You are (probably) still gay if you ...

Mirror, mirror: every day it gets a little harder to know if you're gay or not. Camp? Children's TV does it better than Julian Clary. Culture- defining harbingers of polymorphous perversity and gender abdication? Please: the nation has the Teletubbies. Red ribbons? Too passe. Signs and signifiers once thought fixed are going, going, gone. So don't be surprised if this last gasp list becomes either out-of-date or, indeed, wholly redundant long before you reach the end.

Aren't sure if cocktails should be drunk or told;

Own a can of nipple polish;

Laugh all the way through Platoon

Wonder if Donna Summer will ever have that recipe again, oh no;

Have already seen Chicago;

Are impatient for the dance remixes of "Candle in the Wind";

Never use wire coat hangers, ever;

Get out of the shower, wrap a towel around your head and imitate Whitney Houston in the bathroom mirror (Oh, right, sure you haven't ...);

Think nothing of:

shaving your chest, waxing your back, taking a Fly-mo to your lobes, or staying in the entire weekend if you get a spot;

Know all the words to "I Am Sixteen (Going on Seventeen)";

Speak two languages: English and Gucci;

Have told the builders to install a trapdoor beside your bed;

Can discuss Uma Thurman's work in Batman and Robin in a rich, deep and meaningful way;

Are never tempted to jump up and touch the awning;

Spent four years painting one ceiling (see: Michelangelo);

Tell people that Clint Eastwood played Dorothy in The Golden Girls. Well, has anyone ever seen him and Bea Arthur in the same room?

Spell boys with a "z";

Can always find a good reason to buy yet another tight black top;

Have suggested a threesome on the first date;

Named the cats Lorna and Liza;

Know your ankles like the backs of your hands;

Own more than five items made of:

leather

latex

rubber;

Remove the Mapplethorpe prints when Mummy visits;

Are confused when people use Crisco for cooking;

Check out every mirror you pass;

Have women friends;

Believe your taste is impeccable, even when it's bad;

Are willing to dash all the way home just to spray some Impulse Spice behind your knees;

Have subscriptions to GQ, Men's Health, Hello!, Metropolitan Home, Variety and Boy Slaves;

Read your godchildren Jenny Lives With Eric and Martin at bedtime;

Know that the jockstrap was invented by Parvo Nakacheker;

Own a "drag bag", a tasty-cum-tacky frock, some lippie, a little panstick, a push-up bra, perhaps pearls and high heels ... Just the basics for the occasional girl's night out;

Believe pork is a verb;

Are a regular sufferer of "weepy Wednesday", the tearful midweek comedown from last Saturday's drugs'n'dancing extravaganza (for your information and safety, it is best not to be served by staff at certain London fashion emporiums while they are in this condition. Unless you enjoy having your purchase flung back in your face accompanied by a cry of "You look really crap in this and I haven't had my lunch break yet");

Think Philadelphia was cheesy;

Bought the 1998 Take That calendar (Think about it);

Have a soft spot for Princess Margaret;

Know Mrs Overall's first name;

Are the only person at the dinner table to have had their piercings removed;

Can't remember what Peter Andre's face looks like;

Have grown emotionally attached to your sex toys;

Find yourself seriously debating Dannii vs Kylie;

Don't mind grey days, as it's this season's colour;

Queued at Our Price this Monday to buy Dion and Streisand's "Tell him";

Are still in mourning for Dynasty.