.

Mini has released images of their Rocketman concept which will appear at the Geneva motor show in March. It’s purely a concept only at this stage but it’s obvious that it is designed to win over those who think that the current crop of Minis are just too large.

While only a foot or so longer than the original classic Mini, it manages to pack in show car fripperies such as double-hinged doors, carbon fibre construction and a complex rear hatch arrangement that would be far too expensive to include in a production car that would sit in the range under the current Mini hatchback.

Ignore the showy features such as the ridiculous hooped lights and delicate-looking glass roof and what emerges is a fun, distinctively proportioned hatch with space for 2 plus a couple of small friends thanks to a ’3+1′ seating arrangement stolen from Toyota’s IQ.

Already there are rumblings that the concept still isn’t small enough, but it sadly isn’t possible to pass today’s crash tests in a car the same size and shape as a classic Mini – hence the concept’s longer bonnet. There is evidence, however, of space-saving tricks such as the hollowed out dashboard and thinner seats.

The good news is that not only does the Rocketman turn the tide of increasingly larger Minis, but it also appears to move Mini styling on into a new era. It would make for fun and cool transport for urbanites. Here’s hoping that they build it, even if I am committed to the largest and most sacrilegious of Minis.