Brolly Pride

And so we stood and stood and stood, in the worst weather I have seen in sixteen years as a Gay Pride veteran, waiting for the barriers to be lifted and for the parade to get the go-ahead to move off.



Fuelled by Cava and the sheer "Blitz Spirit" that occurs in any crowd on such occasions, we kept ourselves amused by singing Barbra's Don't Rain On My Parade and perving over the gay police and military personnel nearby. And then, over half an hour late and with feather boas by now looking like rats' tails, we were off!



Our group was right at the front, behind the rainbow flag and Ken's (rather drier) float. This year, fellow staff and supporters of Scope were marching for the first time ever as an organised group, and with wheelchair-using members of the organisation we were placed in the so-called "safe space" at the head of the march. Safe? My word! We were off at a great rate of knots - those wheelchairs can get up a fine pace when they put their minds to it...



Resplendent in purple Scope sashes, we handed out hundreds of "Time to Get Equal" leaflets - generally to the prettier members of the bemused tourist crowd lining the route - as we teetered through the puddles. A fabulous melange of diamanté, showgirls, lesbians and gay men together.



The parade, for only the second year running, took its prominent route through the heart of shopping London, down through Piccadilly, past the ridiculous handful of idiots representing the National Front (all six of them!) and the bible-bashing bigots (every one of them so elderly and soo mad-looking that I felt they were almost at the point of meeting their God) to Trafalgar Square and finally dispersing (far to early we thought) at Whitehall.



There we stood for a while to watch the floats, semi naked muscle boys, community groups and dripping drag queens to their conclusion before seeking a pub to top-up the alcohol levels!



It was all over far too soon, but despite the torrential rain it was as always a fantastic day!! Brolly Pride, indeed...

Don't Rain On My Parade
Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter,
Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter.
Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade.

Don't tell me not to fly-- I've simply got to.
If someone takes a spill, it's me and not you.
Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade!

I'll march my band out, I'll beat my drum,
And if I'm fanned out, Your turn at bat, sir.
At least I didn't fake it.
Hat, sir, I guess I didn't make it!

But whether I'm the rose of sheer perfection,
Or freckle on the nose of life's complexion,
The cinder or the shiny apple of its eye,
I gotta fly once, I gotta try once,
Only can die once, right, sir?

Ooh, love is juicy, juicy, and you see
I gotta have my bite, sir!
Get ready for me, love, 'cause I'm a "comer"
I simply gotta march, my heart's a drummer.
Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade!

I'm gonna live and live now,
Get what I want--I know how,
One roll for the whole shebang,
One throw, that bell will go clang,
Eye on the target--and wham--
One shot, one gun shot, and bam--
Hey, Mister Arnstein, here I am!

I'll march my band out, I will beat my drum,
And if I'm fanned out, your turn at bat, sir,
At least I didn't fake it.
Hat, sir, I guess I didn't make it.

Get ready for me, love, 'cause I'm a "comer"
I simply gotta march, my heart's a drummer.
Nobody, no, nobody
Is gonna rain on my parade!