Round Europe with a Hangover, part I

Hello all,

I have decided to upload my travel journals in parts, as opposed to my original idea of uploading it all at once. It’s a bit like feeding foul medicine spoonful at a time, instead of risking vomit by swallowing it all at once… Also, yes, the title is hugely ripping off Tony Hawk’s “Round Ireland with a Fridge”. Sue me (or don’t, as the case may be). Here we go:

Round Europe with a Hangover

The first thing you’ll notice when arriving on the continent is the differences in attitudes amongst the people there. The British people (the English especially) have a largely deserved worldwide reputation as rude, arrogant, anal retentive and generally socially less than perfect. The reasons for this are not known, perhaps it is the awful weather, perhaps the bland food, perhaps the institutionalised inbreeding amongst both our affluent and impoverished combined with the loss of one of the world’s most expansive empires and the fact that the red, white and blue semen stains the United States has left around our government’s mouth just won’t come out in the wash has put a dampener on our national mirth. Either way, it was easy to see why the English people have always been regarded as boring and monotone when sitting in a London coffee shop, discussing with my travelling companions the notion that of all of us, I am probably the most likely to hire a sex worker, according at least to Charles’ grandmother. I was, however, informed that in the event of this, I should shop around for a better deal. Unfortunately, all of my efforts thus far at typing “cheap whores” into price comparison websites had been returned with error messages. Oh well, someday.

I feel obligated before continuing to outline exactly what I was doing in Europe in the first place. I have recently left sixth form college, and being a shallow dilettante that likes to pretend to be well cultured, a tour of Europe seemed like the logical thing to do. Also drinks are cheaper in Eastern European council estates, even if you might get shot consuming it. It’s no secret that I’m not the most well grounded person on Earth to be undertaking such a journey, and many people had understandable, if somewhat depressing concerns that I would make some god awful mistake that would lead me down a path of ruin. The way I saw it, this trip was more than just an excuse to vomit on a war memorial like so many other brain damaged British louts had done before me, it was a means of exploring the limits of my independence, a 50/50 leap into the unknown. In retrospect, this was a rather naïve and pretentious way of looking at a holiday, but naïve and pretentious are two words that summarise me well, so I’ll roll with it. Of course, another reason I had for travelling was to serve as inspiration for my writing, fuel for which I have recently found myself deprived of. Whether this is just plain laziness or something deeper is up to you to decide, but travelling is recommended as a way of curing writer’s block, so I pushed all thoughts of Jack Torrance aside and decided to give it a try. I’m aiming to be as honest as possible, although my delusions and eccentricities may taint the finished product. One thing is certain, I will be trying to cover just how the mind of a travelling teenager works to the best of my stinted ability, so it may not all be glamorous or happy. Wow, just like in Skins!™

Something else I must mention before continuing is that due to unforeseen illness, I could not stay for the full 20 days of the trip, leaving instead a few days early so as not to invoke rage in my companions through being ill while they wanted to have fun. It’s difficult to have a good holiday when someone is puking on your sleeping bag, in short. This is hugely regrettable, but I’d like to think that leaving early allowed for a better quality of time for my comrades. I’m a charitable fucker like that.

By the time we arrived at St. Pancreas it already felt like we had traversed a mountain. In this case, a mountain made up of London’s very finest scents of sweat and urine, with a summit covered in greasy food and greasy people. It always baffles me just how busy London appears to be, my native town of Brighton, with a population of around 253,500, feels like a village in comparison. I suppose many would say it is. It’s always interesting to see the diversity of a train station in a capital city. Holiday makers and immigrants from all over the world can be seen, some of them even look happy to be here, although I’m sure that’ll change the moment they see the homeless filling the streets, or the moment a drunken moron howls a racial slur in their vague direction. Either way, I had little time to dwell upon the delicate racial makeup of great Britain, I had a Eurostar to catch. The biggest obstacle I had to overcome was getting through post 9/11 customs as a scruffy looking bag of nerves without an unwanted, 9mm enema. Indeed, I was stopped due to my neglect of the removal of my wallet, something an official about 3 meters away had told me was not necessary. It begs the question, when two people within easy talking distance of each other tell me differing information, are we properly prepared to tackle the ever present, unseen menace of Islamic extremism, something so terrible and dangerous it only manifests itself every few years as a socially isolated loner’s desperate and tragic act of hatred, something Caucasian socially isolated loners have been doing for years with much less press coverage.

