Earlier in the week, I asked my husband whether he’d like to come to Bournemouth Pride on the weekend. I have to give him several days to decide whether he wants to do something. And he accuses me of not being spontaneous!

He wasn’t up when I got up, and whilst I hadn’t planned to do the grocery shop today, I did it to see whether he’d get up and get ready.

He wasn’t ready when I got back.

I said “I don’t think you want to go anywhere today, do you?”

He seemed really sad, so I held him for a while. He told me to go anyway because he was sure to talk if I didn’t. So I left.

I bought the tickets on my phone, then realised that I’d bought tickets from Bournemouth to Southampton! Idiot! I have applied for a refund and bought the correct tickets.

Bournemouth Pride was in Mayfield Park this year. I can’t see that it really wouldn’t have fitted into one of the more central parks, but it’s not visible to people – and visibility is an important element of Pride.

There was a bag search; they were very interested in my prescription medications! The guy at the gate read every single one of them. Note to self: put a copy of the prescription in the meds box!

Twenty-two bloody-pounds to get in! Well, I’m here now.

Of course, first order of business: survival. Or, more accurately, food!

Fresh pizza was calling to me, so I had a ham and pineapple. Judge me! I don’t care!

The live music was really good, the singer first caught my attention with “Respect” by The Communards. Then that “Texas Holdem” by Shania Twain. I’m enjoying it enormously.

“Are you going clubbing in Bournemouth tonight?” a voice by my ear says.

“Ooh! I’m being propositioned!” I think to myself. Nope. He’s plugging a pound off entry with a voucher. So it’s not my eunuch-charms.

Now theres a drag queen covering Divine’a “You Think You’re a Man”.

There’s a tent with a local choir singing ABBA, so I simply had to stop and listen into they finished.

I buy myself a coffee, sit on the grass, and listen to the local singers in the community tent. This tent has the massive advantage of having a roof, which offers some shade and cool.

The final act I listen to was “Sheila Tacue”, a true drag name. She belts it a few camp numbers.

Some people get up and start moving to the music. No, not dancing, I think that would be too charitable a description of the random jerkings of the one person blocking my view.

I am feeling like a bit of a Billy Nomates sitting there on my own.

I wish my husband had come.

Such things are better when shared.