I know, I know......

But I can't face this. Bloody weather. At least we have Valencia in September to look forward to. Days of 23C! How will we cope?

On a brighter note, John's going down!!!!! And my self-imposed exile may be over. Maybe I should have used my years in the wilderness to write a book, or at the very least a pamphlet. If Maxine McKew wins John Howards seat of Bennelong, I will send her flowers. I loved her when she was on the ABC.

In other bleeding-heart liberal news, I am abandoning my inherent dislike of Australian Male Cultcha and going to see Damien play his last football match tomorrow. Here is the team list (seriously):

South London side:

FB: Marty Chadders Jezza
HB: Conrad Dicko Scotty
C: Birdman Speersy Chocka
HF: Naughto Saundo Crabs
FF: Youngy Matesy Hollers
Rucks: Benny E Pos BJ
Bench: Patty, Frank, Oli, Goody, Lukey M, Sac

I am pretty sure that Lukey M and Frank are only on the bench until they can come up with decent nicknames. This will be the third year running that Damien is playing his last game, so I am slightly sceptical, but we will be having a picnic and (possibly) drinking white wine, so it shouldn't be too unbearable.

So a bit of a catch-up is in order, I have been slack, for various reasons too mind-boggling uninteresting to go into here.

A few interesting things (well, interesting to me, if you don’t find it interesting, you can leave this blog now J ) have happened the last few weeks. Miss Bernie was on a three-week trip to our sodden shores. I was lovely to see her - she is always such fun, and is always generous with her hair. Paul, Bernie and I went for fish and chips (and champagne! How louche.) at the Golden Hind. Bernie revealed that Lucy has been frequenting the Golden Hind. I was stunned – Oi Knowles! Hands off! It’s our restaurant, not yours! Paul, myself, and Simon and planning on reclaiming it next week.

We also had a big night out with Miss B in London’s so distressed it’s trendy East End. A big group of us met up at The Commercial. It’s a pretty cool pub – more bar than pub, but I really liked it. I suppose that’s not all that surprising as Maria who runs the ‘Friendly Society’, also owns the Commercial. And it’s very Fitzroy. Lucy and Brock were there, as was Mark, Jari, Stuie,and Simon. We ended up in some random curry-house for dinner, then hit a few more bars. Paul and I ended up sharing a taxi home in the wee hours with Lucy and Brock, after standing in the rain for 20 minutes (note to self: must always carry umbrella).

Last Saturday saw my contribution to the Summer of Food ^{tm reg}. We met Damien and went to Hakkasan. It was lovely. Really good food and the fitout is very sexy…. We then went to a party in London’s what-do-you-mean-it-was-bombed-in-the-blitz-it-looks-like-it-was-bombed-30-minutes-ago East End. The party was fun though.

Brighton Pride was on - it is responsible for changing my opinions on both kilt-wearers and blackberry users.

We did our normal beachside lunch, then went to the park. We amanaged to get an earlyish train back to London, then Paul and I set about cutting Damien's hair. I reckon we did allright.

Too busy to blog, but

Stuie's birthday goes off with a bang.

But Gay Pride was a damp squib.


Paris Comes to London Business School (or was it Collins St, Melbourne?)

And London's gone smokefree!!! But as the Guardian points out (and we found out Friday night), aren't people a bit whiffy.....

Day trip to Brighton

Saturday we headed down to Brighton for Pride on the train, along with the rest of London. Due to some technical difficulties getting a coffee and a pain au chocolat, I didn't manange to get into the same carriage as Stuie and Paul.
Instead as I walked the train trying to find the boys, I was goosed by Chris and Ronald, being the polite boy I am, I stayed with C + R, chatted and drank cheap cava.

Also in the same carriage was Ian (an ex of someone we were friends with in the early 90's) and one of my clubbing stalkers, Jason. In the spirit of human kindness I offered Jason a glass of cava, but he declined, as "I have to go back to London tonight". This was at 11:30am. Go figure.

We met up with Clayton, Jari, Damien, Mark, Angel, Mark, Oscar, Giles and Andy while we were down there, as well as few others we know from various places. We started with lunch down on the beach, then headed to Preston Park after for Pride proper and socialising. It was good fun day, even if a lot of it was spent on the mobile saying things like "The Wild Fruit tent", "To the right of that if you're looking at it" , "I'm waving a red-tshirt" etc. etc. trying to locate friends. Pride finished up around 20:00 and we managed to catch the last train back to London at 23:00.

Full set of photos can be seen here.

See, everything is connected

So tomorrow we're off with the rest of Gay London to Brighton, for Brighton Pride. Still free and still a lot of fun - it's like London Pride used to be. All afternoon drinking in a park - something tells me it could get messy. I spoke to my Mum ('Hi Mum - hope you're feeling better!'), last weekend and she asked 'How long does Pride last?' - I suppose it's all very confusing what with London Pride(or Europride as it was this year), Soho Pride and now Brighton Pride. Anyway, they're all different and all separate. And we're going to them all. Tomorrow with Stuie, Damien, Mark, Mark, Oscar, Lee, Clayton, Jari et al.

Also going along tomorrow is Derecks. Whose combined birthday party with his partner, Don (he of the death trip to Wales), we attended on Saturday night. Rupert, whose exhibition opening we went to last night, was at the party too. He's a sweet guy and it was very interesting chatting to him about his paintings. Rupert channels his colours. Now Paul wants to start channeling. Imagine the first channeling accountant, channeling speadsheets. I can see there would be a demand for it.

Don is originally from Cork - and his son is friends with someone who was in the Cannes-winning film 'The Wind That Shakes the Barley'. And we saw that on Wednesday night (8.15/10, since you asked). It was very good - I liked it a lot and thought it was pretty fair to all sides. And it showed what pr*cks human beings can be to each other. And how lucky Australia was to be granted independence and not have had to fight, brother against brother, family against family for it. And that imperialism is wrong, which bring me on to Lebanon, and Iraq, and.....

