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No 1068 27 August 2015
18
Suitable only for persons
of 18 years and over
q x m a g a z i n e.c o m
Cumshots & Cumerbunds
Dylan Jones reports on
the wedding of century
Photos: Stuart Howart
W
hen asked what they’re doing
at the weekend, most people
respond with “Oh, my mate’s
having a barbecue then we’re
gonna go out for some drinks.”
Or maybe “Oh, I’m cat-sitting
my friend’s Siamese, she’s
called Helen Keller” or maybe
even “oh, I’m reviewing XXL for
QX Magazine.”
But you do NOT expect them to say “Well, the guy who
owns Sweatbox Sauna and his artist fiancé are having a post-
heteronormative, avant-garde wedding celebration at an
underground venue in London Fields, with conceptual semen
art and waiters in jockstraps. So yeah, I’m going to that.”
It was the extravagant, unapologetically insane, totally,
wonderfully inappropriate wedding of Mark Ford and Jason
Woodson (now Jason Ford), whose arrival on the back of a white
horse in a shower of feathers, glitter, and muscular men, set the
tone for the evening. It was like a Lady Gaga music video crossed
with some sort of dystopic porn film, and it was EXACTLY the sort
of ridiculousness we go in for. Being so pretentious that you’re
unpretentious is the pinnacle of cool these days. For all the fluff
and foof and debauchery, there was a twinkle in the eyes and
tongues firmly in cheeks of the beaming couple.
2
qxmagazine.com
The theme was to go against social norms, a rebellion
against everything the traditional wedding represents.
Guests were greeted by a hilariously extravagant entrance
leading into East London haunt The Laundry’s underground
performance space. An arc of rainbow balloons over a
huge pink carpet, flanked by a host of photographers, not to
mention security staff that looked like they’d fallen out of a
Treasure Island Media DVD box set.
Artworks, posters and quotes plastered the concrete
walls from pictures of the happily grinning couple to posters
that said things like “Love is buying your crystal from John
Lewis instead of Vauxhall.”
Inside, performer and political purveyor of filth David
Hoyle was perched demurely on a bar stool, champagne
flute in one hand, cigarette holder in the other. I said hi,
and told him I was there for QX Magazine. “Ah yes,” he said
distantly, taking a sip of champagne “QX…the people’s
publication.” What an accolade!
Speaking of champagne, I just need to take a moment
to emphasise the unrivalled, audacious amazingness of
the free bar. It was the best free bar I’ve ever been to in my
life. And that’s coming from someone who’s basically got
a degree (BA Hons) in free bars. They had aforementioned
lovely champers. They had a seemingly infinite supply of
Absolut vodka. They had wine. Both red and white. And
it was GOOD wine. Free bar wine almost always has a
distinct bouquet of vinegar, but this, as my Northern friend
Jake said, went down a RIGHT treat. We asked for a glass
and had a bottle thrust at us.
We’d just perched ourselves next to David Hoyle
when event organiser Cal Strode swept up to us with
a clipboard and an earpiece, looking EXACTLY how
a wedding organiser might look in a romcom starring
Jennifer Lopez, e.g. amazing.
“Come on, I want to take you to see the cum sheet,” he
said, pushing long Jared Leto-esque hair out of his eyes.
We thought it best just not to ask and go with it. He led us
into a small concrete room, in which was suspended a bed
sheet with hundreds of ejaculations on it. A criss-crossing,
crusty pattern of white splooges, representing On the other
side was printed a collage of Grindr messages from the
ejaculatees (ejaculatees? Maybe ejaculators). It was either
completely vulgar or complete genius. Perhaps vulgar
genius! You never know with art do you.
After the cum-splattered bed sheet, it was time for the
amuse-bouche (WHAT A SENTENCE!). It was scallops
which were lovely and buttery. There was an initial
moment of awkwardness as we didn’t have a table to sit
at. Luckily I’d wasted no time in befriending the beautiful
in-house pole dancer, Nico. As soon as he saw we didn’t
have a table, he offered to find us one. And he did,
literally. He found one, carried it over to us, plonked it
down at the bar, flicked a table cloth across it and threw
down some cutlery with a flourish. “There you go!”
The food was, of course, served by muscular waiters
in sparkly red pants, called things like Javier and Brent.
Serenading us through the main course was
Dusty Limits, who was a bit like a more engaging,
SLIGHTLY older version of Taylor Swift. Whacking away
at the piano and belting through salacious country
numbers like her life depended on it! Lovely. There was
also a play about Sweatbox, enacted by two men who
spent their entire time on stage in the crab position,
scuttling back and forth and talking about shit. It sounds
absolutely horrible, but it wasn’t, it was amazing. You
had to be there really.
After the food had been polished off and speeches
by various adoring friends and family members were
made, it was time for the real party as music blared
and everything descended into entirely appropriate
debauchery.
The vibe for the whole evening was perfection.
Beautifully laid out traditional white wedding banquet
tables scattered around a shadily lit underground bar in
East London. Genuinely beautiful romantic photography
paired with insane homoerotic art. Cumerbunds and
cum-splattered bed sheets. Anal and Absolut. Grindr and
grenadine. It was a flawless and defiant statement on life
as a gay man in twenty-first century London. The sleaze,
the glamour, the insanity, the danger, the expense, the
unrivalled, unequivocal FUN of it all.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’m just reading too much
into it. Maybe gorgeous Mark and Jason just thought
“fuck it. We want a bed sheet that loads of people have
cum on, and we want to ride in on a big white horse,
and we want champagne, and we want scallops, and
we want hot waiters in jock straps. Why? Because we
CAN goddamit!” And in a way that would make it
all the more meaningful, and all the more amazing.
CONGRATULATIONS BOYS.
Genuinely
beautiful
romantic
photography
paired with
insane
homoerotic
art.
Cumerbunds
and cum-
splattered
bed sheets.
Anal and
Absolut.
Grindr and
grenadine.

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