Last Saturday was
magical. We were all subdued in a mass high, the shrills of
Born this Way echoed a radius covering many miles of Central London and the whole of Trafalgar Square was baptised in a pool of drags, divas, flamboyant mavericks and performers and specks of the most ordinary individuals waving their flags like a precious medallion embellishing their necks. There was a sense of unity amongst us all that didn't seem fake or contrived. Daylight drunk means only one thing, crashing the parade. Ironically, the skinniest one didn't make it through the barriers. But never fear, we marched on, breaking smiles with Z lists and various charities.
After the parade we did what the youth does best and stocked up on stomach inducing copious amounts of various poisons and designated a spot-on spot in nearby St James's Park. I made friends with a few new faces! Buried in my drunken vertigo, we prowled the Strand like a runaway circus and headed on our merry way to Rory's birthday party at his house, fashionably late.
(The night ended with a ridiculous pig out back home with the missus and my sister).
No comments:
Post a Comment