So you see, everything is connected.

Gay, Gayer, Gayest......

So it was late, far too late, on Monday morning. The weekend was almost over and Orange at Fire was almost the end of five frantic days of London in summer, at it’s finest, at it’s most alluring. We had started on Wednesday night, with the Pet Shop Boys concert at the Tower of London and here we were Monday morning dancing to the remix of Pet Shop Boys 'Minimal' and everything had come full circle.

It was Pride weekend in London, Europride to be exact, and this year gay men and women from all over Europe had descended upon London to party. We had started our celebrations early by going to see the Pet Shops Boys at the Tower, and it was a mini-pride of sorts, with gay men in particular outnumbering other members of the audience by two to one. We had met early, picnicked and drank Pimms in the moat, then danced and sang along to Suburbia, It’s a Sin, Go West, Always on My mind, Where the Streets Have No Name…. It was excellent. Not even the god-botherer trying to get people to repent as people left the concert spoilt the evening.

Fast forward to Thursday night and Steve had arrived from Rome, we were opposite the Tower on the other side of the river (yes, sometimes we go to Sarf Landarn!), watching Cabaret under the stars with another picnic with friends. The atmosphere was festive and by the end of the film people were singing along and clapping and you couldn’t help but think why can’t things always be like this?

Friday was a break from what Paul, using his usual understatement, had already termed the gayest weekend of his life, as we went to Eton College’s rowing club for my work’s summer party. It was another perfect summer's evening and as a result people spent most of the night outside, watching the sun set over the water and enjoying what was probably our last work summer party.

Saturday there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air, and that was just in our flat. Not only was it Europride, but it was part two of Stuart’s Birthday Celebrations, (I could only attend two events this year, so I only purchased the Gold package). Oh, and England were in the World Cup quarter-finals. After much fighting for the mirror in our bathroom, Paul, Steve and I headed into town to meet Mark, Angel, Stuart and Jari on Regent Street and take up our positions for the parade. As far as parades go it was ok, but the Pride parade (photos here) in London has always been more about participation than floats and music, and this one was no exception. I was carried away by the excitement of it all and bought a pink Union Flag, I hope to be able to fashion it into a sarong or maybe a headpiece for those more formal occasions when beachwear isn't appropriate.

By 14:15 we had had our fill of whistle-blowing lesbians and left the parade to pile into Browns on St Martin's Lane for Stuart’s Birthday Lunch where Jose-Luis and Olivier from Brussels joined us, as did Clayton, Derricks, Don and Suren. We were lucky enough to have Alistair Appleton dining there with his entourage, (he was also in the march) so that provided us with eye-candy. Our waitress was lovely and despite our many invitations wouldn't sit down and have a drink with us. I fail to understand why some people value keeping their jobs above having fun....

Saturday afternoon and evening was a blur of beer and boys, as we met up with Damien,Chris, Ronald, Glen, Lee, Gavin and various others in Soho Square. I thought it was a nice touch that we all celebrated gay diversity by wearing tight t-shirts, Calvin Klein/2xist/Aussiebum underwear and Diesel jeans. We ended up in the Friendly Society for a lock-in, then very unwisely headed down to Vauxhall to dance. Somehow (well, most probably through a haze of alcohol) Steve managed to lose us and left the club alone. He was sitting on our front step when we got home, looking slightly the worse for wear.

Earlier in the evening, we had been to the Royal Albert Hall, for the Europride Show, where the great and the good gathered to raise money for charity. The evening was stolen by the glamourous Heather Small (formerly of M people), whose set got everyone up and dancing and Sir Elton John, who was fashionably late and was introduced by David Furnish. Other performers included Alan Carr, Graham Norton, Jennifer Saunders, Ruby Wax, the casts of Chicago and Avenue Q, Boy George, Sir Ian McKellan and Stephen Fry, amongst others.

Stephen Fry, in particular, struck the right note for the evening – he spoke of how in the 90s, when everything seemed so bleak in Britain for gay men and lesbians, how he spent time lobbying MPs to change laws and he said ‘Their arguments could be reduced to one thing. Love. They were afraid of love.’ And we remembered how different it was back then, when we used to come to the same hall, ironically opposite Victorian England’s greatest monument to love, the Albert Memorial. Then, when Stonewall held The Equality Shows, with equally stellar casts offering their services gratis to raise money to fight for equality. Then, when the age of consent was 21 for gay men, and gays and lesbians were not allowed to adopt, and Section 28 prevented schools even discussing homosexuality, and people could be sacked for being gay, and immigration was closed to gay partners and gay men and women couldn’t serve in the military.

And just how different it is now, no matter what your opinion of Tony Blair, of the war in Iraq, of the constant spin and the disappointments, at least his sense of social justice has prevailed and has dragged this country into the 21st century. Admittedly sometimes with the tabloids still kicking and sometimes still screaming, but gay men and women can serve in the military, and can adopt, and can be civilly partnered, and can build a life with their foreign partners and no longer can be discriminated against at work. Now the age of consent is an equal 16, and Section 28 is no more.

So for us, after Elton had been introduced by his 'husband' and after we had been told we must continue to fight to maintain our rights, it seemed apt and right to celebrate. And what better way to celebrate than to go dancing with my beautiful boy, and our best friend. And we had a great night, just the three of us.

And another stunning summer's day ended ended our Pride celebrations. So after not nearly enough sleep, we went for lunch with Steve and then said our goodbyes as he headed to the airport. Paul and I jumped on our bikes and rode to Hampstead Heath, where we lay in the sun, and ate ice-cream and dozed and swam and read. Happy Europride!