
The sun shone, the drag queens were outrageous, the crowds were happy and, well, gay. The market stalls were, in the main, doing a roaring trade. Slogan T-shirts - for the boys, "I'm not gay, but my boyfriend is" and for the girls, "Yes we are. No you can't watch."
But there was one stall that was quiet. I think they'd made a tactical error. It looked lovely, it really did. All stripped pine and antique-y fittings. Another time, another place, and it'd be beating off the customers with sticks.
But it was, perhaps, too much to expect a hot chocolate stall to go down well in the middle of a gay festival during the May Bank Holiday.
For starters, it was into the high twenties, temperature-wise. And you've got to be pretty dedicated to want hot chocolate - marshmallows or not - when you're building up a sweat. Even though some of the potential clientele were wearing not-very-much-at-all, there were never going to be many takers.
Then there's the demographic. Brother no. 2 and his partner were up from the weekend from Brighton to see how other cities do Pride. And he was beside himself. He actually took a picture of the hot chocolate stall. "They'll never believe this back home," he muttered. "WKD Blue, Red Bull perhaps. Vodka would be a cert. But hot chocolate? With this crowd?"
They're here. They drink beer. Get used to it.
2 comments:
"every weekend for the last few years"
What, EVERY weekend?
You make a valid point, anonymous stranger. Make that "every such weekend". I mean, we're party animals, but that's stretching things a bit.
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