So the weather definitely did not hold this time. At all. In any way at all.
Firstly, no matter how early I manage to leave the house, I still can't manage to get to Brighton in the Proper Morning because it takes an unearthly time to get from my house to Victoria, even when I get lucky with the trains, including the train to Brighton, which I actually did today (I even managed to squeeze in a coffee before running for the Brighton train; despite the stressed barista accidentally firing an entire hot coffee all over the man in front of me; he graciously declined both first aid and a refund and just sopped up the coffee with tissues while they got him another one).
Played "spot who's going to Trans Pride" on the way down the hill, stopped in various shops en route - one at Muffy's behest to get her a beach towel (Primark) and a couple at my own requirement and it is a very important matter of personal development that I didn't get fucking ID'd in Brighton AT ALL for once. Muffy and I went through the first bottle of wine and she showed me the bloodstains on her staircase from her neighbours having a knife fight ("That's FINE"), and the marks on her ceiling from where the roof tile had tried to come through the roof and her landlord hadn't bothered to tell her people would be coming into her room to fix it ("That's FINE, of course, nothing untoward or ACTIVELY ILLEGAL there"), I played "Radio Friendly Pop Song" by Matt Fishel for Muffy and in the process lost all my playlists because iTunes is a piece of shit, we went out for more wine and headed out into the Moderate Rain.
The Moderate Rain became Serious Rain just as we got to Brunswick Gardens (having missed the actual march) and I tried to coordinate Rory into a human location nearby and found he was still driving anyway; we got into the square and met up with Wen and their partner and some other people Muffy and Wen knew and who I didn't; departed for a circuit of the square and had made it about 1/3 of the way around (stopping for as many freebies as possible and also the cheapest ever scone/jam/scream secion of a cream tea) before the sky ripped in half and dumped out every single droplet of water that has ever existed.
We were attempting to deal with this when Thor (we assumed later it must have been the God of Thunder disapproving massively of Trans Pride because of his issues with his Canonically Genderfluid Brother) tried to lob a gazebo at us, and therefore teamed up with a couple of other people to be temporary tent pegs until the worst of the wind, rain, thunder, and lightning had passed ("Muffy, if it starts to lightning can you maybe let go of the TALL METAL POLE you are currently holding onto?") while on the inflatable stage the MCs gamely carried on with the programme of events ("IF RAIN WON'T STOP GLASTONBURY IT WON'T STOP US," they barked, "Maybe we'll be that big one day!"); during a lull in the rain we dashed across to the Mermaids tent (they're a UK charity supporting Trans minors, which was amusing last year because Trans Pride that time coincided with and was right next to the Mermaid Parade) and I got my face glittered in exchange for a very trifling donation.
Despite being repeatedly beaten up by the weather, we persisted, and were rewarded by some performance poetry which I shall not comment upon because the poet is an acquaintance of Muffy's, and also by someone in a tent shouting my name and then explaining that he didn't know me but recognised me from Lucian's tumblr, so we talked to him (James, I think?) until the rain stopped, ran into another of Muffy's friends, then decided to both eat and go and sit back in Muffy's flat in order to stop being soggy; at this point we'd given up on swimming.
So we got some food (there may have been a loud, if brief, argument about who was paying, which ended because Muffy TRICKED ME), went back to the flat, drank two bottles of wine waiting for Rory to explain where he was and what he was doing (also over the roof tops we caught bits of what I am now pretty sure was Octavian's band playing, since the square is only about three blocks over from Muffy's house), got the bus to the Marlborough because Muffy's Foot is the devil and made of pain and suffering and, primarily, lymph...
We briefly stopped in a supermarket for Muffy to buy cigarettes; a man came up to Muffy and said, "Excuse me, did you happen to draw a picture of me playing guitar once?" I said this sounded like the kind of thing she'd do, Muffy looked blank, but the man persisted. Eventually Muffy realised that yes, this had happened, the man's name was revealed; the portrait had occurred when both were at university. The man said he'd kept the picture and told Muffy there was someone he'd like her to meet, produced his very small child, who was running around the shop making aeroplane noises, and his partner, who was failing to keep up with her child, and explained to the smaller human that this was who had drawn that picture of Daddy. Muffy was, unsurprisingly and justifiably, very charmed by this experience as she draw the picture roughly a decade ago, and it's very flattering to know that a virtual stranger values your work so highly, I think!
Then sat in a pub receiving far, far more hugs than were necessary and also a bracelet which reads "CUNTPADRE" and befriending a friend of Rory's called Nat who had a "POINTLESSLY AGGRESSIVE" necklace and "CRUDE" bracelet, quoting what her MP called her when she asked him about his position on a recent case in which several MPs defended undercover police officers for having sexual relationships with women they were investigating while embedded in activist groups in the 80s, and pointed out to said MP that obtaining sex by deception was generally considered rape. [I have some mild issues with that because there is the Disclosure Law still on the statute books wherein if I bang someone and don't tell them they're trans & they somehow don't fucking notice before that then I Raped Them - EVEN, according to some marvelous case studies, in instances when cis people have sexually assaulted trans women this holds true? A M A Z I N G).
