Let me say at once that I didn't actually make it to the Trans Pride event, although I drove into Brighton with every intention of showing my face there.
Despite the title of this post, it had been sunny all morning, and remained so until about 2.30pm when steady rain began to fall. But that petered out by 3.30pm, and the rain did not come back till later. So, weatherwise, Brighton's first Trans Pride was reasonably lucky. And in other respects it must have been nice to attend - I saw some pictures taken by a friend who was there at the New Steine venue. Apparently trans folk from all along the south coast, and from London too, attended, maybe three hundred altogether: the New Steine looked pretty well populated.
But I'm leaping ahead. As I said, I drove in, not terribly hopeful of being able to park. Weekend parking in Brighton is always problematical. I was in a fatalistic frame of mind: 'If the gods have decreed that I shall attend Pride, then they will give me a parking space.' Well, they had clearly debated the matter up on Mount Olympus, and had reached a concensus in my favour, for lo, there was a space. Right then: all I had to do was saunter over to nearby New Steine.
But I was waylaid by two friends, K--- and N---, who had finished their voluntary three-hour stint on the Claire Project stand there, and were disinclined to get soaked in the now-falling rain. They were on their way to a cosy trans-friendly pub. Apparently the event had now entered its 'music' phase. That didn't interest me at all, so I went with them, preferring wine and chat to music no matter how inspired. Once ensconced, N--- showed me the pix referred to earlier.
Well, at least I had witnesses that I made the effort to drive in, even if I didn't end up at the daytime event itself. There was an evening event too, starting at 8.00pm: music at the Blind Tiger Club. Quite apart from its dodgy-sounding name, the club scene was not my scene, and being deafened by rave music, or even Teletubbies family-friendly music, wasn't my idea of fun.
So I decided to sip white wine, and then go home. But it didn't end like that. I eventually made up another threesome with friends M--- and C--- for an early-evening meal at a serve-yourself eatery in North Street. It was 'healthy food' and worked out at £8 a head. Two full plates, plus apple juice, were all I could manage, but stuffing myself completely countered the effects of the white wine earlier. Nary the slightest sign of a hangover later on. So the advice of the Epicurean Roman poet Lucretius in De Rerum Natura ('On the Nature of Things') was confirmed: If thou wouldst avoid possession by Bacchus, then let the fruits of the table be your antidote. Wise words that plainly justify a jolly good nosh. I believe St Augustine also had something pithy to say on the matter too, but we won't go into that.
Today I hanker after forests and lakes, on my own. So once ready I'm off. A few hours on the heathy wastes of the Surrey/Hampshire border will do nicely.