I suppose this is only relevant to my brother, but I'll let you sit in on it too. For future reference, if you go to a bar where the barmen have bleached blonde hair, lisps, eye piercings and sexy tight fitting t-shirts they're probably gay. It doesn't necessarily mean it's a 'gay bar'... However, if the walls are filled with artwork like this:
then it definitely is a 'gay bar'. No big deal, just pointing it out.
But if the clientele consists of fruitcakes like this guy, who manages to heckle you for at least 45 minutes about how he's descended from Pharoahs and is the heir to one of the most noble families that history has known (whilst wearing a pair of beat-up old jogging bottoms and reeboks), then you're not only going to gay bars at the weekends, but one of the biggest dive gay bars there must be. Try out one of the swanky places in Soho or even Shoreditch House.
The whole situation freaked me out so much I had to bring myself back round to normality and so went to eat 12 pieces of chicken with my friend James.