A JAUNT

This time last year, I arrived home from Manchester's Gay Pride event with neither my dignity nor my liver intact - I wasn't making the journey to Manchester this year as I've a few trips up my sleeve in the next few months and need to save a few pennies to pay for both Ireland next week and then Gran Canaria in November.

Jon was heading down with Cameron for 3 nights of debauchery, Z list scraping the barrel musical artists and more lamburgers and plastic cups than ever imaginable. They called into my work on Friday afternoon and DEMANDED the keys to my flat, they took them, packed a small case for me and returned an hour later and off we went for a weekend with the North West's gay and lesbian community. I decided to throw caution to the wind and live a little by heading down. Roz Russell said in Auntie Mame "Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death" so with my banquet laid out on Canal Street or as the vandals would have it called 'Anal Treet' which has a more suggestive ring to it by far.

Canal Street is closed off for the public who pay £10 to enjoy the festivities all weekend and the bars and clubs charge ridiculous prices for entry and booze. We were also meeting up with Stewart and a few of his friends who were also heading down and we headed out to a few of our usual haunts for some strutting and posing and hardened drinking. We ended up in stalwart Cruz 101 which was bedecked with rainbow flags and UV lights that wearing a black top was not an option as it made everyone look as though they had a severe case of dandruff. Star turn for the night was unforgettable ginger Scouser, no not Cilla Black but Sonia - 80s 4 hit wonder with large cheekbones and bubbly personality. She got the crowd revved up although the copious amounts of amyl nitrate in the building may have also helped - I swear they blow that stuff through the air conditioning so every patron can attain that level of consciousness. The fumes got too much for us old timers but Sonia held on for 4 tracks (3 covers for the record and her only original Number 1 record) Cam had left and Jon disappeared so I headed home and found Cameron legs akimbo outside our hotel trying to devour cod and chips - he brought it in but didn't eat it so I naturally chipped it right out the window onto a balcony below for other guests to smell of cod for the weekend - there were a tonne of lesbians staying so it wouldn't have seemed totally out of place. I managed to disagree with every drink and piece of food I had eaten all day and spent most of the early hours of Saturday hugging the toilet and being sick for Scotland. I did manage to head out on Saturday afternoon and watch the actual Pride parade of floats and causes round the city centre into the gay village where we were hovering about passing comments on the vile dress sense of the majority of Mancunians! My favourite part was when a man dressed in drag held up a placard with 'OUR MANDY'S A LEZZA (and we don't mind)' emblazoned on it. I've still to find out who Mandy is but someone's proud of her!

Jon was a complete party pooper on Saturday night and went home at midnight like Cinders at the ball so Cameron and I whooped it up at uberclub Essential with a few men Cameron knew from Glasgow who had reached the age of 35+ and were more jaded and bitter about the gay scene that I promise never to moan about any gay bar/club/cruising ground again, however we made the night enjoyable and shook our shammy with everyone else. Jon had perked up somewhat by Sunday although Cameron was choking for that illusive dick up his touche. I had taken the attitude that I was down for a weekend of having a laugh with some mates and hardly noticed all the cute guys that Jon and Cameron had spotted.

Manchester's Canal Street is almost like a catwalk and who I am to turn down an opportunity to strut??? I sashayed up and down that goddamn street in full view of thousands of mo's who were getting tanked up and getting in the pride spirit - it's almost like when you walk round the street that you are actually on display, it can be daunting but I had a cheeky top of Jon's slewn round one of my shoulders to give that semi Eurotrash but probably daft Scot's boy look. Jon's new lovaaaar popped down on Sunday and we all went clubbing again to Essential (predictable, but a thoroughly good night was had by all). The gogo boy dancers on the podiums were a sight to behold, none more so than the tubby blond queen from Glasgow who danced very badly in red spandex hotpants. It wasn't big and it certainly wasn't clever and if I was one of the gogo boys, I'd make a decision to ditch the bitch until he developed a tight six pack and some dance skills - rhythm is a dancer, he was not.

All in all, it was good to get away and not worry about work or dancing or targets or anything like that and just enjoy myself a bit and let my hair down. Iwas incredibly busy and if there's one thing I hate, it's queuing to pee or worse to get into a bar, that's probably why I may not head down anytime soon again. Manchester has something for everyone for entertainment and that supergay lifestyle and social life but I'd sooner concentrate on saving up for a fab girls holiday to Gran Canaria - Jon, David, Stewart, Cameron and myself whooping it up where nobody knows your name until after you've entered them and they forget it the next morning when the sun comes up or you close your mouth!