A weekend full of Pride.

Has anyone had that dream where you are thrown onto a stage, told you're the star of the show and everyone knows their lines, but you have no idea what it is that you are doing? Next thing you know, you're trying to fumble your way through it and pretend like you have the slightest idea on what you're doing, but you really don't know, and everyone is watching you, and there is no escape whatsoever?

...

Have you ever had that happen for real? Ahem... There's a chance that something similar to that may have happened to me this weekend.

This Saturday was Gay Pride in London. It was also my friend TJ's birthday weekend. So I got suited and booted and made my way to Soho to meet up with him and some of his friends. Due to me loving a bit of decade shopping, I had decided to go for the 1950's style for this weekend. I had a dress, a petticoat, fake eyelashes, red lipstick, a fake beauty spot and a mixture of hairspray and youtube hair tutorials to put in the final touches. It only took me about 2 hours to complete, but finally I was ready and raring to go.

To say the day was Fabulous with a capital F would be slightly stereo typical of me, but completely accurate nonetheless. We mingled and drank champagne in the streets. We laughed and took an insane amount of pictures and the whole freakin day was so happy and amazing, I can't even begin to put it into words.

By the time the parade got to us, we squeezed to the front of the railings and got ourselves well and truly stickered up and kitted out with flags, banners and blue sunglasses. We cheered, we laughed, it was awesome. At some point, someone came over to us from the parade who clearly knew TJ. After the tiniest amount of coaxing from this person, we were convinced to climb over the railing and join the parade ourselves. We did. I have a bruise the size of a tennis ball on my inner thigh to prove that we did. It was amazing. We laughed and waved and got swept up in the excitement. So excited were we that we didn't even realise we had walked ahead a little bit and was now smack bang in the middle of a group of guys, all wearing the same outfit.

It was just about the time that I realised we probably looked out of place in this particular group and should just fall back and let them go ahead that someone in the front of this section yells out "Formation!"

Everyone began to file into lines. Not knowing what the hell is going on but also not wanting to ruin anything, I, too, fell into line, thinking that everything would be just fine if all that was required of us was to march in sync with each other.

However, out of the speakers ahead of us, music began to play and everyone around me called out in sync. The man who had yelled out initially, shouted something like "Dance No 2" and people began to raise their hands, ready to start. It was at this point that I officially began cacking myself. TJ, who was just ahead of me in his own line, turned to me and gave me a panicked look that matched my own sentiments. Our other friends, who were walking behind us, all seemed equally as terrified. I turned back to TJ, he turned his panicked look to one of resignation and he simply shrugged, displaying a look that seemed to say "When in Rome..."

And so we did just as the Romans did. We put on a smile, suppressed as much of our 'rabbit in a headlight' looks as we could, and too raised our hands into the same pose as those around us. Then began the most impressive account of improvisation and copying that any of us have ever done. Thankfully the dance mainly consisted of arm movements and walking in a line. It was fairly easy to pick up and I was not required at any point to do a cartwheel or the splits, no matter how tempted I was... however, TJ being the only shirtless guy in the dance, and I the only woman, did mean that I'm sure no one really thought we were meant to be there. But no one particularly cared either, including those around us who knew what they were doing. They just laughed with us and urged us on. Everyone was in the celebratory mood and no one was going to ruin that.

It was one of the happiest days I have ever been a part of. Everyone was in the best of moods and I made so many friends in every new location I went to, and we went to a LOT of places. All that happened and I still managed to get home at a stupidly reasonable hour of about 6pm. I know that sounds like a stupidly early time to go home, but we had started at midday and I knew it was time to head home when I stepped out of one of the bars, saw that it was daylight outside and managed to convince myself entirely (with the slightest of nudges by TJ) that we had managed to stay in that bar all night and it was now Sunday morning, despite only having one drink in there. After about 30 minutes of reasoning with myself, I realised that it was daylight because it was still, in fact, daytime. But once I worked out how long it had taken for me to realise this, I decided that it was cut off time and I needed to head home. Apparently champagne makes me stupid...

And so home I went, dressed as a slightly dishevelled but highly happy with herself 1950s lady. There should be pride every day. Such fun.

Peace out my lovelies