A wholly enlightening Saturday in London

Now I know it was The Fourth of July. I usually manage to convince a few of my US friends that we Brits celebrate Thanksgiving on that date, too, but that was not the enlightening thing. Instead it was a trip to London. To discover why it was enlightening you probably want to have a look at a page on my website which details attitude changes over time in schools. Well in one school. Or you could just read on.

I was in London with my wife and one of her good friends from school. We went to meet our son at the Royal Academy to see their Summer Exhibition. And what an amazing exhibition of people who can't paint or sculpt it is! And such depressing pictures. I suppose they're meant to be "edgy" or something. I am obviously the only one in step, but I am minded of the Emperor's New Clothes, which would have been a valid title for the show.

On the way in along the A316 an overhead sign told us that there was an event in the West End that would cause road closures. I scarcely noticed it. We were taking the train from Richmond anyway.

Nothing exceptional apart from Regent Street being closed when we got off at Piccadilly Circus, and we made our way to the RA, saw the mind-numbing art, and met Al. Then we meandered off to Chinatown for an excellent lunch of dim sum which Melanie thinks were akin to cat food in steamed dumplings. How lucky that I was fed in the UK private school sector and thus have developed an affinity for cat food! Odd how that suddenly reminds me of Heinz and their Deli Mayo fiasco this time last year! Search the blog for Heinz and you'll find it.

Over lunch we decided upon the National Gallery, possibly followed by The Tate if we were not totally over-arted by them.

Going Trafalgar Square-wards we saw a parked police van and started to wonder, well, I did, about protests and kettling, but, as we drew level we saw a happy, fun street party. Yes, we had arrived at Pride London, not something I had expected to do.

After the gallery, where I found the art much more to my taste, we walked out on to the square and into the enclosure. A large sound stage, a throng of people, people of all races, all sizes, all shapes, all with similar hopes, fears and aspirations, some with same sex partners, others, like me, with wife and family, some with little kids, some with big kids, but all smiling and happy.

How different from the 1960s where the Stonewall Riots (this year is the fortieth anniversary) were yet to take place in the USA, where sexual acts between consenting 21 year olds in private in the UK were only accepted in law in July 1967, and where such a gathering would, without a shadow of a doubt, have been repressed with brutality.

I was pleased to see it, yet slightly bored. I was please to see Mayor BoJo make an address on the big screen wholeheartedly and enthusiastically supporting the event in the way that only he can do. It's hard not to like Boris as a man whatever you think of his politics. And we left, heading along Pall Mall, towards the tube for, not the Tate, but The Victoria and Albert Museum.

And we found the carnival procession.

I love carnivals. As a little kid I loved the Tenby carnival, hanging out of our hotel window to see it. I took part in the Herne Bay Carnival once, just collecting the pennies folk lobbed into the road. In an official collecting tin, dammit! I was in the Birmingham University rag week carnival on more than one occasion, clinging to the back of an artic as he sped back to the campus! I adore carnivals.

I was expecting to enjoy some of the floats, wonder about others (Why was Amnesty International there? What is it to do with prisoners in unpleasant regimes? Oh I suppose I can work it out), love some of the costumes, be mock-horrified at others. I never knew there was a London Gay Symphony Orchestra! Just past the Institute of Directors, as a huge truck containing gay youth was negotiating a difficult turn, Al (son) and I heard booing. We each wondered why. The driver was doing just fine!

As the truck cleared the turn we saw why.

A small, pathetic bunch of nasty little bigoted alleged christians waving placards "Be sure your sin will find you out" and some other low life in the crowd had decided to have a hissy fit and try to spoil a good day. I hadn't expected to be angry. My reaction was to want to leap the railings and make a few martyrs out of the idiot bigots. I've always been sure that christianity needs a few more martyrs, and these seemed best placed to achieve it. Of course I can see why that isn't advisable, but I do feel that my right to freedom of expression could be best deployed with the performance art of a little action painting with real blood.

I blame The Royal Academy and its exhibition of depressing stuff, I really do!

What I had been totally unprepared for was my whole reaction to the procession. Emotion had been absent in Trafalgar Square, all that was there was curiosity, added to amusement with the idea of the SCUBA group the Gay and Lesbian Underwater Group, or GLUG. Whoever thought of that needs a medal!

But, as I walked on the pavement against the flow of the procession I found I was fighting back real, hot tears, and was unable to speak in case I broke into sobs.

The entire place, with the exception of low life christians, of course, was smiling, laughing, happy. Families with kids were enjoying a day out and the moral majority was also watching a Gay parade and applauding. Kids were on shoulders to see. I saw every race, colour and creed, gay, straight, lesbian, bisexual, trans, all represented by happy smiling faces. My own family was there and happy.

And all the wretched hiding of my childhood years and my working life set against this happy, open, public display of ordinary people, people just like me, expressing their pride in being simply who they are, whatever they are, made me cry.

I could have stepped into the parade myself. I almost did, but this was the tail end of the procession and I was there on family business, different business. I would have felt guilt at leaving them when they have supported me emotionally for so long. So I felt simply great pride in those who were marching, and those who were applauding, and those who were simply watching, caught unaware by a simple yet great event.

Perhaps now is the time to remember the top of this article and read about attitude changes over time in schools.

Things which were terrible back in the 1960s still seem terrible to those of us who were firmly in the closet then. It's hard to shake the fear of discovery. This article is hard to write, and pressing "Publish Post" will take me a while even though I am no longer hiding. But, today, in many nations in the world, we gay people can be ourselves at last. I can be myself at last. Gay kids can be themselves at last. Some People are Gay. Get over it!