Well, Pride in London finally arrived, and after last year’s
damp squib (World Pride, too, if you remember), it can only be accounted a huge
success for the new team in charge. The theme of the parade this year was,
rightly, love and marriage, for it won’t be long now before gay men and women
will be able to marry their partners, whatever delaying tactics our opponents
use. The tide is surely in our favour.
No doubt those opponents were praying for God’s vengeance on
us, for, if not fire and brimstone, at least torrential rain to spoil our day,
and, let’s face it, given the miserable June weather we had had so far, it
wouldn’t have been that surprising. In the event, it seemed God smiled on us.
London basked in the first true summer weather of the year. The sunshine
brought out the smiles and, with it, one of the biggest and happiest Prides in
recent memory. By report this was also the biggest and most heavily attended
Pride in 10 years.
My friends and I were marching, leather clad, in the first
section of the parade, alongside members of MSC London and Bluff, London’s two
most prominent leather and fetish wear organisations. We were followed by the
most disarming group of LGBT Filipino dancers, whilst ahead of us were a group
of fetish dogs and felines, so there was definitely something for everyone. It
is absolutely a tremendous experience to march in the parade, but the only
problem is that by marching, you don’t get to see the range of people in the
parade, nor get a feeling of just how big it actually is. Years ago, I remember
we used to march down Piccadilly, and that was one of the few times you could
actually get an idea of the huge size of the event, a truly exhilarating
experience. However, there were plenty of photos around on facebook and the like,
and some on the net (a wonderful series in The Guardian), that give a great
impression of the sheer diversity of our community.
One of the most enjoyable parts of marching, though, is just
seeing the thousands of people, gay and straight, lining the parade route,
enjoying the spectacle; waves of positivity and love. People with their
families and friends, all there to cheer us on. For those who say that Pride is
redundant, that we no longer need it, this is their answer, and this is why we
need it.
Before the parade started I was chatting to one of the guys
selling whistles and rainbow flags, an affable born and bred Londoner.
“You won’t be needing one of these, mate, will ya? Won’t go
with your outfit,” he joked.
“Hardly,” I replied.
He then went on chat to me about how important he thought
Pride was, telling me about his best friend, who had just come out.
“I think it’s wonderful. He’s marching today for the first
time,” he said. “I can’t tell you how important this is for him. I love him,
you know. He’s my mate. Makes no difference to me who he fancies. I just hope
he can marry some bloke he falls for one day. Have a great day and wave to me
wife and kids if you see ‘em. Oh no, you won’t know’em will ya?” he laughed,
and went back out into the crowd as I moved off to join my buddies in leather.
No doubt it was unbearably hot for those in full Bluff
leather gear. I had shoehorned myself into my leather trousers, but had elected
for just a waistcoat and armbands on top. The sun certainly came as a bit of a
shock and I ended up with white rings round my arms where the armbands were and
white patches on my body where the waistcoat went. Ah well, one has to suffer
for one’s art.
The only dissent I witnessed all day was a small bunch of
god botherers, waving anti-gay marriage placards. The police had kept them well
back and out of the way, and, to tell the truth, nobody, not the revellers, not
the marchers, not the spectators, was taking a blind bit of notice of them. You
have to wonder why they even bother.
Once the march broke up in Whitehall, we made our way into
Soho to see if we could bag a table outside our favourite haunt, Balans Cafe,
for some well needed lunch. The management and staff had all dressed up for the
occasion, and they all looked fabulous, particularly, Rohan, who has to be my
favourite waiter in all of London, looking hot as hell in a hard hat, plaid
shirt, denim shorts and boots. Sitting was not exactly easy in my ultra-tight
leather trousers, but we attracted a lot of attention in our leather gear, with
loads of young men wanting to have their photo taken sitting on my lap. I
wasn’t complaining.
As we already had tickets for Summer Rites Pride in the
Park, we missed the celebrations in Trafalgar Square, which were apparently
superb. I really must get down there next year.
So, having got changed into rather more comfortable shorts
and trainers, we arrived at a busy Shoreditch Park at about 6pm for what was an
extremely well planned and organised event. Shoreditch Park is just about the
perfect size. Not too big and not too small, and, with an incredible selection
of no less than 7 Music Arenas, showcasing an array of London's finest DJs and
Performers, who were representing some of the cities hottest club brands, there
really was something for everyone! Aside from the Music Arenas there were also
5 licensed bars, a Fun Fair and a Community Market. Most importantly bar staff
and toilets were plentiful, so there was no real queuing. So often at these
events, one ends up spending hours in toilet queues or struggling to get a
drink at the bar.
We popped into most of the various tents to see what was
going on. They weren’t over busy to begin with. No doubt, it being such a
beautiful day, the majority preferred to be outside soaking up the sun, and
indeed that is where we found ourselves for the most part, catching up with
friends we hadn’t seen for ages. Later on, the dance tents began to get much
busier, as revellers soaked up the music, and danced the night away. I was also
impressed with how clean the park was. Either, they had an army of cleaners
running around, though I never saw any, or people were making sure they dropped
their plastic glasses and bottles in the plentiful bins that were provided. Either
way, it was refreshing.
By around 9pm, I had had enough. It had been a long day, my
legs and feet were killing me and I decided it was time to go home. I had
planned to go to the Hustlaball, but I was just too tired to manage it, and
ended up having an early night. I’m sure I missed a great night out, but it was
nice to wake up at a reasonable hour on Sunday and actually get to enjoy what
turned out to be the warmest day of the year so far.
Over the next couple of days I scanned the internet for news
of the event, but was rather saddened to see that the mainstream press had
largely ignored us. When, a couple of months back, a few crazy Frenchmen turned
up in Trafalgar Square to protest equal marriage, the press was full of it, but
thousands march through the streets, celebrating the diversity of our
community, approvingly egged on by thousands of spectators, both straight and
gay, and they completely ignore us. One does have to ask if there is some sort
of agenda going on here. As far as I could make out, only The Guardian on line
printed a series of photographs of the event. I was surprised to see nothing
from our usual ally, The Independent. It was also rather disappointing that the
Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, chose, yet again, not to attend. He pledges his
support for the LGBT community, but has, as far as I’m aware, only put in one,
rather uncomfortable, appearance. Time to get over it, Boris.
What was not dispiriting is that this year’s event has
risen, Phoenix-like, from the ashes of last year’s near fiasco, and has been an
incredible success. Roll on 2014.
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