Damian Barr: There's No Place Like Home

There's no place like home. No place safer. No place scarier. I spent my first 17 years wishing I was anywhere but home. We've all got our reasons for leaving. I wanted to be more than the swing of a fist from my mum's boyfriend. I wanted out of earshot of the word "poof", which followed me as surely and darkly as my shadow. So, I escaped into books, hid in the local library. I entered every school quiz in case we got to compete in another county or country. I captained the Knights of St Columba team to exotic Keele. Most memorably, our Young Consumer of the Year team got all the way to national finals in Brighton. I had to go back then but now I live in Brighton. I was at my desk in my shed in my garden, when I got the following email invitation.

"Motherwell library would love you to come and do a reading and Q&A," wrote my publisher. "Not sure how you feel about that."

Instantly, I felt very sure. No, I wouldn't go – couldn't go. As a boy I fantasised about walking to the M8, which skirted our village promising places like Carlisle, and hitching a lift from a handsome stranger. I envied Fallon when that flying saucer carried her away in The Colbys. Take me! I took all the exams I could and extra ones in the holidays because I knew "the uni" was my way out.

No, I would not come back now...

Gay Tory poster boy Damian Barr in The Guardian.

Someone should write a book about growing up as a gay socialist in the Thatcher Years.

PS If you ever think about leaving Brighton, Damian, don't let me stop you.