Aboard the Eurostar, I was positioned next to a fellow Brit who congratulated me on having chosen to travel by inter rail, and expressed an envy of the adventures I was going to drift through on my travels. Feeling an immense sense of relief at this fellow tourist not knowing that chances are the journey would be spent mostly drunkenly stumbling around subway stations trying to remember which country we were in, I bought myself an Orangina (a drink shamefully pulled from mainstream circulation in the UK) and settled into the seat, pausing only briefly to mock Charles for buying a chardonnay “just because he could”. Many shrill Inbetweeners style cries of “Special chardonnay fwend!” followed, accompanied by many childish, but probably more original comebacks. Largely travelling on the Eurostar is a comfortable but somewhat monotonous experience, as once the amazing thought that you are travelling underneath the bottom of the ocean wears off, along with the typical daydream of immaculate German terrorists conducting a hijack that only I (and a quirky, but less adept buddy character played by a washed up ex rapper) can unravel you generally find yourself… Well, a little bored. Nice though the flash of the French countryside zooming past can be, one can get the same experience by drinking a bottle of tequila and dragging your face along a freshly mowed lawn. Either way, the speed of the train ensures that the journey is over moderately soon, and sure enough my companions and I crawled off of our inter country chariot and found ourselves in Brussels…

Europe

Hey all,

Back from Europe now, beginning to type up notes. It’s a gruelling process, the words aren’t coming out as easily as I’d like, it’s worrying.

Should be up soon, with any luck.

- Tom

Beards Awards/Europe

Hello all,

Just a couple of things. First of all I feel it prudent to mention the Beards Awards that took place today (well, technically yesterday, I tend to lose track of time and find myself posting at 2 in the morning) and for which I was nominated. It was, and I say this without a hint of sycophantic deception, truly astounding to hear the variety and sophistication in what was read ou in both the winners and runners upt. I didn’t walk away with anything for my catagory, but I feel that the best (wo)man won, so no complaints there. My £10 worth of book vouchers will be put to good use in a brand new copy of “My Booky Wook” which I intend to incinerate in an attempt at warding off evil spirits. Evil spirits with stupid, matted hair and irritating voices.

Secondly, and moving on more towards the bullet point of my post tonight, I will be away travelling from the 4th to the 25th of July, attempting to navigate Europe on a shoestring budget (anyone know why they call it a shoestring budget? Surely “a cardboard box budget” or “a buckfast budget” would be more recognisable?). My exact ports of all call are not set in stone (I generally leave it up to my travel companions to handle the organisational side of things, while I prefer to sit back in a slightly drunken daze and pretend I’m Hunter S Thompson) but suffice to say I’ll be spending my 18th Birthday in Amsterdam (oh dear). Anywho, I intend to record my trials, tribulations and experiences on the continent in a travel writing style (I’m hoping the places I visit will also inspire me to actually write something creative for the first time in weeks, too) and anything I do get, I’ll edit and try and post up here, so keep tuned.

Anyway, I should probably be off now, just thought I’d inform y’all of my plans for the future.

Like Jack Kerouac without the homophobia,

- Tom

P.S. For anyone that is interested, I’m now twittering on www.twitter.com/codewordnerd, so check it out

The people’s flag is deepest red…

Hello chums, or should that be comrades, as I have just returned from the Apocalyptic Class War at the Palace Pier. Anyone who wants to know more can check out – http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/sussex/8032579.stm, although I don’t think they have all the details).

Anyhoo, being the computer literate sensitive douche I am, I decided to chronicle my experiences so that future generations can… well… see what I wimp I was.

