Wednesday, August 9 2006, 15:07

Rainbow flags and tat on sale? Must be Pride again...

Pride season is almost over. All that's left (that I'd consider going to) is Manchester Pride, and I'm going to Creamfields that weekend (about which more later), so that's out of the question. First we had Europride (London) on my birthday, then Soho Pride at the end of July, and last weekend, Brighton Pride.

Soho Pride is always a good laugh if it's a sunny day; everyone's out in pedestrianised Soho, spilling out of bars, dancing in the streets, picnicking in the Square, buying homo-themed crap from the many stalls, and this year was no different - a great day out, just a shame there's work the next day.

But in many ways, Brighton is the King (or maybe Queen) of Prides in the UK - there's a parade, which always has a decent number of floats and supporters; the party, with its huge market, dance tents, funfair, and many, many bars, is huge and amazingly free, and its close proximity to London ensures that it's immensely popular - an ideal opportunity for all the capital gays to have a seaside break.

This year was the first time I decided to spend the night in Brighton, but the evening started slightly with disaster. I went to use an ATM and discovered I'd lost my wallet. Again! Personally, I blame John. I've only lost my wallet three times in all the years I can remember, and they have all been while John has been my boyfriend. That's no coincidence, in my far-from-humble opinion. Either he takes a furtive delight in watching me go through the agony of cancelling my cards, or the pixies of ill fortune dance their merry attendance upon him and wreak their mischievous havoc on his hapless other half.

Amazingly, it didn't ruin my evening. We had failed to get tickets to Wild Fruit, the famous Brighton homoclub, so we went for Crash @ Monkey instead - a new phenomenon at London-on-Sea. We weren't disappointed, but I'll spare you the details. Suffice to say, it was spacious, packed, happily DJed, and a thoroughly nice change from the usual suspects we go to in London. Naturally, we had no hope of catching our 4am train, so we killed a couple of hours at The Ocean Rooms before walking, then running (uphill!) for our train, and snoozing all the way home. Marvellous!

Photos from Brighton Pride

Friday, August 11 2006, 10:33

Confession time

Last Thursday, Ross and I went to see none other than the Queen of Pop, Madonna. Not Mary, Mother of God, no - the real Madonna! We made our way to Wembley Arena, got a few drinks to get us in the mood and took our pretty damn decent seats - I won't bother describing them, you can just look at the pics and see for yourself (and remember when you're looking at the pics that I had to smuggle my camera into the arena down my pants!).

The show started and, as the bass blasted out of the monster sound system, a massive disco ball descended from the ceiling to the end of the stage catwalk and opened like a Terry's Chocolate Orange to thunderous applause disgorging Madge herself in a black suit and top hat. And then she began to sing.

It's amazing to think that she's 47 years old. I don't know many ladies that age who can perform a two hour set, belting out the vocals to Jump, Ray of Light, Hung Up, and all the others, while cavorting around stage with a troupe of dancers and gyrating around poles, grinding on saddles, bestriding chairs and generally shaking her Pop Bitch Booty - and with multiple costume changes all the way through. Amazing.

We saw the controversial Live To Tell performance, in which Madonna is lifted up on a cross (see pics) adorned with a crown of thorns. It's a good deal tamer than simulating masturbation on stage, I'd say. But none of those articles about that number mention the images of two guys during the following song, Forbidden Love, one with an Islamic crescent and one with a Jewish Star of David tattooed on his chest, standing hand in hand. What a great and powerful image, especially at this time - but no, it's all swept under the carpet because some crotchety old men in Rome have got their cassocks in a twist.

What other highlights can I mention? The leaping dancers during Jump, the incredible flying Manhattan cityscape on the screen during I Love New York, cherry blossoms during Substitute For Love, the Latino rendition of La Isla Bonita complete with tropical island backdrops, the stunning background visuals of Lucky Star (I was so blown away I could have wet myself)… Well, no point talking about them - check out the pictures and videos I took on the night.

Pictures (and videos!) from the Confessions concert

Monday, August 14 2006, 15:01

High octane stag weekend!

My old schoolchum, James, is getting married this month, and this a couple of weekends ago, I went to join him in the time-honoured ritual of the Stag Night. Mercifully, this didn't involve zipping off to Gran Canaria for a weekend of further demolishing the British tourist's parlous reputation among the locals and returning with twenty sunburned, beery lads and their hideous sombreros on a no-frills flight to Luton.

No, this was a much more fun affair, although for me it did start with a 7.35am train to Poole. The other guys were James' younger brother, Pete, Mike (another schoolchum), Tim and Chris (two of James' uni friends), and Phil and Dave (brothers of the bride). Our first port of call was the go-karting track, where we were taking part in an endurance competition (!). If I had enough hair to suffer from hair-raising, my driving around those hairpin bends would have brought it on after 90 minutes of driving, on and off.

The best I can think of to describe it is a mixture of terror that I was hurtling around the track with such reckless abandon and mild panic that I was going to cause an accident, tempered with some slight gentlemanly sportsmanship that prevented any shocking overtaking, but overruled by outraged fury that all the other bastards were cutting me up and zipping past me, and inevitably leaving me braking like mad to stop bashing into them or someone else. Hmph. Still, it was all rather exhilarating and left me grinning, if a little frayed around the edges, with shaking hands. Unfortunately, neither of our two teams of four came anywhere near winning.

Our next stop was the beach for some windsurfing. Dubious at first, I did surprisingly begin to pick it up; for most of the two hours that we were out there, despite our minimal instruction, I could only really manage to quarter the wind in one direction. Finally, just before our time was up, I began to get the hang of it, although it may be the switch between calling my windsurf "Bitch' and "Lovely" that did it. Nevertheless, it was too late - the tide had gone right out, and the fin was sticking in the sand. I also noted that everyone except me and Phil had retired, probably to avoid dragging the windsurfs through centimetre deep water over the sand.

After a day of activity and nothing but a chocolate bar to keep me going , the relaxed barbecue in James' garden with a bottle of beer or two hit the spot, and was good ballast for a night out among the dizzying lights of Poole quayside. In actuality, we stayed in the first pub we stopped at and chatted and drank until we were all about ready to drop off, and then zipped back to James' for some much-needed kip!

Photos from the day and night

Tuesday, August 22 2006, 14:23

Tick tick tick

I booked my flights for Sydney yesterday. Suddenly the whole "moving to Australia" thing got a big step closer and a lot more real. It's a mixed bag though - there's so much I'm looking forward to, so many people I can't wait to see, so many friendships that have been in pause mode while I'm so far away. There's also so much to do, so much to organise, so much to pack (and so much to bin!). And of course, there's so much I'm going to miss: all the opportunities to travel cheaply in Europe will evaporate; the value of my money will plummet; all the places in London that I love, or have great memories associated with - especially my home with Pete, and most of all, my family and friends. Oh dear. Starting to sound like an Oscars acceptance speech, and I'm getting emotional already, it can't be a good sign...

So anyway, I'm leaving on the 10th October. I've got a short stopover in Singapore to see Neil, and I'll arrive in Sydney on the 15th. The clock is now officially ticking, and I've got 49 days, 6 hours, and 57 minutes to make the most of everything and everyone here. SHIT! :)

Thursday, August 24 2006, 17:54

Creamed!

For the bank holiday weekend, a small bunch of us headed up north to the Creamfields festival for a day and night of fun and dancing. It wasn't quite what we'd expected... Read all about it in the photo gallery.

Photos from Creamfields