Rory decided he was hungry so we went to the Market Diner which in retrospect was Not A Good Plan; the food there always tastes fine (even if I had to get up and remind them about half of my order) but then inevitably makes me RATHER ILL; I don't remember much of the conversation apart from Rory informing me that "You're very good at refusing to acknowledge that you're actually kind of smart" and me pointing out that my one even vague area of ability lies in "making shit up" and "BASICALLY EVERYONE DOES THAT TO SOME DEGREE".
We all parted ways, I marched up to the station and onto the first and fastest train I could find and managed to keep myself awake to Victoria; via a less convenient route than usual I got to the RVT and just hung around politely dancing by myself at Duckie in between performances (one drag act lipsynching about racism in the gay community & specifically on dating apps to which I did slightly want to point out that however badly the artiste had it, his trans qpoc siblings will have it worse; one highly entertaining and disturbing cat-woman striptease involving eight tits, bone-based simulated masturbation, and fake ejaculate - definitely the right crowd for it though) and then gently sidling into one group so I had some people to dance AT before it became Acceptable to dance on the stage and no longer care about such things.
Music was Ungood for dancing to, however: the overall Load of songs I know and care about was spent between acts and after that very little grabbed me. In one trip to the bathroom a bearded man in a Spice Girls t-shirt appeared out of nowhere, said "You want to be careful, you know" and made me drink some of his water. "It's water. Just. Water." / "Wow, an actual human person who drinks water?" / "I do. Lots. You should too." I was also casually informed I was beautiful and shoved into the open toilet cubicle with a gesture somewhere between amusement and attraction so I am now Fully Validated for the remainder of the fortnight. Also, Children ™ (ie, people under 30) got very excited about my outfit (which by this horrifyingly sweaty point was mostly just trainers and dungaree shorts, a decision which elicited undue excitement from those nearby): "I can't find any of those anywhere that fit me" / "That's because you're tiny and the rest of us all got fat and now they make clothes for us instead".
I left around 1am because I was bored of not being able to dance to anything with much enthusiasm, and also increasingly bewildered by the existence of NormCore, but wasn't as hideously offended by this terrible failing as I could have been.
Today I crawled out of my pit around 10am, went to the Farmers' Market and bonded with a hungover dad about our general state of besmirched livers (he was in a worse state, describing himself as "fragile", and also "my head feels like I'm going to have a seizure"), got multiple breakfast items and some COFFEE ("Are you sure carbs are the right thing for a hangover?" asked the woman at the Danish goods store, "No but they're the right thing for breaking my favourite sunglasses."), and came out of the tube at Leicester Square to the merry pitter-patter of torrential rain?
Found Liza (having been banished to the gallery cafe for non-compliance on the "do not bring drinks into the gallery" rule), and began our march in search of Various Items We Needed to Replace (face goo, tick. Hoodie for Liza's plane journey, tick. Sunglasses: no luck for either of us. Coffee for Liza's brother: tick), also managed to get the t-shirt I was looking for (Liza: "I need to take a photo, Jason will want to see this"; also a short discussion with the guy at the till as I suggested to Liza that the reason I hadn't pointed out badges with "I NEED A POO" on them to her was that I was trying to get her out of the habit of talking about her poop; he said, "I LOVE TALKING ABOUT POO", and Liza vociferously agreed); went to St Paul's, ate our Middle Class Picnic largely while walking down Cheapside to Guildhall, and spent the afternoon or at least part of it exploring the gallery:https://www.instagram.com/p/BW5El2vhAaE/?taken-by=derekdesangeshttps://www.instagram.com/p/BW5ErofhJA_/?taken-by=derekdesanges
(multiple image set)https://www.instagram.com/p/BW5Ey0chTQp/?taken-by=derekdesanges
(multiple image set)https://www.instagram.com/p/BW5E6XkhohL/?taken-by=derekdesanges
(i did actually shriek in the gallery)https://www.instagram.com/p/BW5FKEhBtGf/?taken-by=derekdesanges
(i told her to "go in there, be a silhouette, get involved)https://www.instagram.com/p/BW5FRl7Bqbw/?taken-by=derekdesangeshttps://www.instagram.com/p/BW5Fas1h5_g/?taken-by=derekdesanges
(i love a man in polygons)
being rained on while Liza was trying to knit, and therefore being forced to repair to a starbucks so she could finish making my socks (where once again i had my fucking food forgotten about by people); went looking for more sunglasses, was "Ma'amed" by a security guard who apologised profusely when I opened my mouth to answer his question and then justified his choice of gender by pointing out that I have bleached hair and "decorations" (i assume he meant the leftover glitter) because apparently The Gays don't exist in his world; Liza successfully sourced sunglasses, I still didn't and now I can't find my epoxy to fix my broken ones D: Topman no longer do this style either
we had a poke around Greyfriars and fucked off to our respective locations. Now. I was expecting that I would go to Morrisons and stock up on stuff for the work week, but what happened was more torrential downpour, delayed bus, Morrisons not obeying their own opening hours, Akdeniz doing the annoying Turkish thing of not trusting sugar-free anything and therefore not even providing me with One Emergency Can of the things I need, and also I cannot find my stupid Nexus 7... THEREFORE I am not making dinner, I am going to the PUB for dinner, I refuse to be forced to be responsible.
ETA: oh yes also Rory did me a special cakehttps://pbs.twimg.com/media/DFYRogfW0AIecMb.jpg