Now, unfortunately I missed the open of the festivities, which included popular Brightonian carnival games such as “Chase the idealistic teenagers with the horses” and my personal favourite “Mace the hippie”. Stories speak of attempts at knocking over Police Trucks and the defilation of McDonalds branches (we brits sure know how to do revolution). Anyway, the effects of the demonstrations could be seen across town. The police were everywhere, the station, the streets, they even had guys in full blown riot gear outside most major banks. In my opinion, the way to overthrow a capitalist government is to target the decadent higher up powers-that-be, not to smash up an HSBC and scare a few old ladies, but hey, what do I know about the pumping leftist underground? I wasn’t even drunkenly picking fights or anything…

Once I arrived at the rave/demonstration/accident waiting to happen I was staggered by the sheer size of things. I had no idea that so many people had turned up, and considering the nearest I had ever come to a protest is the DVD of Billy Elliot, I wasn’t used to seeing so many protestors. The eeirest thing about it all is just how much the crowd mentality effects you. I mean, I was slightly biased towards the protestors anyway, what with my fear, loathing and morbid interest in the modern military industrial complex, but there’s something about the anarchic rhythm of a mob that can get to even the most timid of men (just look at me). It’s a dizzying mess of emotions, in the space of seconds, my mood changed from total and utter terror at the very real probablity that the police could initiate a baton charge at any moment (some members of the crowd I spoke to were pretty pissed about the G20 beatings) to an immense desire to take to the streets with an AK-47 in the name of sweet lady revolution (ironic as the protests were anti war). Obviously, these are foolish fantasies, but they were still alarming, and I realised that however mediated you seem, people are very impressionable. Thankfully I’ve always had a strong left wing bias, and could never bring myself to support any right wing movements, but it goes to show how passionate people can get over the behaviour of the pack.

The other staggering thing is the sheer diversity of people that were attending the demonstration. Things seemed divided into multiple groups: The people that knew why they were there and genuinely wanted a peaceful protest, the people that had no idea why they were there and wanted to get pissed in front of police officers, and the people that wanted a fight. I swear blind that I saw people in Combat 18 jackets there, despite the fact that the demonstration was meant to have a leftist bias. This brings me onto another point, it seems to me, and far be it from I to criticise, that many of the people there were behaving in a manner unbecoming of those with a virtuous cause. I understand hedonistic desire, but I don’t think that disrupting the daily lives and routines of innocent people with needlessly raunchy behaviour is going to get many people on their side. Bare in mind this isn’t always to put forward the message, but is sometimes just to intimidate and empower, which is exactly what the people they claim to be undermining do. Obviously, only a very small minority were causing trouble, and many (including myself) just wanted to express opinion in peace. I mean, I have no qualms with the police, as I say, abominations should be decapitated at the source, not prodded with pokers until they bite back.

I actually got speaking to some of the people involved, and it was amazing to see the sheer vitriol directed at the police, sheer anger that ranged from understandable to seemingly random. One man claimed to have attacked a senior police officer at a previous rally with a paintball gun (fired into his face) in retribution for the beating of a friend, another spoke of a close friend being knocked to the ground in the pavillian grounds for getting to close to the corden (an innocent being brutalised on property built by the Royal Family – How very fitting) and one gentlemen was discussing with me at length a series of videos showing police officers being mauled and maimed in various riots – and expressing a desire to repeat some of them. The worrying thing is that this person wasn’t a thug or a yobbo, he was in his ordinary life a very normal person.

One thing I think we can all gain some degree of contentment from is how this has opened people’s eyes to the horrors that weapon’s manufacturers such as EDO MBM Technology conduct within the limits of a city that prides itself on liberalism and progression. If there is any justice in our society, the powers that be will listen to the people and will intervene to try and put as much of a bung in the operations of these kings of conflict. I know that it will be hard, and I know that they have power on their side, but it’s better to try and do something than to sit back with our fingers in our ears sedating ourselves with creature comforts while the unfortunate wither and rot around us.  Call me stupid, call me naive, but that is the main reason I put in an appearance today, plain and simple humanity. Demonstrations and gatherings can be amongst the only ways to voice opinion that will be noticed by those at the top, I just hope that everyone present understood that.

Overall, and speaking as someone who does not attend these regularly (mainly due to lack of organisational skills) I found it to be a dizzying experience that felt like teetering on a knife edge, a place where the boundaries between genuine commitment to a noble cause and a poorly cooked excuse for grown people to act like animals are extremely blurred. I do wish to act against the horrors of this world throughout my life to some degree though, and this has been an enlightening (if not untarnished) experience.

I had more to say, but in time honoured tradition I’ve gone and bloody forgotten it. Feel free to leave comments, it may spark up some memory.

