I’m all prided out. In fact I think I’m now leaning towards the slightly homophobic. If I see another buttock or rainbow anything I’m likely to lash out.
Gay Chicken Soup for the Soul
Lizzie and I arrived at Trafalgar Square with the parade in full swing. It’s a little disappointing that they the powers that be
don’t invest any money in it (although the London Mayor, Ken Livingston, promised to make it an event to rival Sydney’s in his re-election campaign, so we’ll see) but it was still pretty wonderful. Lizzie, Joe, Christopher, his two lesbian pals and I managed to join the Brazil entourage - a decision that was made because 1. They had cool drums 2. The boys were hot and 3. Everyone loves Brazil. Off we went, smiling at the crowd in a non-threatening manner. I even held Christopher’s hand for a few minutes until we decided it felt a bit forced. We were just getting into the swing of it when we rounded a corner to find that the parade just sort of stopped. I think I might write a letter to Ken saying that next year everyone who participates should get a certificate or a pat on the back or something.
Did I mention I went on the Booster?
After the Parade we went up to Finsbury Park for The Big Gay Out
and met up with the remaining Scoobies. Sam’s Mum and sister had come down from Bristol and we caught up with a few friends who’d moved out of London. In a jovial mood we bustled through the gates. To begin with we slowly walked around in a cluster (all 15 of us) until it became too frustrating and we organised ourselves into splinter groups. When the cute Israeli friend of an acquaintance asked me if I wanted to join him on an amusement ride I said ‘sure’. This was my first mistake. The second was NOT LOOKING AT THE RIDE CLOSELY ENOUGH BEFORE PAYING FOR A TICKET. Perhaps it would have helped if I’d read the manufacturer’s description - “The Booster ride is made up of one column which is hinged to the concrete foundation or to the trailer. Two arms and four vehicles that are free to rotate. The ride may rotate both directions.” Rotate is the key word in this sentence. It was only after I was ushered onto the ride that I learned the whole contraption would begin a 360 degree arc in HYPERSPEED. Not just this but the “vehicles” would start spinning WILDLY and, some might say, DANGEROUSLY to the point that some of the passengers might become agitated, and express this agitation by emitting a loud piercing cry to alert the authorities. Over and over again we rotated seemingly in an endless freefall which was only broken by the delightful sensation of tipping backwards occasionally 30 feet in mid-air. If you were polishing your Grandmother’s crystal between 3.48 and 3.52pm on Saturday afternoon, I’m very sorry indeed.
The rest of the days events seem less exciting but I did manage to kiss a Brazilian boy (I know, I know – but every one needs a hobby, right?), help Olly to unsuccessfully scour the entire park to find his phone, eat one and a half sloppy vege burgers and lose everyone at least three times.
There’s a lot of Shame in Pride
At 10.30 after we’d watched the final pop act on the main stage and oo’d and ah’d at the fireworks, we caught the bus to Ruby
, the big after-pride dance party. It was heaving. I don’t really remember exactly when I started to go a bit off the rails but needless to say I was a bit drunk on the milk of human goodness (vodka) and probably had a bit too much sun. Luckily I don’t get brawly or stupid. I do however get ‘mischievous’. When Kate found me accosting some poor man and mumbling something about “the kindness of strangers” she tried help the situation by explaining I didn’t bite, after which I promptly bit him. Moments later I decided I wanted to get into one of the Jacuzzis they’d installed on the Terrace - fully clothed. It took three Scoobies to good humouredly hold me down until I promised to behave. I’ve had to do something similar to each of them at some point so I was promptly forgiven. And what’s friendship without being sat on until you promise not to bite anyone elses nipple, huh?