My whole life has been mischief. Wherever I went, I could sniff it out. My first holiday with friends was to Barcelona in 1982. We only went for five days, as we had to get back to sign on. We did all the usual clubbing and drinking, and there were lots of dark-haired men, so I was in my element. We also walked, tried new food and looked at all the architecture. The first time I ever went to a gay sauna was here. I remember I was having a shower and people were staring at me. My Greek friend said it was because I was hairy and ginger, and looked exotic.
The first tour I went on was with Bronski Beat, around the UK and to Germany. Going to Berlin for the first time was mind-blowing. We wandered around, soaking up the atmosphere. We also went to Mannheim, a city with a big American military base, but also this really outrageous club with all sorts of naughtiness. I was in this place where there were no rules. It was a real freedom.
Beach holidays are alien to me. I’m a redhead, so the idea of slapping factor 50 over my body to get a few freckles and a burnt neck doesn’t appeal. If it’s anything over 25C, it’s too hot. I’ve been to Ibiza once, but it was in the middle of spring. I went to Bondi Beach, in Sydney, and had to hide under a rock. And in Miami, I felt like I’d been brought there by a spaceship from another planet. I spent the days sleeping, and only came out at night to get into any club I hadn’t been kicked out of the night before.
On a coach in Guatemala, someone suddenly got up, shot the driver dead, pushed him off his seat and started driving I’ve missed loads of flights due to partying and thinking, just five more minutes and I’ll be OK. I did an all-nighter in Berlin and couldn’t remember where the hotel was. I was so tired, I found a train sitting in the station with its doors open. I thought, “I’ll just go in this carriage and close my eyes for five minutes.” I don’t know how long I was there, but I woke up and managed to hazily step off the train just before the doors closed behind me. The train was on its way to Moscow. If I’d slept another few minutes, I would have been, too.
I don’t have a favourite place, because if I did, it would stop me discovering others, but I do really want to go back to Manhattan. I spent a good part of the late 1980s going back and forth, being completely immersed in the culture and clubs. One of my wildest trips was there.
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I went for work, and I just kept saying, “I’ll go home tomorrow.” Three weeks later, I came back. I was caught in a cycle of fun. That’s enough information.
One of the craziest experiences I’ve had was on a three-week backpacking trip in Central America, when I was 27. I was on a coach from Lake Peten Itza, in Guatemala, to Guatemala City, with my partner at the time when someone who had got onto the coach three villages earlier suddenly got up and shot the driver dead. He then pushed him off his seat onto the floor and started driving. Women on the bus were screaming, and we were terrified they would mistake us for Americans and shoot us as well. It was traumatising.
The next day, we boarded a bus to leave the city, and we crashed into another bus and spun down the road. That was my only backpacking experience. Scary, but we survived. I keep thinking I’d like to do something like that again.
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Born in Glasgow, the singer Jimmy Somerville, 53, was a founding member of the synth-pop group Bronski Beat in the early 1980s. In 1985, he formed the Communards — with the now Reverend Richard Coles — who had a string of hits including Don’t Leave Me This Way, before splitting in 1988. Since then, he has released nine solo albums. His new disco album, Homage, is out tomorrow. He lives in London