home | downloads | scene listings | non-scene listings | links | advertising details | contact us |
Click here for the graphic version of this page
Well it seems that both me and the esteemed Ms O’Hooley have had similar ideas this month - which proves that we must both be right, doesn’t it?
(Go read her piece on page 16 and come back here when you’ve finished).
As the Pride season finishes with a flurry of sequins, feather boas and boys-in-their-pants (where are the Big Lesbian Iconic Images, eh?), it occurred to me that the only town in the whole of Shout!-land that doesn’t seem to have its own Pride this year is Chesterfield (and no, this isn’t a desperate plea for them to hold one next year, although....)
My first thought, on checking the calendar on my fridge, was that there wasn’t a single weekend in July or August that doesn’t see a Pride event somewhere in our region. My second thought was (miserable old git that I am) that there were simply too many of them. There are only so many organisers, so much talent and so many drag queens to go round - never mind punters - surely it dilutes the whole thing: Bears Aloud alone have appeared 867 times on stage this year. They have! I’ve counted them!
But after reading Belinda’s piece, I’ve realised that the benefits of local Pride events far outweigh their disadvantages.
Back in the good old days of criminality, invisibility and cottaging prosecutions, any young person who dared to imagine that they might be gay only had John Inman and that odd gym teacher that everyone whispered about as role models.
Just imagine how isolated and peculiar you felt, back then, as a teenager confused about your sexuality. Yes, there were ‘gay switchboards’, but they were faceless and a bit scary and you never knew whether they were just perverts trying to get their hands on your innocent, young bodies.
Fast-forward to now... you’re out shopping with your mum and dad on a Sunday afternoon when suddenly the whole of the town comes to a standstill as hundreds - or thousands! - of gay men, lesbians, bisexuals and other, even more peculiar, queer folk come marching past.
OK, being faced with a seven-foot tranny with eyelashes the size of the leaves on a cheeseplant might scare you straight back into the closet; but all those ‘normal-looking’ people marching with the trannies must be an incredible breath of fresh air. Normal-looking couples (except, of course, they’re same-sex couples), holding hands, smiling, not giving a flying flip what people think of them. Thousands of them! There! Right in front of you! How liberating must that be? And maybe you’ll see someone from your school... Maybe even a teacher or two. And look over there - it’s your Auntie Joyce, holding hands with a woman. And the man that runs the fruit shop near your house, with another man. And two kids on their shoulders. And they’re laughing and smiling - not hiding their faces in shame.
And there’s the police, keeping an eye on everything to make sure the queers don’t get out of line - oh, hang on! They’re not - look at the banner they’re carrying: ‘Lesbian and Gay Policing Initiative’. Bloody hell! And firemen, and ambulance crews and kids and old folk and mums and dads and that woman off the telly and... and... and....
Visibility is one of the greatest weapons in our armament - so next year get out your gun, load it up and get out on the firing range! We’ve still got some prejudice to shoot down!
Bertrand Twisted
Stories from the magazine this month:
Related pages:
Click here for the graphic version of this page
home | downloads | scene listings | non-scene listings | links | advertising details | contact us |
visitors since 1 Aug 03