Fighting the good fight,

- Tom

The world of substandard literature according to Tom Harrison

Hello,

Upon recently watching an excerpt from a Stewart Lee comedy gig on celebrity novels and autobiographies, I decided to explore this theme myself (namely by reiterating the points in a less humorous, less eloquent way). Celebrity books have always held a certain place in my mind, somewhere towards the back on the same level I consider cockroaches and gang rape. It honest baffles the mind to behold drab, dire, irritatingly self indulgent books written by the latest talent less nobody desperate to gain as much press coverage as possible. Examples include fictionalised accounts of irritating lives such as politicunt (sorry, couldn’t help myself) Bill O’Reilly’s hilariously self indulgent novel “Those Who Trespass” (Trespass on what, I wonder? The Democratic Party’s headquarters?), so-simple-a-Daily-Mail-reader-could-read-them novels like The Da Vinci Code, which takes a needless, paranoid conspiracy theory and turns it into a needless, paranoid novel. The worst thing is celebrities three or four years older than myself writing autobiographies about how hard it is making money and dripping recognition when you’re a talent less, useless, uncouth non human with a cocaine and hooker addiction and a BTEC in procrastination from a college nobody has heard of, while your former collegemates struggle to break even in whatever drudge they call employment. There are books by Russell Brand in which he flaunts his heroin addiction, seriously. It’s pathetic.

The biggest insult is how these books are smeared into the faces of anyone visiting a mainstream bookshop like Gulliver’s Yahoos rubbing faecal matter into those they deem inferior. More shelf space is wasted in major bookshops with the latest insufferable celebrity arsewipe than with any other kind of novel, magazine or technical manual. It’s not like there’s nothing decent to publish, there are simply countless writers (myself probably not included) with the ability and drive to produce some of the greatest books set to paper, it’s just that subtlety and integrity don’t sell as well as some Radio One Disk Jockey massaging his success in playing the same record every 15 minutes between dribbling out one liners about the girl he copulated with the previous night. The public like to point the all-too respectable finger of accusation at the supposed moral decay we’re all existing under, blaming everything from immigration to teenage culture. Maybe the problem doesn’t lie so much in teenagers themselves, but in lack of genuine stimulation in this shallow world of meaningless words splattered onto wasted trees?

Rambling incoherently for the greater good,

- Tom

A much needed update, methinks

So, hasn’t everything been busy lately?

First of all, I would like to bring to light what could be seen by many to be a rather obvious topic, the inauguration of Barack Obama, the 44th president of the United States of America. I’m sorry if this is late, I apologize if every single blogger on the web has spewed out empty thoughts on this matter, but the straight, simple fact is that a great number of people (myself included, to an extent) thought that we would never see an African American standing on the steps of the White House, being sworn in as leader of the world’s most influential superpower.

This leads me conveniently on to what I feel was something of a talking point for the ceremony, the issue of race. I mean, of course it is a great thing that the American public has shown it’s decency and grasp of equality by voting in a black President, but the televised inauguration was riddled with what I considered to be needless references to the colour of his skin. Yes it was something that should have been mentioned, yes his rise to power against all odds was something that should have been celebrated, but to mention it as much as they did somewhat undermined exactly what they were trying to glamorize. The fact that a man who fifty years ago wouldn’t have been able to get a respectable job could become the most powerful man in the country the same as anyone else. By commenting on it so much, they almost turned it into an attraction, an advertisement for modern American liberalism. Perhaps I’ve spoken ahead of myself, I mean, they didn’t comment on it half as much as I thought they would, and it is a major feat. It just hope that Barack Obama is remembered as more than just “the first African American President”, I hope he is remembered as “A competant, strong willed President” with the issue of his race backlighted in favour of what the man actually does during his term(s). Whatever happens, the ceremony was beautiful, and clearly touched hearts and reached minds around the world (some excellent pictures from the day can be found here – http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/01/the_inauguration_of_president.html).

I apologize if that made no sense, as ever I tend to spurt out my thoughts without really thinking them through. Consider it the written form of cinema verite… Or gibberish, depending on how much you like me.

