Pride and… Prejudice?

Okay, so this is late (a week late, give or take a few hours), but a lack of commitment seems to be a theme of this blog, so, here is my interpritation of Brighton’s annual celebration of all things liberated and condemned by the Catholic church, Gay Pride.I have to confess, this was the first year I had fully taken part in the celebrations (no deep rooted homophobia here… Even though I do shudder every time  I go into a locker room or see a bottle of shampoo after that ‘Incident’ with the Janitor back at Blatch *dies inwardly*. Normally, I’ve either been away, have had no one to go with or have slept in too late and missed the parade.), but this time I went with a large group of my friends from secondary school who are largely a cross section of society… Well, the psychologically unstable quarter of society, anyway. I knew from the get go that this would be interesting if nothing else.

The parade was fun, with a competition created by my friends to get as many high fives as possible. Much confused gawping was done at the Gay Conservatives float, which seemed to be rather like a float advertising the National Socialist Party of Israel, but I’m sure some self depricating gays must exist, the sort to have been demanding that their parents punish them severely for their lifestyle choice, even though they’re really not all that bothered. Anyway, we actually managed to join the parade, which was pretty exciting, even though I managed to cause several near stoppages thanks to my legs deciding to give way at random intevals.

Once the parade reached it’s destination, me and my droogies stopped off momentarily to buy some ridiculously overpriced Vodka Jelly (An interesting choice on the part of the caterers to mix a drink that was commonly consumed throughout history by homocidal royalty and Communists with a item of food eaten at children’s birthday parties… Look out for Caviar flavoured Jolly Ranchers in all good sweet shops in the upcoming months), an act that left me feeling slightly ripped off considering the amount of vodka inside them was negligable. Shortly afterwards, we made for the party as a whole (which was being held, as usual, in Preston Park).

It was here that I attended my first rave, an experience not recommended for those with any or all of the following:

- Anger management problems

- Asperger’s syndrome

- A rabid pet badger inside a briefcase that’s made of shredded paper.

Having all three of these, I didn’t feel too optimistic. However, I actually found the rhymic bouncing of sweaty homosexual men rather pleasing. THERE I SAID IT! PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT RESPECTABLE, MIDDLE CLASS, ANGLO SAXON UPBRINGING! Several people tried to remove my clothes too, which I’m rather chuffed about (should I be?).

Unfortunately, I had to retreat soon as I felt I was about to pass out (clearly the combined effect of large overhead lights, pumping techno, Grolsch and dancing was a little dehydrating. Never would have thought it.)

The strangest thing is that the entire event, despite being a lot of fun, had this underlying, darker aspect to it. This could just be me being characteristically neurotic, but there was definitely something afoot (especially later on, when the young ‘ins had gone home). For example, the event was one big example of how drinking has this country in it’s grasp (To be fair, I’m no Elliot Ness, I was drinking too, albeit in stronger moderation), once incident I can recall was a man, lying in the fetal position, vomiting on the ground in front of him, then falling into his own oral expulsion and… How do I put this nicely? Lapping…

Now, I’ve lost more than a few brain cells to the wares of Bacchus, and by no means am I trying to stop people having a good time by cracking the whip of my puritan forefathers and telling them they’re destined for an afterlife spent cooking in Fire and Brimstone if they over indulge, but I think we can all agree that being in such a state you mistake your own vomit for a tasty snack is a little on the extreme side of things.

This is only one example, but one of the group of friends I went out with was approached by a woman selling what appeared to be genuine crack cocaine. As I said though, maybe this is just me worrying too much, and I don’t want to sour what was otherwise a pleasant day out with endless, blind panic and fear mongering. If people wanted that they’d watch the news…

However, the whole concept of gay pride does bring a debate to mind, which is this: Is having a “gay” pride really ethnical? By this, I don’t mean to say that our thriving gay community should be shrugged off or persecuted, far from it. What I mean is, should our sexuality be so evident that we have to celebrate it in order to justify it? Shouldn’t our sexuality just be a part of our everyday lives, not something to scream out about? A festival named “Straight pride” would probably be condemned as homophobic, and it probably would be, but wouldn’t it in essence be the same thing? Perhaps I am over analyzing, perhaps gay pride is really just an excuse for misguided liberal busybodies like me to dance like imbeciles and then go home and blog about it afterwards while the genuine gay people look on awkwardly, trying to avoid the man who is eating his own regurgitation.

I should point out now that this isn’t necessarily my opinion, it is merely a train of thought that I would like to bring to the table. As a person with numerous gay and bisexual friends (sorry to use the old ‘Many of my best friends are *insert minority*” chestnut), it dawns on me that I should ask them for their opinion… Well, I have a homework task. What about you, dear reader? What is your opinion on the celebration of sexuality?

I’m sure that there was more I was meant to say, but it’s late and I can barely keep my eyes open.

Keep on truckin,

- Thomas Harrison

P.S. This post is somehow stuck on Times New Roman… It’s like being in a universe controlled by the Liberal Democrats…

P.P.S. Sorry if this blog made very little sense, as I stated previously I’m really tired.

Tags: Gay, Pride