Brighton Pride

So, how are you today?

Good, good.

Yes, well that's all very well but you've neglected to ask me about Brighton Pride.

So, without further ado, I'll fill you in on the weekend's shenanigans, few and far between though they were.

The Boyf and I got up early on Saturday to catch an early train, but like all good gays we couldn't make up our minds what we wanted to wear, and thus left about an hour later than we wanted to and ended up missing the parade. It was just as well because it appeared that it had rained. We made our way straight to Preston Park, and it was fortunate that we'd had plenty of hot weather as it had stopped the place turning into a mud bath, although that might have been fun in retrospect.

The first thing that crossed our minds as we walked to the park was "What an ugly crowd", a sentiment echoed later on (more about that in a bit). Yes, not one pretty person in sight. I observed that, with the roads being closed off and people wandering up the middle of the streets, it all looked a bit post-apocalyptic. In fact, the way most people were dressed and were shambling about it all looked rather too "Dawn Of The Dead" for my liking. I did think about a little light looting, as it didn't look like anyone would notice, but thought better of it.

The park was great, as usual. Brighton really knows how to do Pride, and it makes you realise that London sorely misses having an event in a park at the end, although Trafalgar Square and Soho do admirable jobs. Rather obviously we hung out in the bear tent, which is always located right at the entrance next to a large bank of toilets and a decent array of burger vans. That way the bears don't have to move very much and can just eat, drink and lollop about.

On one of our little excursions around the park I was stopped by an "Oi!" from a group of older gentlemen sitting on a pink blanket (complete with picnic) who each resembled, in part, Quentin Crisp, like each couldn't manage the complete look so had divided it up between them to make things easier. A floppy hat here, a chiffon neck-scarf there. Actually, they were all a bit Hinge & Bracket without the wigs, and most came complete with half-rimmed glasses dangling from chains about their necks.

Quentin 1: "I'm terribly sorry about the "Oi". How very rude of me".

He reached up and took my right hand in both of his.

Quentin 1: "Now then deary - would you be so kind as to tell me where the fat people hang out?"

I raised one eyebrow. Then the other for emphasis.

Quentin: "Oh, good Lord, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that our friend has just sent us a text thingy to say he's 'hanging out with the fatties' and we don't know where he means. You look like you might know where that is. Oh, this isn't coming out very well. Damn it, and I think you're very sexy. You're very much my type you know dear."

He pats my hand.

OMO: "Thank you, that's very kind. I think."

Quentin 2: "Well, you're a bit of a bear and when our friend said "fatties" we figured that's what he meant."

Quentin 1: "Yes, quite. So, do you have any ideas? I mean, look as us sweetness, we need a bit of help finding anything"

OMO: "Well, the bear tent is that large one down the front that smells of cooking fat. You can't miss it, trust me"

Quentin 1: "Oh good, thank you deary. You are kind to some old gays. So, will you be there?"

OMO: "I should think so, yes"

Quentin 1: "Wonderful! You are my type you know. Like a hairy little bouncy castle. Come along girls, let's go and see the fatties"

Elsewhere I managed not to be insulted by anyone, and in fact The Boyf and I were crowned "Most Beautiful People At Pride" by a mildly drunk women from London in a rather lovely dress, who accosted us later in the evening to ask why everyone was so ugly in Brighton. We agreed that they were, but didn't know why. So we had a long chat about what it meant to be a bear - we get that from straight women a lot - and then she wandered off to catch a train home and "get away from all the ugliness". Bless.

We'd ended up spending most of the day with TPWWSC and R, and also with the sexy Iraqi and his partner, and as usual I ended up snogging TPWWSC and getting myself all worked up. I do wish that boy wasn't so damn sexy. Or married. Oops, probably shouldn’t say that. So, swiftly moving on…

In general we had a wonderful day, which wasn't even spoilt by the ridiculous queue to get on the train at the end of the night. Roll on next year.