From the sublime and glamorous to the comic and tragic: with LGBT History Month upon us, and Valentine’s looming, Adrian Gillan counts down the Top Ten Famous Historic Gay Male Couples of All Time…

1. Alexander the Great (general 356-323BC) & Hephaistion (confidant and lover 356-323BC) – Alexander had to be pulled off his dead lover’s corpse; shaved his head; and threw a mega funeral!

2. Julius Caesar (emperor, 100-44BC) & Nicomedes (King of Bithynia, died 74BC) – Nicomedes was referred to as Caesar’s “Queen” by political rivals!

3. Rimbaud (poet, 1855-1891) & Verlaine (poet, 1844-1896) – tempestuous absinthe-fuelled love!

4. Oscar Wilde (writer and wit, 1854-1900) & Lord Alfred Douglas a.k.a. “Bosie” (poet and aristocrat, 1870-1945) – perhaps the most infamous gay affair in history!

5. Nijinsky (dancer, 1890-1950) & Diaghilev (producer, 1872-1929) – talent and money: combined!

6. Benjamin Britten (composer, 1913-1976) & Peter Pears (singer, 1910-1986) – classy, arty duo!

7. Francis Bacon (artist, 1909-1992) & George Dyer (burglar and artist’s model, died 1972) – Bacon met Dyer whilst being burgled by the suicidal model!

8. Joe Orton (writer, 1933-1967) & Kenneth Halliwell (writer, 1926-1967) – ended in bloodbath!

9. Elton John (pop star, born 1947) & David Furnish (film producer, born 1962) – world-famous pair!

10.George Michael (pop star, born 1963) & Kenny Goss (businessman, born 1958) – vie with Elton & David as the world’s most famous gay couple!

Through Circa, you too could find the love of your life, to stand the test of time!

BOX-OUT: Top Tips for Strong Gay Male Relationships…

• Be honest with yourself and your partner.

• Communicate your thoughts and feelings - both to yourselves and supportive friends.

• Agree and regularly review rules, needs and boundaries – especially re sex drives and open relationships.

• Respect each other for your differences as much as your similarities.

• Compromise and collaborate.

• Develop shared interests; and cultivate mutual friends - including straight friends!

• Think about sex where you are present rather than absent (ie off-your-head).

• Beware acting out other people’s preconceptions: whether being the proverbial gay “bad boy”; or playing “happily married”.

Following Kev’s warning, do put in a show at Monday morn mews meet. “In the draw,” hisses Boss, dabbing towards my desk with the paw of a blessed Burman cradled in her arms. “Locked. The cats were chewing it.” Framed desk-top photo of Mous ‘n Cous, shut away safe. Explain to Boss all I’ve been up to, and that my next Circa-branded Capital Queer column condemns the recent appointment of Joel Edwards - leader of the openly rabidly homophobic Evangelical Alliance - as a commissioner on the Equality and Human Rights Commission. What with an ex-PM just turned Catholic; and the current one, the conservative son of a Presbyterian manse – one could be forgiven for thinking we all believed in fairies and goblins too, and still lived in the Dark Ages. I’m fed up of all this religious mumbo jumbo. Maybe I should join the gay humanists?

Another HIV positive Switchboard caller, Tuesday morn – seem to be more and more of them these days. Bemoans he can’t go to America without lying about his HIV status. At least 106 countries around the globe have special restrictions on HIV positive people wishing to enter and/or settle in them; and 13 effectively bar known people living with HIV from entry: Armenia, Brunei, China, Iraq, Qatar, South Korea, Libya, Moldova, Oman, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Sudan - and the USA.

Attend another Circa-backed fundraiser around someone’s private house in Chelsea, Wednesday eve. This time for London-based gay men’s health charity, GMFA, which has just launched the UK’s first comprehensive information website specifically designed for HIV positive gay men, brimming with personal and practical info: www.gmfa.org.uk/positive.

Digest amusing story in papers, over breakfast, Thursday. The US arm of Japanese car giant, Toyota, is threatening Swiss-based EBOYS Studios with legal action, after one of its porn stars gave himself the screen name, Lexus – despite his assurance it refers to the Greek god of vanity, not the undoubtedly fab four-wheeler. Vows the divine screen stud: “We won’t do a worldwide recall of my DVDs Sp*nkLand and C*mEaters.”

