I guess it’s summer then. How do I know this when, at the time of writing, the skies are leaden, it’s been pissing down all night and I’m still wearing a fleece? I know because I have a face that’s as red and shiny as a red, shiny thing and third-degree burns up my shins. Yes, the summer decided to make its brief appearance during the Paddle Round the Pier and I clearly wasn’t prepared. You’d think I’d know, at my age, that the British summer is as unpredictable as my skin’s reaction to it is predictable, despite the fact that all the ‘experts’ have been banging on since Christmas about what a brilliant summer we’re going to have…

So there were those weeks back in May that were quite summery, and that one day at the weekend – and now the long-range forecast is for three weeks of crap before the ‘real’ summer kicks in. And indeed, as I write, there’s a torrential downpour in Brighton and apparently floods in Hastings. Which is another good reason not to live in Hastings.

The thing about the weather is that it’s easily the most popular subject of British conversation. You’re never lost for a topic, are you, with the weather being around and all that. How we never tire of talking about it. And you can pretty much guarantee that, no matter how far from the weather you think your conversation is, it will inevitably end up with some kind of comment on the sun/rain/wind or lack thereof.

“Certainly, as Pride approaches, everyone will find themselves having that annual and most important of speculations –
will it rain on the day?”

Certainly, as Pride approaches, everyone will find themselves having that annual and most important of speculations – will it rain on the day? See, what we really need is a big, Wimbledon-centre-court-style roof over Preston Park. That should pretty much guarantee that it never rains again on a Pride day. It worked for Wimbledon, didn’t it?

Spend a gazillion pounds on a funky retractable roof and the sun shines constantly on the courts for the first time in living memory. Mind you, I for one would have enjoyed the excitement of watching a big old roof roll over for 40 minutes during that tedious men’s final. Jesus, could a game be more boring? Actually, the weather’s been not bad at Pride for a while now. By my reckoning it’s been a good four years since we had spontaneous lesbian mud wrestling outside the women’s tent…

Of course, it really shouldn’t matter if it rains or not – in fact, people tend to remember that Glastonbury-style event with more clarity than the years when it’s been sunny. I went to Glastonbury once. It hammered down. My tent collapsed in a river of rain. I got filthy. And I’m pretty sure I got trench foot. I’ve never forgotten it. See? I had to use that example, as I didn’t make the Pride that was in a monsoon.

I did once go on a Lesbian Strength march in the rain. I was convinced it was acid rain until I realised it was my hair gel washing off and stinging my eyes. Memorable, though. But there are many sunny Prides that all meld into one.

To be honest, if the sun’s not going to shine, I’d almost rather it rained – at least that provides a focal point. There’s nothing more gloomy if you’re going to spend a day milling around in a field than having to do it under grey skies. Mind you, sunshine does somehow make drinking from 10am rather more acceptable. If it’s hot you’re going to need a cold beer, aren’t you? And plenty of them, ’cos you do get up a thirst standing around watching a bunch of drag queens waving at you from a lorry with tinsel on its aerial. Oh yes. And also, sitting on grass in the sun gets pretty thirsty too. So maybe sunshine is best after all.

But hang on, on the other hand, if it’s cold, you’re quite justified in having a nip of something warming. Just looking at the scantily clad disco bunnies is enough to make you feel chilled, so really you’re going to need a sip of brandy or something. So yes. Either way, really. I’m just hoping for some weather on the day.

See you there, come rain or shine! Happy Pride!