Filed under: Reviews
Brighton Gay Pride, August 2009
Poor old Brighton Pride has been victim to bad weather for two years on the trot now, but that doesn’t seem to be a deterrent to the 160,000 revellers who turn up for some spirited celebratory antics. Even if you’re not gay or proud, the event is a damn fine excuse to get colourful and soak up the atmosphere, literally!
Brighton hosts the biggest free pride festival in the UK and as of 2004 has been awarded official charitable status, which all helps to keep those floats afloat. Although the festival takes place over the course of week, Saturday is the ultimate culmination of colour, noise, nudity, music, and pink pleasures.
I ventured down to the Saturday Carnival Parade and Party in Preston Park, after all there’s nothing like a load of half naked men with bulging… muscles… and pounding dance beats to furnish your face with a smile. If that doesn’t work for you, the spectrums of colour and rainbows that adorn every available surface – be it man, beast, house or machine – just might. The vibe is all about freedom and acceptance and popular it is, too. The parade fills the streets of Brighton, with folks from all walks of life; leading the procession in a little mobility scooter was ‘the oldest gay in the village’. The picketing anti-homosexuality Christians weren’t as noticeable at the park gates this year, but I did see at least two Christian church floats marching and dancing, along with paramedics and police and bus services – the whole caboodle. The only threatening behaviour to be seen was coming from the sky, which soon turned into a reality.
Not long after the parade had turned its last corner, the first pitter-patters started. Alas, it was not the sound of anyone’s heart pounding with pride. I rode the stream of traffic to the park and once there, I managed to squeeze in a little bit of entertainment before I had to face defeat with the thousand others running for cover from the downpouring. Usually, at a sunny Pride, one can happily while away the hours on a patch of grass, drink in hand, in view of a myriad of intriguing characters. But this year we had to look for some undercover entertainment to escape the rain, and we found it in the Women’s Performance Tent.
Andrea Kenny & The Cavalry know how to belt out a tune. Any dampened spirits were deftly warmed by the billowing vocals of songstress Andrea. With some encouraging words and contagious beats, they had the crowd shaking off their rain-defiance and boogying to jumble sale blues in no time.
Back outside, some enterprising businessmen had the cunning foresight to sell ponchos and umbrellas. I saw one chap with a huge wad of cash in one hand, motioning for people to buy the last of his wares with the other. (Rain-lovers 1, rain-haters 159,999). From a distance, looking across the park, the view was of a bouncy looking umbrella landscape, bobbing just above head level. It looked like fun. I rather wimpishly rammed myself on a train back to London, leaving behind a world of sodden but resolute celebrations, because (for most) even the rain can’t wash away the spirit of Pride. On the bright side, at least it didn’t rain on my parade!
(Cassidie Alder)
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