After three days on a campsite with very few facilities; a proper, decent shower is very much appreciated. At least that's my excuse.
So, this weekend was Brighton. For the last six years now a group of us have gone down to Brighton to celebrate Brighton Pride. We camp on the official campsite (which has, again, increased its prices substantially, whilst reducing facilities) and then go in for the pride events. It is another tradition in a month of traditions which includes V Festival and Manchester Pride - other weekend-long events which I have attended for at least the last six years and now form the backbone of my summer plans... well, for now.
Even Brighton Pride of itself is a series of traditions. We always set off at 4am; we always stop at particular services on the motorway; we always shop at a particular supermarket on the Friday then spend the afternoon catching up on the sleep we missed out on by getting up early that morning. It has become so regular a schedule that whilst we were undertaking our usual stroll along the pier - this is how we always spend our Sunday afternoon, having had Sunday lunch in our now-regular pub which replaced our old-regular pub on the occasion it was closed for refurbishment - I actually struggled to find anything new to take photos of. Yes, we all posed in the cut-outs on the pier, where you poke your head through the hole and appear on the body of a mermaid or a married couple; but we had done that on every previous occasion - the only difference about the photos would be that we looked a year older. Well, not quite...
One of the things which does change, is the group of people who go. This year, for example, Matt was unable to attend. It is the first one he has missed. However, in his stead we had Kendra and Amy. Last year we had Jo turn up, but no James. I think there are only two of us - Anna and myself - who have been to every year. And that is practically the only distinction: "2009? Oh, that was the year so-and-so came along and so-and-so didn't".
We did, however, break a number of traditions; mostly on the Saturday.
We didn't go to the actual event in the park. They were charging £17.50 for entry, and we simply couldn't justify that. We spend an awful lot to get down to Brighton anyway, with the cost of the camping, the travelling, the shopping etc. even before we get to the cost of 'entertainment'. We spend at most three or four hours in the park before we get a bit bored. And mostly it is just an opportunity for people to try and hawk their wares at us. Yes, there is a bar, and a dance tent, but bearing in mind the pubs along the main street in town were open, we could get exactly that there. We did still attend the parade, albeit from a different position to any other occasion, but with the parade we don't have any 'set' place where we watch - it depends how early we get up and into town. But we made the effort to watch the parade on the seafront because we weren't going to the park, so it was the best place to start the day.
And then, probably because we didn't go to the park during the day, the whole day was set out of kilter. Whereas usually we will head into town of an evening around 8 or 9, because everyone was left to their own devices during the day we ended up leaving quite a bit later. This meant that we were more drunk by the time we went out. It also meant that we did not have either the time or effort to get ourselves to our usual starting spot - every year we start out from a lovely bar called Brighton Rocks (we were disappointed last year because they had a refurb so we couldn't have our traditional photo in front of the stripy painting) which is the furthest bar from where we get off the bus and we have to walk past every other bar on the way.
So yes, there were deviations from the norm. What there was - and has been every year - is a showerblock entirely devoid of any hot water. It makes for a bracing shower. We still do shower - three nights (four for me because I stay over with my friends on the Thursday beforehand) is simply too long to go without a shower; so you have a brief rub down. But what it does do is make you somewhat more eager to find someone else to stay with - a nice, warm, comfortable bed followed by a lovely, powerful, hot shower is great... and the fact you get sex as well is an added bonus! And that is where one of the final traditions of the weekend comes in - the Sunday night bonk.
I will be clear about this - I do not lower my standards. However, with it being pride weekend not only are there a substantially greater number of people there (thereby increasing the number of fitties); not only are you by the sea in summer, and therefore people seem naturally more attractive; but also people are more eager. The pride spirit fills the air - people are heady, optimistic, entertained, smiley, boystrous, horny.
And so it is that on Sunday I went back to a house in a backstreet of Brighton for a shower. Oh, and sex. And it was good. They both were. The boy was cute. The boy was just 21 - he took a particular eagerness in showing me his 21st birthday cards still erect on the mantelpiece. The boy was also a recent graduate of Sussex uni and the gold-medal winning member of the university trampolening club, as he took quite a delight showing me is awards and certificates. Sometimes you just want to get down and dirty and then off to sleep; sometimes these little touches are actually quite nice, they make it all more personal. Then he moved on and said "Now I'm going to give you what you came here for". I nearly said "shower" but he finished off with "an orgasm".
Then in the morning I got the shower - a delightful mix of almost blisteringly hot jets with a thyme and lemongrass aroma from the showergel. Fantastic. Then a mad dash back to the campsite to get everything packed up before the eviction.
It was probably quite a good thing that this year they tagged people at the campsite with a bracelet so you didn't accidentally pull someone dashingly attractive but with the same lack of shower facilities.
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