EuroPride

A friend of mine, well I say friend, we’ve swapped saliva and text messages occasionally so as good as, remarked that I haven’t posted anything on Europride. Well truth be told, I didn’t because I was somewhat under whelmed by the whole thing but here goes anyway.

Mid afternoon I trudged down past Trafalgar Square in blistering heat to catch the tail end of the parade. All the usual suspects had dragged (and I mean that literally!) themselves up from the Home Counties and were blowing their whistles and waiving their placards like their lives depended on it. You know the usual Pride routine!

I then ambled past the legions of football hooligans into Trafalgar Square which was filled with people wandering aimlessly about waiting for the rally to start, so I toddled over to Leicester sq which was full of people wandering aimlessly about waiting for the for the cabaret to start. Undeterred I ventured on to Soho Sq where guess what….

The whole thing seemed very spread out this year and after watching a few friends, a few of whom were old enough to know better, dancing away in a sea of muscle marys and roasting to death in the sun, on the corner of Greek St . I ventured back to Leicester Sq (by way of a two mile queue for the portaloos. I swear some of those people are still in the queue!) for the Cabaret Stage. Caught the end of Sandra’s routine which was very funny!

Then a friend and I (Gareth) grabbed a drink in the quieter Crescent bar in the square only to be accosted by Z list celebrities (Michelle Collins and one of the Queer Eye guys to be precise) informing us we had lost the football! Somewhat dejected I wandered back to the cabaret stage for the ever brilliant, Dame Edna Experience.

Was just leaving Leicester Sq after everything fizzled out at 7.45pm. When an elderly chap in lycra (ewww) accosted me with the lament that Pride wasn’t what it used to be was it? It’s not like the old days he whined. For a moment I was tempted to pretend I was far too young to remember back that far but given it’s been 3 months since my last lot of Botox I thought I was pushing my luck with that line!

So I nodded in agreement, but then it dawned on me. Has it ever been that good really? Or am I just old and bitter?

No it’s not me! In fact, the last time I remember having a really good laugh at pride was in the early 80’s when a downpour of rain nearly drenched the Beverley Sisters who were then almost electrocuted when the amps on stage got wet!

Ahh the good old days! 10 yrs in a row of Hazel Dean still Searching and Kym Mazelle ballooning to the size of the Hindenburg and entire afternoons lost in over sweaty dance tents! Ahh yes good old days!

So how did I end my pride? In a sweaty drug fuelled night of clubbing?
No a few pints in Comptons (not my usual watering hole but its any pub in a storm in Old Compton St, post pride) and then over to The Joiners Arms and in bed by 2am!

I think its time to hang up my whistle and leave Pride and all its fake tan and sequins to the youngsters!

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