Now, I feel it prudent to mention the ongoing military action (or, as some would call them, crimes) being waged by the Israeli Defense Force in the Gaza Strip. This is a topic that most people have some sort of opinion about, and I myself have been questioned time and time again on “who I support” in this conflict, as if it were a football game.  Because of this hollow ground, it is with a degree of moderation I attempt to write this: I have been following the events in the Gaza strip closely, as the politics of that region, as well as the history of the State of Israel itself, interest me. Perhaps this could be considered trivialization, but the situation could be explained using the example of a small child that has received nothing but disdain and scorn from every social group that they attempted communication with. Eventually, this child is going to grow bitter, angry and disillusioned, and will seek security and, to an extent, solitude. Once this is granted, the child will become the monster it was formally tormented by, and the cycle begins again, with the exact same symptoms of anger and faked superiority that were exhibited by it’s tormentors. It is about this time we must realise that the monster did not create itself, we did.

Of course, this comparison is weak in places, I doubt that the state of Israel’s military campaign could be stopped with a reassuring hug (although I suppose it’s worth a try), but what I am trying to point out is that yes, the military action the IDF is conducting is a crime, maybe even a sin, and of course it should be hindered and stopped as soon as possible, but have the Jewish people not been subjected to equal horrors throughout history? It is all to easy to write an entire country (or people) off as a token “Evil Empire” without seeing the bigger picture. While many senior members of the Israeli government are ignorant to this very same picture and serve only to exacerbate the already uncontrollable tensions in the Middle East, the source of the problem also lies within the ranks of Anti-Semitic, extremist groups. I have spoken to a Israeli born friend who declared themselves to be Jewish only to receive boos and hisses from their classmates which is, frankly, disgusting. It is because of this that when asked what side I support in this ironic but somehow fitting war for sacred ground, I reply “The innocent”. The harmless citizens, Jewish, Muslim, Christian or Non Believer that are just like each other, struggling to get by in a world tearing itself apart due to the actions of the powerful and insane.

- Thomas “Why can’t it all just be a theme park?” Harrison

Writer’s Block

Hello,

People may be wondering why there has been a distinct lack of depressing, self indulgent nonsense on the BHASVIC floating around lately, which is mainly due to me becoming stricken with unshakable writer’s block. At present, my biggest problem isn’t not wanting to write, it’s not knowing *what* to write, or how to express it. I’ve spent the last 45 minutes staring into a blank word document, hoping that just one mediocre sentence would form itself from the caverns of my thought. In typical procrastinotic (is that a word?) fashion, this has led me to start thinking about the nature of writer’s block. Obviously it could most simply and literally be summed up as a lack of creative energy in the mind of a writer, but being stuck up and quasi intellectual, I like to see it as something more.

If you will humour me, consider creative energy as a village water pump in a desolate village. As long as the water is flowing, the writer can be nourished, and can enjoy the wealth of abundance, but as soon as something prevents the flow, everything in the writer’s life can grind to a holt. Perhaps the image of the average casual poet sinking into a downward spiral due to a lack of Myspace blog material is somewhat overdramatic, but I know that many times a lack of inspiration has served as a catalyst to a general bad mood. Now, when the writer searches for their ration of inspiration, they find nothing, not even a single drop of ability. Quickly, confusion turns to full blown bewilderment to complete and utter despair. The problem is, however much you force the pump, you still get nothing. You can punch, kick, prey or scream at the thing for as long as you want, it’ll all become counter productive, the only thing that will get the waters of ability flowing again is chance.

The moment you are able to write again seems like a feeling of rebirth, you can lie awake at night dreaming of the opportunities for expression. You sit and write for hours and hours, sometimes shutting out the typical facets of existance completely and only after you’ve finished creating fountains of thought do you sit back and realise that what you have written is meaningless. The waters you have been given have just drained away into nonsense. You were just so absorbed in being able to bring pen to paper (or fingers to keys, as the case may be) you didn’t realise that what you were putting was, for want of a more subtle term, complete bollocks… Then, where do you stand? You’re stuck right back where you were when you were to begin with, with a lingering thirst for creative contentment that cannot be quenched.

Perhaps it’s only me that works this way, but I think the horrors of writer’s block are something that we all deal with at some stage. I apologize if everything above here made no sense, I guess it could be considered a spewing that I hoped would cure me of my impediment.

