Everyday life in Brighton grinds to a halt for the Pride March today.
Not 'Gay Pride', just 'Pride', as if being a shirtlifter were the only thing in the world to be Proud of.
Proud, arrogant even, those robbers of the date locker who are taking the Anglican church apart because they insist on putting their 'sexuality' before their bishoprics.
I have nothing against pillow biters but I wish they'd shut up about it.
Readers: You live in Brighton, we take it.
Blogster: Hove, actually.
3 comments:
A cut above, you lot in Hove, you should put a sign up, NO POOVES.
Funny, I have a vague memory of going to Hove a few times and an image of some flats that might be where that nice little seagull was looking in but for the life of me I can no longer remember why or who I knew there.
Maybe I was really going to THE MOUND in Brighton and biting pillows (or bushes) and my subconscious is trying to alter the facts.
I have a vague memory of going to Hove once too, which is quite good as I have only lived here for a year and a half.
By 2030 I may well be able to find my home at night instead of having to sleep on the beach and fight with other transients over the scraps of barbecue sausage left on the pebbles by the happy families who bring blankets to the beach to sit on - to sit on! Bastards. One could sleep under one if some bastard forgot to take one away.
m2m botty sex just isn't fun in my experience, bag on head or no. Should the good people of Brighton & Hove organise a Vaginal Intercourse Pride Parade - "Back to Basics" - I would be up front with the biggest flag. But that will never happen.
10000000000 years of evolution. Works.
I was confused - then I realised I had misread the blog, I thought you were writing about shoplifters.
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