Chester pride 2019, finally a pride i felt comfortable in

So Chester pride was postponed due to weather issues, which to many was seen as a problem. However the hosts of Chester pride don’t realise they have accidentally done me a favour. For you see I usually find the pride event itself, or at least at other events, a little out of my area of expertise. Much like Christmas there is too much pressure on the event, with some believing it’s a party and others thinking it’s a protest, catering to both groups makes it, in my eyes, a sensory overload.

However with the event postponed and the side parties still occurring to satisfy all those with what I can only describe as “pride blue balls” I was left with a mystery cabaret that poured young queers into town with enough excitement to fill an entire day. So I text my nearest and queerest to find two sets of friends at the party, one of which had been drinking since 10am (yikes) who I tag along for a while. The only problem is that these people are anxious wallflowers and my restlessness, my hunger for adventure was kicking in, so when they went to retire in the leader – Finn – ‘s home I sloped off to the cabaret night and within seconds of entering the bar was confronted by a middle aged man in sequin shorts and a black leather harness, which set the tone for the night.

The next thing I bumped into was an old friend of mine and his brood. I hustled through the crowd of eccentrically dressed strangers to the front of the stage to see the tail end of some strip tease from a stranger. I took a breather outside for a second and was welcomed by the well rested couple from the hippie wedding. The bride mentioning in passing one simple sentence that completely changed my interpretation of the entire wedding. “Rumour has it you had an interesting time too” she smirked. I had sincerely thought my discrepancies had gone under the radar due to a surplus of drugs hard enough to topple a hardened 1960s Woodstock hippie to the ground. We bantered with the couple and their friends over pancakes.

When I returned to the Liverpool arms things started getting spicy, starting with a burlesque performer dressed as miss piggy – including the stout and ears - who

began strip teasing to a miss-piggy-fied version of the macarena. She even had nipple tassles … and an ass tassle of Kermit. It was an incredible sight to behold. That paired with my confused resting face made it look like I’d walked entirely into the wrong bar, but alas I regrouped with a tribe. Acts came and went including a 6 foot candyfloss figure with a face that seemed far too familiar. I looked closer, but it was only when this quite shocking statue in front of me gave me a glance and a wave that I realised, it was a sales clerk from boots in town. You see everyone in Chester knows one another by faint description, even if you don’t remember one another you could still match the face to the job. I just never joined the dots that the boots make up guy who helped me with a Halloween costume that one time would be a freAKING DRAG QUEEN.

After a few photos she was shortly joined by a couple of figures in nun robes and heels. One with an alarming crimson beard and the other with regal cat eye glasses. I’d heard about the sisters of perpetual indulgence before, but never seen them up close. Drag nuns from Manchester with the main goal being to leave the world better than they found it and offer hugs etc to those who needed them.

There were just two of them at this venue, and I don’t know how but the kindly old lady vibe seemed to bleed through to these stubbly men in their 20s/30s. I was expecting more of a party spirit, but if anything they had a calming effect. You just felt compelled to trust them. “I’ve got a few sins to confess sisters” my friend joked. One of them, sister Mona Key smiled gently and chuckled “don’t do that, as long as they aren’t hurting people at least, do more of them. In the sisterhood we don’t call it confession we call it bragging” she purred. It was that line paired with the warmth they generated that sold me on the concept, which was ironic considering their ghostly white make up and the vaguely horror movie black nun robes.

After they graced us and the bar with their presence they tottled into town to explore the city. I saw them again in passing at a vintage tea place drinking from dainty china cups and sharing a cake like genuine old ladies. I didn’t want them to go, but alas my night continued. I like to think they went off to help those who needed it, or at least they went to have a nice time. Swap the tea for something more exciting.

Fast forward to me venue hopping between the three bars actually making the effort to celebrate pride and darting through empty streets to follow the music. Without expecting it I ran into Kenny, the tall black guy in the flowy robes from liverpool that was almost always mistaken for a jedi or a wizard. He whisked his way through the cobblestones, shooting me a toothy grin and stopping to say hi. I compared notes with him regarding my evening plans and a hug later was on my way. I grabbed a kebab and was warned by a stranger outside the bars that the mayonnaise globules dripping down my chin were beginning to look a tad suspect. I also took part ring of fire, the drinking game. One particular rule made it so I had to drink whenever one of the group talked, famously I’d been tormenting her and she was also very talkative to begin with. My drink was finished very quickly.

As I finished it I received a text from my landlord asking for cash to sort some kind of problem, with a slight snark. It took the wind out of my sail, a number a tad higher than I was expecting. I took a breather in the storyhouse and shake off the drain in the back of my mind. Why does spending money hurt so much? My quiet sulking was punctured by a text from an old friend I hadn’t seen for a while. Kendall. I told him where I was and we arranged to meet. He was taller than I remembered, and he introduced me to his friends with a warm welcome. We head to a bar for drinks and a dance (he danced well), it was fun. Was. Until I kissed a friend of his, and he got twitchy. I didn’t catch it at first but then I kissed his other friend in that kind of a flirty haze. He snaps. His friends, drunkenly check on him. I’m left on the side-line scrambling for the logic.

I scurry sideways to talk to one of his friends and find out what the hell just happened. He liked me, yes, but we hadn’t hung out in months. His friends were on the market, so I didn’t see the issues. We left him to have a breather after his main friend lectured him on how he’d “never let anything get between them as friends” etc. He explained to me after clearing air with his friends that he is monogamous, which would make complete sense if myself or anyone I made out with was dating him. The shame was that if he hadn’t had this outburst I would have considered it, we’d be in wildly different places in life … but he was charming. I held onto this discussion, “yeah your friends might be fine with this but I’m not. We haven’t hung out in months dude, I should be able to kiss who I want” I justified, perhaps a tad high on adrenaline. “that fine, I’ll just never hang out with you” he brushed off slinking down an alleyway somewhere. “we’ll meet you back later perhaps” his friends hinted, that was my cue to go.

I ended the night heading to the nightclub to meet the friends from the bar, brushing past exes and feeling a spark of joy when I hear my name shouted from the smokers perch opposite. I excused myself for a second from the bar friends and surfed over to one of the couples from the hippie wedding. There was a hug and a grin, I’d gone full circle. Normality at last. And a breathe of fresh air.