Ah the irony of going to gay pride while in exile. A4 relished pointing this out to me.
I’m not as irate as I was last year about the enforced exile because it was for a much shorter space of time and the ex didn’t require me to remove all my worldly goods from the flat. I can’t imagine how I’d lug all those Barbara Cartland’s around. (I’m up to about 400 now.)
So this time I just hit the road, whistling a little tune, with a red-spotted scarf tied on a stick and the clothes on my back.
I’m living like a bachelor in A4’s lovely Camden flat, Eating ready meals and living out of a suitcase.
A4 has a terribly comfy spare room.
The ex called me on the first or second day of exile to ask me, innocently,
“So…where are you sleeping?”
“Haw! Shame on YOU!”
“No no.. I just wanted to know, are you on a couch or spare room…”
I really should learn to play coy better and string that along a little,
“Oh well, you know….the couch was so uncomfortable and it was a little chilly at night…so A4 and co let me CUDDLE RIGHT UP between them”
You know, play it out a little bit.
This is my first ever London Gay pride parade viewing.
I had never bothered before, and quite frankly I was quite right not to.
Limp, scraggly groups representing charities (Youth Groups and Student Unions), dry corporations (Nandos & British Airways of all things) and political parties walking by (Handing out little round stickers with ‘Never kissed a Tory’ on them).
Lackluster to say the least. A4 having seen many parades was throughly unimpressed.
The highlight of the parade was the Army, Navy and Air-force regiments marching in their uniforms. A girl to the left of us spent the entire time leaning over the barrier, hollering at the top of her voice,
“GET YER KIT OFF! GO ON, GET IT OFF! SHOW US YER TITS! GET YER KIT OFF!”
It was funny the first few times.
Then it became mighty irritating.
A troupe of drag queens style a la Gaga (of vice versa depending on your point of view) marched up wearing bright pink frocks with helium balloons holding up voluminous platinum blonde wigs.
Following them was the Geriatric Gays. A tranny with no teeth was grinning broadly. (I’m suppressing any urge to make some cheap innuendo here. I just want you to know that.)
They loved the girl asking them to take their kit off.
I then went to visit my own gay in Oval, who just came back from a 6 month jaunt in Bombay. Lucky bastard.
On my way back to Camden I saw this sign on the Tube at Kings X.
What a fucking poster!
I think all posters should be designed along these lines.
Think how simple it would be. Just a broad politically incorrect sweep.
Ps- The Candy Bar Girls TV show is beyond dull.