Why Gay Pride Rocks

Are you gay?” Asked the man with too many tattoos.

“No.”

“Why you wearing that rainbow flag then?”

“Because it’s Gay Pride.”

“Why are you going?” We arrived at Charing Cross tube station before I could answer.

Pride is a delight. Love, rainbows and unconditional acceptance fill the air. Everyone’s invited no matter how weird you are, the weirder the better actually. There’s a simple formula to having a great Pride. Be nice and accepting, because everybody’s nice here. The last time I got this many compliments was in the red light district of Bangkok.

Pride is also a time for people to raise awareness of other related causes or just try to explain. I particularly liked a sign that read ‘Straight? So is Spaghetti Until You Turn the Heat Up!’ But my favourite was a black dude dressed in a dark jumper with the hood up and pink hot pants. He was holding a home made sign that said #GrimeAndGay4Corbyn

“Are you gay?” The second enquiry of the day was from a man in full leather. He had a whip in one hand and a young Asian man in the other.

“No, I’m just part of the gang.”

“You sure?” He gave me a flyer anyway. It was for a Fist Night in Vauxhall. “You’ve got a pretty face,” he said.

“Thanks, that’s very kind.” A short pause. “But I’m still not going to the fisting night.” We highfived and I was on my way.

Then I saw the answer to the question from the man on the tube. A dancing policeman, with a Pride t-shirt on top of his police vest, had attracted attention. He was twerking, a piece of pork between a drag queen sandwich. As he disappeared between the bodies of the fabolous queens, I could still see his t-shirt. It read ‘Love Happens Here’.

On the tube home, I was joined by an oversized drunk whose arms and legs spilled halfway over my seat. She smiled as she ate her kebab. I smiled back.
Then she slurred “So you single or what?”

Sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m gay.”