There is, when you look at things closely, great beauty in this world of ours. A beauty that makes the ugly sides stand out to be worthy of comment and derision. If the ugly was the normal and the default, then that which we see now as ugly would be celebrated – not scorned.

The opening scene of “Love, Actually” has great truth. When the main character, who happens to be the Prime Minister of the UK, ruminates on love he points out the arrivals gate at Heathrow. He points out that people aren’t defined by their wickedness and their belligerence. A stint at the arrival’s gate tells you that.

Then when you have comments like those of Antonin Scalia, one of the supreme court justices of the United States comparing homosexuality to murder, you have the perfect illustration that the world is not defined by its wickedness, but by its revulsion to such a comment.

So, actually, when you think about it, and don’t just react instinctively out of a sense of vulnerability against the unknown, love is all around. Love is what defines us, as a species and as a culture. We do get it wrong, but the impetus is always to do what is right. Or to rationalise what we know to be wrong and egoistical and self-centred to sound like it’s the right thing – because culturally, over the species, human beings are per default inclined to be good to one another.

Oh yes, now you’re sitting there thinking “ah the young fool, what does he know?”. But I’ve had a song running through my head all day. I have felt the urge to run up on high objects, and swing around poles, and just grin widely at everyone. I know, with all the measures and metrics that matter in this world, me, that the world is a beautiful place and that I’m going to fly through it at high speed and leave a sonic boom that will be heard from London to Sao Paolo. I know it. I don’t apologize for it.

In fifty years time I will look back on this time and laugh. Yes, I will. I will laugh at people like Antonin Scalia, and the representatives of our own little pernicious Tories, and I will laugh. It will be a hearty laugh. A rumbling laugh. Not a very nice laugh. I want to say to each and everyone of them that utter these views — “Get out of the way, old man. Your time has passed. Leave room for your betters.”

And I will hug my man that I’m so fortunate to have found now, when we’re settled into some medieval castle somewhere so that I can have my own library in a castle tower and he can have his own lab in the dungeon. You’re all invited.

I don’t care if that sounds cheesy. I am happy god damn it. Happy. It’s not murder to be this happy.