Hanging with the boys

Ooh, what a gay day; in the run up to Pride it’s been puffs on parade left, right and centre. Firstly, on Saturday night I went to see the Brighton Gay Men’s Chorus. It was all histrionic renditions of ‘Wherererererere is love’ juxtaposed with a very raucous ‘There is nothing like a dame’ and masochistic ‘Hit me baby one more time’. My favourite part was when the Desperate Fishwives did Girls Aloud and ‘The Promise’. The shimmying was first rate and when they ripped off their dowdy macks to reveal sequinned boob tubes – you can imagine the audience was in apoplexy. Anyway, next day it was Paul’s birthday soiree so it was up to London for a glass of sherry and a prawn vol au vent. The conversation was flowing but before it could turn into a Cava frenzy, I hightailed it to the Royal Albert Hall for some vertiginous coughing. I was expecting to see the orchestra in face masks but no, there was no evidence of swine flu just the usual consumptive cacophony inbetween movements. Oh, yes, and the man next to me had the hardest handclap I think I’ve ever heard.