Friday, and time for another holiday, I adjudge. Almost a sixth of the way through the year; and I’ve still 40 days’ vacation to plough through! Early rise, pack small carry-on bag, then cab down to Heathrow. “Whatcha got?” I ask the bewildered BA ticket sales staff. “For a quick warming weekend away, Club Europe cabin?” I mull over Fez, and the Canaries; but the old British ex-colonial in me doubtless opts for Cyprus instead - leaving in 50 minutes, “better hurry, sir.” Four or five hours later and I touch down in the land that bore Aphrodite, but sure won’t bore me - not with all those sexy Cypriots about!

For the last five millennia, Cyprus has been jealously sought for its strategic position at the junction between Europe, Africa and Asia – engendering an immensely rich blend of influences and cultures. Past rulers of this sun-drenched 250 by 90 miles isle, topped off by the central Troodos Mountains, have included the Ancient Greeks, Romans, Ottomans and us Brits (1878-1960, leaving behind our left-hand-driving and sovereign military bases) – to name a few. An independent republic since 1960, the Turks have nonetheless illegally occupied the north since 1974, nominally in response to political instability precipitated by the military Junta in Greece – their land claim unrecognised by any other nation. Mercifully, since 2003, it is now pretty easy to cross the once-divisive yet still-monitored “Green Line”. 80% of the island’s 800,000-strong population are Greek Cypriot, the remainder split between Turkish Cypriots and others. An EU member since 2004, the Cyprus Pound (CYP£) is worth around UK £1.2. Age of Consent is 17 for all. Yet sex or nudity in public is strictly illegal; so if you meet someone nice outdoors, head somewhere private. Overt public displays of homosexuality, including holding hands, can prompt unwelcome attention in this still-Greek-Orthodox-Church-swayed society, so be discreet; although attitudes are changing - as so often, spearheaded by the young.

Paphos, to the west, contains a UNESCO World Heritage site, boasting stunning Roman residences and mosaics in the old Kato Paphos district plus fine fort in the picturesque harbour; capital Nicosia to the north boasts an ancient old town with countless churches, mosques and museums; Larnaca to the east, offers marina, beach and many historical gems; and hotel-brimming Limassol, to the south, makes a perfect base for exploring the historic riches, not only of its near surrounds - including Kourion (theatre and palace), Kolossi (castle linked to the Knights of the Order of St. John) and Limassol Castle (possibly where our Richard I married, now housing a medieval museum) – but of the whole island.

I stop off at the Sanctuaries of Apollo and Aphrodite between Paphos and Limassol; and make the pilgrimage to the nearby legendary coastal Birthplace of Aphrodite: where Chronos cut off his father Uranus’ balls and chucked them in the sea, which duly foamed and gave birth to the Goddess of Love and Beauty, who calmly stepped ashore, just here !!

“Phone in” performance, Monday morn, instead of a flesh meet at the mews. Kevin later emails to say I may be sailing close to the wind, in absentia, and Boss could soon snap! Already taking it out on him! Poor pup. Increasingly acutely aware that Valentine’s looms, rack brains as to how I can – even at this late stage – transform from sad singleton into candlelit table-for-two couple, pre-Thursday. Decide no harm in mixing biz with pleasure, mingling – as I so often do – with ambitious, high-earning, career-minded types at an informal Circa bridge meet, hosted, this time, at our undertaker’s in Farringdon. Quite a stir as a young “man” – some not-so-discreetly murmuring, who must have once been a woman – ding-dongs and enters, causing some members scurrying to check our Constitution; and our columnist to choke on his cosmo. All rather amusing. One surgeon guest informs me, quietly yet proudly, that a recent study indicates that most (76%) UK post-op male-to-female transsexuals are happy with their follow-up, more cosmetic surgery; a quarter (23%) claim to have regular intercourse; 3 in 5 (61%) are happy with the depth of their vagina; nearly all (98%) claim a sensitive clitoris; and half (48%), an easy orgasm. Unsure of stats for reverse op.