A genuinely fluffy person really,

- Tom

… and the Rocket’s red glare part II

So, seemingly the good man won (from my perspective, anyway). For the time being, this is good news indeed. Although I feel compelled to be a party pooper and point out some negatives. The first, and this is a point that has been raised by many of my friends, is that Obama may be assassinated during his spell in the White House. Certainly, two or more attempts on his life have been unearthed, with countless others inevitably in the pipeline. This is indeed worrying news, but we can all be rest assured that the moronic, inbred hicks willing to make an attempt on the life of the soon-to-be most powerful man on the planet are usually too stupid to get anywhere in their plans, and get caught after posting the exact details of their “operations” on Stormfront. The biggest danger would be if a racist organisation hired someone with half a brain cell to do the job, in which case we may have something to worry about. But enough future Tom Clancy plotlines.

The other, less dramatic problem could be that Obama turns into the American Blair, in that he is all talk and no action, and will lead the country further down the road that Bush sent it marching towards. This is possible, but at this stage it is impossible to draw any conclusions, one way or the other. I’m trying to remain optimistic though, at least the world’s most influential superpower isn’t being co-led by a woman who believes in witches…

What do you all think of the situation?

- Tom

… and the Rocket’s red glare, part I.

So, here we are, teetering nervously on the brink of another result day. The biggest difference is this time the Republican candidate is a fossil, not a chimp. There’s definately a buzz in the air, although it could just be the caffiene I’ve saved up for this very occasion. The Internet is aflame with opinions and values… and people calling the opposing candidate a fruity variety of ethnic and homophobic slurs, but Youtube will be youtube. I prefer to take a less hostile stance in these final moments of indecision, the time for rallying cries and stirring speeches is over. The only thing that will influence the outcome of the election now is the hearts and minds of the American people. I am perhaps speaking slightly out of character as a cynical, bitter Brit who spends his days rubbing his cultural identity into the brick wall of a crumbling coal mine when I say that I do have some faith in the average American citizen. After all, no reasonable human being could be seduced again by the poorly thought out economic policies and war mongering propoganda of the American right, could they?

One of the things that irritates me is just how much the coverage mentions the colour of Obama’s skin. In about 30 minutes I heard an uncountable number of references to his race. I mean, I understand that the fact that he is the first African American (well, half African American) candidate to run for the presidency and succeed in getting this far will be on the minds of many voters (influencing them either positively, negatively, or not at all) but does the media really need to mention it every time some overweight, nylon suit clad, just-left-of-Mosley political “commentator” (or shit stirrer, depending on how sugar coated you want the title to be) opens his mouth in order to disecrate the opposition’s wealth as a human being?

One of the reasons this election is so vital is that if the vote goes to the Republicans and McCain dies in office (choking on a Murray Mint or something), we’ll have potty Palin running the most militaristically powerful country on Earth. We can expect wars with anyone remotely left of field, or right of field in a way the CIA disapprove of, or anyone that Palin feels is sheltering that baby deer she failed to execute last year. If this is the case, and the presidency falls to her in this manner… Well, may China have mercy on us all…

I will cut this non sensical rant short (at the same time ignoring the fact that in the above paragraph I was being just as slimy and underhanded in my criticism as the Bill O’Reiley clones I mentioned earlier), but I will say this. We are on the doorstep to what may go down in history as one of the most socially and historically important US elections of all time, a time that could shape the nature of the next decades. Let us just hope that the rightful candidate wins (in case the BBC needs any clarity, that’s the black one… *sigh*)

Oh, and just in case things do go to hell and we do end up locked in a second cold war, I wish to point out my usefulness to our new Chinese masters as a fresh member of the widespread blogging community, which will make an excellent propoganda tool… P-Please don’t kill me…

Tom “ask not what your comments can do for you” Harrison,

- Tom.

EDIT: Sorry to keep blabbering, but this is just too hilarious for you all to miss. Some flag waving, blindly patriotic American has decided to make a montage of pictures that show how much America “rox”, and then put it to Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA”. He even goes so far as to acknowledge just how bizarre this is. Oh, don’t read the comments if you want your faith in humanity to remain intact.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=7oVzHm_S0-A

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.