Pride Parade

I was giving a poetry workshop this weekend in the Irish Writers' Centre in Parnell Square. When I arrived on Saturday morning I had to park elsewhere because that part of the Square had been cordoned off. I wondered if there was a film in progress; the area is a favourite for period dramas because of the well-preserved Georgian houses. On our way to a coffee break we discovered that the annual Gay Pride march was rallying right on our doorstep. If I hadn't been doing a workshop I'd have considered tagging along, or at least sticking around to get some more shots; it's a pleasure to photograph men and women in their pantomime peacock finery. And it's a breath of fresh air. I spent about six months in San Francisco in 1982 and I remember how I felt when I saw, for the first time in my life, a gay male couple walking down the street outside our house, unselfconsciously hand in hand, or so it seemed. I felt I had finally landed in a sane world. It may seem strange coming from a hetero (I don't really care for the term 'straight'), but I felt safer, more secure.