No joy on the romantic front last night, so opt to try out the latest social retro chic, Tuesday, and pop along to a good old-fashioned House Party (remember them?) – not the acid-fuelled danceathons in vast warehouses on urban fringes, rather a relatively suburban bring-a-bottle affair at the Boy’s lofty lair. Large bars and clubs are all very well; but you can’t beat a knock-knock-do-come-in set-up: actually spending quality time chatting with friends - and, more to the point, friends of friends – in an intimate setting with generally fewer distractions; and all for less cash! Of course it’s all basically just an excuse for the Boy to get blasted and – with the exception of a couple of sallow IT geeks who support his floundering volunteering website - we all already know each other, many of us intimately!

Wednesday. Still secretly roving for love, pop along with Kev to an LGBT History Quiz at The Rye pub in – you guessed it - Peckham Rye, in SE London: a popular event celebrating its 4^th year, all part of LGBT History Month. It’s £2 per person, the wining team taking the pot; maximum team size, eight. Well, hardly my thing; but soon enter into spirit after a few G&Ts; and even help us come third, in a runner-up play-off round, answering a question any self-respecting queer should have known since birth: What was the affectionate name given to Oscar Wilde’s most famous lover, Lord Alfred Douglas? Rosie, Bosie or Flossie. Derr!

Then Valentine’s Day smacks you in the face; kicks you in the teeth. Not even one mystery card on the door mat! Yet still a whole, potentially humiliating day left to try and ensure I take my place at that candlelit table-for-two. Steadfastly avoid cruising, well-knowing love rarely spouts in bushes. Vowing to hold out – with fellow singletons Nutty, Kev ‘n Karl – until the final hour, we all book ourselves in on a speed date at 6pm: an intensive meet-and-grill nice-to-know-you-have-a-nice-day-next, interrogating as many men as you can probably stomach in one “fun, fast and furious” roundabout. What a bunch of desperate losers. No attempt to doll-up this purely last-gasp quest - all dignity lost, as clocks tick away. Little more than entertainment for the crowds of sickeningly doting couples who gather to gawp, en route to there imminent intimate predictably rose-and-chocolate-prefaced soirees! Utterly depressing all round, not least since Nutty, Kev ‘n Karl all seem to cop off: the former with an actual copper, the latter two with each other. Make my sad, lonely way back to base… pausing only to dodge the bouquet-hawkers, or gaze in from the cold upon sundry flickering glows, to spy the loving likes of Josh ‘n Charlie, or Inge ‘n Em, lost in each other’s doting eyes.

Rise late, Friday. Ritual horror of Valentine’s is - mercifully, and for another year - over; and the pressure largely off. Still make mental note to try going celibate once more, albeit just for a few days. Don’t they say “abstinence makes the heart grow fonder”? And what better way of breaking the addictions of the flesh, and raising romantic aspirations, than with a healthy temporary stint of voluntary celibacy? According to gay abstainers, you save years of time and mountains of dosh not hunting down men. You put megatons of physical and emotional energy thus saved into other, more creative interests; and wider, deeper friendships. Plus: no sex sure beats bad sex, say they. And: the right man tends to come along when you’re not quite so desperate prowling. Who’m I kidding? I’m basically celibate anyway these days – tho’ hardly voluntarily!

Settle down, oh-so-happily-celibate, Saturday morn, to finish off biog of Brit composer Benjamin Britten, focusing on his long-term relationship with opera singer Peter Pears. Theirs was a personal and professional partnership spanning four full decades, until Britten’s death in Pears’ arms in 1976, at their Aldeburgh home. Many of Britten’s operatic works include the tenor voice and were written specifically for Pears. Ironically, given the strength of their own relationship, many of these masterpieces - notably Peter Grimes, Billy Budd and Death in Venice – hint at tragically repressed same-sex longings. A product of their times, I muse.

Wake up Sunday, despairing of any further attempt to be voluntarily celibate, yet briefly consider re-entering therapy, on the familiar grounds I may be my own worse obstacle to any sincerely-sought fulfilling partnership. Re-reach conclusion that I am – in fact – genuinely far happier being single! Call my mum for a chat, instead. Dear ma – mustn’t forget Mother’s Day!

