Strolling around the city in which I was born, a caped crusader with the transgender flag flying draped around my shoulders, I felt like an LGBT+ superhero. This was the day Pride came to Derby.
It’s Sunday afternoon, I’m covered in glitter, my makeup’s still on and I have a pretty mighty hangover (I didn’t get in until about 5am). But I don’t care because yesterday was epic.
This was my fourth Pride – and my second in Derby. I went to the one two years ago, and this time it was even better (probably because I avoided the cheesy music acts this time round in favour of pubs and beer gardens!)
And it was bigger than what I remember in 2017. As I headed up to the starting point in St Peter’s Street, I was thrilled to see the thousands of people wearing their rainbow colours quite literally with Pride.
One portly shaven-headed chap really stood out – not only for the giant octopus crafted from balloons suspended high above his head but for his choice of costume – a Barbie leotard and shiny leggings. Well, I mean why the hell not?!
While I waited for my buddy Di to arrive, I bumped into a couple of ladies who used to go to my Slimming World group a few years ago.
They stick in my mind because the youngest one used to take along her daughter in a pushchair. She was only a tot. She then proceeded to cry all the way through group. This happened most weeks.
Now aged five or so, I decided to get my own back on her by just going “Meeeeeeah! Meeeeeeeeeah! Meeeeeeeeeah!” at her. How we laughed. You probably had to be there.
Di arrive a few minutes later and then the parade began, led by a marching band. We walked through the city centre to the Market Place, where there was dancing and stalls, and then over to Curzon Street where the Pride village was.
I always feel super-proud to be LGBT+ when I take part in these parades, and I always make a point of looking at the faces of people lining the streets to watch.
Some are all smiles, but others just look at we shiny, happy people aghast! I take a look at us – drenched in colour, all smiles, celebrating life – and then them, living their grey, drab, bigoted lives, and I feel really sorry for them!
I’m so, so proud to be trans. More proud than ever before. There’s nothing wrong with being cishet – not at all. But these grey people just make me laugh. You don’t need to imagine what they’re thinking because it’s written all over their ashen faces.
My reaction is to make eye contact with them and give them the biggest beaming smile I can muster. Bless them, and I bet they voted Brexit! It’s nice to see the bigots become the minority for once, even if it is for just one day.
Anyway, enough about them. This was a day all about love and pride. There were more flags than I’ve ever seen before. Not just the rainbow Pride flag and trans flag, but those for every gender and sexuality you could possibly think of.
We didn’t really hang around the stage area for long – watching Rozalla and the usual bunch of X Factor rejects isn’t really our thing! But it was fab to watch Derbyshire’s police and crime commissioner, Hardyal Dhindsa, give a speech.
Most of it focused on hate crime – and what people can do if they’re ever the victim of a crime which could be seen to be motivated by homophobia, biphobia or transphobia. If that’s happened to you, you can report it online here.
I think it’s bloody important to remember that, although Pride is a celebration these days, it didn’t start like that. It started 50 years ago as a protest against oppression. LGBT+ people are still being oppressed, and it’s vital that the oppressors are called out.
After the speech, we had a few beers and then wandered around the stalls. I remember meeting the Barbie leotard clad man and taking his picture. I bumped into some friends who organised the last Pride event I went to, in my town. That was lovely.
I assembled quite the collection of LGBT badges, stickers and lanyards, and I finally bought my own transgender flag, draping it around my shoulders.
There were four designs to choose from – the regular blue, pink and white flag (designed by Monica Helms), the same with #Pride written on it, the same with the transgender symbol on it and a fourth which was a completely different design, this one featuring more purple in it.
Aside from all the flags for the many genders and sexualities, there were flags for various fetishes and other interests – everything from leather and puppy play to rubber and age play.
I’d never seen any of these designs before – I didn’t even know such flags existed, but hey, why not? Di purchased a flag to match her own kink, and wore that with pride for the rest of the day. I guess it’s nice that cishet people get the chance to wear their colours with pride, too.
I chatted to a lady from the Girl Guides, who was there promoting the Guides as an inclusive organisation (hooray!) and told me that trans girls are welcome. I explained that I wanted to be a Brownie so bad but that it was too late now!
I chatted to another couple of people who run an anti-racism group in Derby, and I spoke to a 16-year-old trans girl who was sitting on her own with a sign saying: “I’m trans – would you hug me?”
We had a big hug, and I spent a few moments chatting to her. What a wonderful kid she was. I wish I’d have had some kind of support network when I turned 16, back in 1989. It would have made life far simpler.
My memory’s a little hazy after this point because Di and I kept ordering beers and ciders! Though we did stop at the museum for lunch – and to look at the Lego exhibition there, randomly!
I remember we ended up at one pub on Old Blacksmith’s Yard, and then we started drinking gin – orange gin, pink gin, parma violet gin, you name it.
It was just lovely to be sitting outside, enjoying the last of the summer sunshine and feeling completely at home. I didn’t get any funny looks all day.
At one point, we walked past the old Nightingale Maternity Home, the place where I was born back in 1973. It’s now closed and boarded up, but it’s a beautiful old building, with the Lady with the Lamp standing guard above the elaborate entrance.
It felt quite poignant. The last time I was in that doorway was a day or two after I was born, my proud parents taking home their little boy.
Now, here I was again, gender flipped on its head, but good to know that my parents still love me as much as they ever did – and that’s not something that many trans people are lucky enough to be able to say.
After that, we headed for dinner at Turtle Bay. I’m a bit of a snob when it comes to eating out – I prefer independent restaurants. But for a chain, this was really good. That curried goat was just the best!
Then we were joined by another friend, and off we went into town, leaving Pride behind in favour of a raucous German bar, where you couldn’t hear yourself think, followed by more gins at the far nicer Cosy Club.
The night finished with a good few games of blackjack at the casino (though the staff made me remove my face glitter before I could join the tables!) and so to bed, at about 5am.
As I say, there were a few old farts looking at everyone aghast in the parade, but personally, I didn’t get a single funny look all night – not even in that godforsaken meat market of a German bar, which was full of shit-faced lads.
Which means I’m either more passable than I give myself credit for, or Pride is actually working, by changing medieval attitudes to LGBT+ people – and isn’t that really what it’s all about?
Derby, you were fabulous. See ya next year.
Andie xxx
Leave a Reply