Pride in words and pictures – Stewart Who?

I’d arranged to meet friends at the Maggi Hambling statue of Oscar Wilde, opposite Charing Cross. “Let’s meet at the ugly coffin,” said Brenda, and I knew exactly where to be. 20 minutes early, I was mildly entertained by the mix of hetero shoppers, gay ravers, out of town lesbians and confused tourists. Then these two came along, in glittering Curse of the Golden Flower drag. While taking their picture, a nearby street sweeper whipped out a big, professional digital SLR camera and took a load of shots. It was quite bizarre. Is it a hobby? Is he moonlighting? Is it an elaborate disguise? He was hot, too.

Darren Hayes was on the main stage as we edged into the gay melee in Trafalgar Square. Finding the Information Area (for my press pass) proved a trying challenge. We tramped from one side to the other, asking for help from dishy police officers, pride officials and various volunteers on community stalls. Nobody knew anything. We dragged ourselves through rain, mobs of girls in soggy pink cowboy hats and a forest of umbrellas that ranged from enormous golfing jobs to crappy, foldaway efforts that had collapsed and looked like sad bats on a stick.