Opt to burn up a bit more of my recently boosted annual holiday credit – still quite a lot to work through – by dusting off my thermals and jetting off for the week to famous Mount Whistler in British Columbia, Canada, for WinterPride: arguably North America’s, nay the world’s, indisputably premier queer wintry party on the white stuff! Join over 4,000 gays, enjoying world-class skiing and snowboarding on perfect powder snow, luxurious hotel accommodation and a week tightly ice-packed with dozens of events, parties and other fun activities, some of which – like daily guided group ski tours to suit all skills – are absolutely free.

Before I romp off, boost my fitness in the gym - asking a young instructor (aghhhh… a woman!!!) to obviously kindly pay especial attention to the musculature in my legs and groin! Also take lessons on a dry-ski slope up in Milton Keynes, just north of London, and pre-book ski school to help me get back up to speed asap on arrival! Buy winter sports insurance - for peace of mind – having banged the odd ankle and knee in years gone by. What with flights, accommodation, equipment hire, ski pass, lessons and guides, meals, insurance and après-ski entertainment - it all tots up, and I’m grateful of my recent pay-rise too. Find myself a tad dizzy at these altitudes, hardly helped by the herds of handsome homos gliding and sweetly carving by! I tried to pack the right gear to keep in with the crowd. Didn’t realize ski suits (all-in-one romper numbers) have been long surpassed by two-piece jacket and trousers; or that bobbles are defo out this year; or that helmets are just for pussies! That said, outfit seems to attract as many attentions as it diverts!

Start off in beginners class; soon “moved over” to infants; then ski school chief deems a one-on-one “intensive elementary session” appropriate. As ever, manage to pull my young ski instructor over on top of me at least every half hour. Very patient and horny; from Alberta. Missing his girlfriend. Bet she’s missing him too; what with that small hillock bunched up nicely in his padded, thermal ski-pants. Skiing hardly seems to improve, but do get better at dodging small children and other obstacles; plus learn that if you look at the trees, you are more likely to hit them; and that one oughtn’t ever to drop litter or pee on piste.

Seems a million miles away, and far down below, as steam with Karl, Saturday morn – having managed to smuggle him past the new receptionist, into the gym he’s for-ever banned from! Inhaling the refreshing yet calming menthol in the warm, wafting mists, hard to imaging was sliding around - far away and high above, an ocean and continent asunder - less than 24 hours ago! Karl fit and buff as ever; likewise hard to imagine his Judge dropping him. Is considering starting back as a “proper trainer”, tho’ defo not here: not least after a formerly-groped straight punter recognises him through the vapours, and he’s forced to make a swift exit. Pen next Capital Queer column, about fact we all live in a hypocritical, double-think world. HM Queen wined-and-dined Saudi chauvinist, theo-fascist and barbarically homophobic dictator (so-called “King Abdulla”) last year, just as news was breaking around the world that a close relative of Hers (unnamed due to a ludicrous gagging order, but just Google it) was allegedly the victim of an attempted blackmail after being videoed in a supposed sex-drug romp with a royal aide: an act Her Arab guest would most happily have drawn an executioner’s sword over. We sell him arms and feed him caviar; he cuts off heads and feeds us oil.

Amused by papers, over coffee, Sunday morn. A genius German has invented a prototype spray-on condom, on the grounds that “the condom should fit the man, and not the other way round”; asking, “what if you don’t have the habitually catered-for, average 14.5 cm (5.51 inches) penis?” It works via a prick-shaped cylinder spraying quick-drying liquid latex directly onto the erect, inserted member. Though doubtless not unpleasant, the procedure currently takes around 25 seconds, just for the latex to dry; and works out at 70p per condom – double the 35p for a standard roll-on rubber! Also great for hair removal! Ouch!

Miss another Monday morning mews meet, “phoning in” a half-day hol, via poor Kev. Use afternoon to rattle up another Capital Queer column, this week on the issue of: when does a mere freedom to express (“gay people disgust me and I wish they didn’t exist”) become an intended incitement to hate (“go and kill queers”)? The Government has billed a hopefully-imminent criminal offence of “incitement to homophobic hatred”. Yet, it may prove rather hard for a judge or jury to decide precisely whenever incitement is the primary intention of a statement, rather than a mere oft-likely tragic upshot. Brace yourselves for the odd juicy test case!

Sue scowling as usual, Tuesday, when dropping off Toby for his day with me. Now nipper’s starting to speak, know she’s briefing him against me. He refuses – undoubtedly at her behest – to call me “daddy”. In fact, apart from my mum, and one or two friends, no one refers to me as “daddy” - leaving this “mere donor” completely un-validated. Same eve, read disturbing case of a Christian foster couple, who have fostered 28 children in Somerset, but who have elected to have an 11-year old boy taken from their care - rather than agreeing to ever condone homosexuality. The pair – who refused to sign a contract promising to tell children it is “good” to be gay – blubbered that they “cannot promote the practice of homosexuality.”

Can’t help notice the build-up to Valentine’s is well under way, Wednesday afternoon, as saunter round Soho. “Book tables now to avoid disappointment” etc. Don’t think Valentine’s knows whether it’s for singles-in-search or couples-in-love these days – just happy to hanker anyone it can squeeze a quick buck or two out of. Makes an old cynic like me feel like a romantic Scrooge who held out against Christmas for yet another year, only to face my next battle, against the dreaded all-pervasive 14 Feb! Text from Josh saying he ‘n Charlie have kissed and made up. Even Mous ‘n Cous seem in love. Yucky-yuk-yuk!

Weird Switchboard, Thursday eve. Expect loads of pining-singles or romances-on-the-rocks. Instead get a middle-aged guy in tears, having apparently discovered that his idol, Nana Mouskouri, had a sustained and consistent track-record, whilst an elected Member of the European Parliament (1994-1999), of voting against LGBT issues! The iconic Greek crooner, who has become something of a cult figure in certain gay circles, has just completed a UK-wide “farewell tour”. Goodbye and good riddance, you naughty Nana, is all I can say!

Of course, February isn’t just Valentine’s. It’s also LGBT History Month - now in its fourth year - whereby the UK’s “rainbow communities explore, celebrate and share” their violent or wonderful - oft neglected or suppressed – histories: “humbling, enlightening and inspiring” not just for gays ourselves, but also, hopefully, for society at large. From talks, walks and readings to shows, quizzes and screenings, events are taking place in schools, colleges, unis, workplaces, councils, churches, community centres, pubs, youth clubs, museums, libraries and theatres throughout the land. And nowhere more so than in London. Am tempted, Friday, by a “Personal Testimonies” event at Southwark Cathedral’s Chapter Room – whereby three speakers talk for 15 minutes, each to reflect on their own personal histories of growing up or coming out as LGB or T: “tales of the struggles, triumphs and joys of being who we are”.

About to head off, when Nutty calls to remind me of Circa’s first Drinks Party of 2008 - at the usual swanky-yet-cosy Arts Club in Mayfair. So we join my co-hosts - Curtis, Jean-Francois, Ian, Alastair and the gang - for complimentary champagne courtesy of http://www.granadawine.com/ Fantastic night, with a crowd of over 250 - a fun catch-up, some guests talking shop and other flirting topped off after midnight with a few drinks at the Shadow Lounge in Soho, conveniently just around the corner from my own homely lair.

Have certainly stumbled upon the odd romance or two at Circa do’s (official and informal) plus in bars and clubs (home and abroad), and via the web, but - Valentine’s everywhere, relentlessly seeping – continue, at the weekend, in my quest to meet someone: via a gay group or org! From rambling to wrestling, from choral singing to classic cars, LGBT sports and social groups are a great way to broaden your interests and meet other gay guys, well away from the prevalent, pressured smoke-filled, sex-fuelled scene. Once again scour GMFA’s helpful list (www.gmfa.org.uk/theguide). Toy with the enticingly-nerdy-sounding Gay Birders Club – who’ve been “organising events and providing facilities for UK lesbian and gay birdwatchers since 1994” – though decide could be the biological equivalent of train-spotting. Plus, also the potentially-erotically-charged London Amateur Wrestlers (LAW) - formed in 1996 “to promote the close combat sports of wrestling and grappling in a gay-friendly environment” - although decide may be better to stick to plain old frottage.