National Emergency

The Prime Minister essentially put the country in lock down yesterday referring, at the end of his 8.30pm message, to a moment of national emergency. We are allowed to go out for essentials such as food as infrequently as possible, for exercise once a day, for medical needs and travelling to work if this is essential and can't be done at home. There are to be no public gatherings of more than two people excluding those that we live with, and all social events including weddings, baptisms and other ceremonies - excluding funerals - are all banned.

It's a pretty strange state of affairs that's for sure. Yesterday afternoon there were 6,650 known cases of Covid-19 of which 335 people had died, today's figures had gone up to 8,077 cases with 422 deaths. Understandably the news about it is everywhere, TV, online, press and social media are awash with messages and stories and opinion, the Government even sent a text message to everyone today, it's quite overwhelming at times.

I find watching the news stressful and then, like this morning, every little cough or tickle of the throat, I think is the beginning of the virus. And of course because we went out on Friday night, and Chris went out on Sunday, we're still within the incubation period. I have to rationalise as best I can by saying that the risk is still relatively low and if I do get it, for most people, it's a mild illness. But those figures are sobering, especially when you look at the rate of change day by day.

Mary, our elderly neighbour, seems not to have any awareness of the situation. She's been out to the shops twice today as far as I have seen. I've asked Chris to send a text message to her sons who seem to be absent.

We're planning an online get together with the six of us that were due to go to the Lake District this weekend which should be fun. These online video link services are proving incredibly valuable already.

Mother's Day

Today is Mothering Sunday in the UK, it's a beautiful Spring day and everything feels calm as it often does at this time of year. Obviously this year is different than before. Chris has elected to not see his mum today which I think is the right thing to do. Traditionally one of the busiest days of the year for restaurants, this year they all lie empty. It's all very sad.

I was chatting with Alison earlier about the things that have changed so quickly and the markers in everyday life that have had to happen differently: kids not celebrating the end of their school career, birthdays, weddings, funerals, all sorts of things.

We're planning on getting married in July, we have the reservation with the register office and we'd started planning a party. I'm not sure how this is going to affect it but thankfully our only financial outlay to date is a forty quid deposit and the way we're doing it means that it's very flexible and we can scale up or down quickly and even postpone relatively easily if needs be. Not so for those poor couples who have spent thousands of pounds and months, sometimes years, planning and ordering and buying. Still, the most important thing is obviously their health.


Chris began coughing last night, over and over again. He said that his chest hurt when he coughed too. Even something as innocuous as that scared the life out of me. There were no other symptoms though and after getting him to sit upright and covering himself in vapour rub it eventually improved. This morning it's there a bit but not like yesterday. In fact I have a bit of a cough too which is no doubt the same thing and to know what it feels like is a comfort. I feel like I'm overreacting with every little thing, and I'm not an overly dramatic person, but it's scary reading the headlines and seeing the news then wondering if it could be us next, trying to get seen at a hospital. We're both pretty healthy as it stands so if or when it does happen I think we'll be okay. I hope so anyway. In the meantime, all we can do is stay at home.

Chris's cat friends have come back to see him. They're definitely too well looked after to be stray and I'm 90% sure they have a home somewhere. I suggested to him the other day that we foster a dog for a few months from the dog's home but he doesn't seem interested.

We, just this minute, cancelled our Lake District trip next weekend. Sarah and Steve are struggling with childcare as Steve's folks are quarantining themselves, Chris and I had decided we shouldn't do it anyway and Kaz & Paul are in agreement. It's such a shame because it was the start of the celebrations for Kaz's 50th birthday but needs must and all that. Must let Dom know we won't be needing the house now.

The Country Steps Up a Gear

Yesterday felt like an historic day. Despite the recommendations from Government to avoid bars, theatres and other social spaces earlier in the week, the PM yesterday officially ordered all pubs, cafes, restaurants, gyms, cinemas and so on closed. Almost inevitably people went out for one last hurrah and as we walked through Chorlton to the pharmacy last night just before 7.00pm there were people in lots of the places that remained open. The Thirsty Korean was busier than I've ever seen it, there were folk in The Font, and a queue at the chip shop.

The pharmacy was a bit awkward with people trying to keep their distance from each other, that being said one cretin walked through the door coughing without covering his mouth and got a few looks thrown his way. Of course nobody said anything to him. I saw hand sanitiser on sale for the first time in about a month but didn't buy any as I thought £4.99 for 50ml was a bit steep.

We went to Charles and Paul's last night in lieu of going to the theatre, which of course had been cancelled earlier in the week. Right up to the last minute we were questioning whether we should go or not but decided to as it was a small group, everyone had been working from home all week, and it felt a relatively low risk. We didn't do the usual hugs and kisses when we arrived or left which felt unusual but I think everyone accepted it for what it was.

We had pizza from Double Zero which a few of the group went to pick up, there were people eating in the restaurant apparently but it wasn't full which, considering you have to book well ahead of time for a mid week table, is unusual in itself. Of course, like everywhere else, that was their last night of being open.

It'll be interesting to see who manages to ride this out. I expect there'll be a lot of restaurants and bars which just don't open again when this has all ended. The world will be a very different place that's for sure.

There are key events in the world which change everything, the one that springs to mind immediately is the attack on the the World Trade Centre which changed travel forever, and I suppose locally the terrorist attack on Manchester Arena in 2017 which has had implications for mass gatherings of all kinds since. I daresay that these will pale in comparison to Coronavirus when it's all over.

This is a truly global crisis. I looked at a map yesterday of countries in the world which had been affected so far and there were, as far as I could see, only a few countries in southern Africa where there were no reports. I wonder if that will change. There's no escaping this thing.

I spoke to my dad this morning and told him that I wasn't going to see him after all. I just think that getting on a tram and a grubby train and then walking into an elderly man's house is asking for trouble. Besides I don't know if I picked anything up at last night's gathering. Probably not but you never know.

My cousin Natalie has been a superstar. I put a message on Facebook yesterday asking for people's opinions and advice on going to see dad and she saw it and offered to help. So today at 4 o'clock, she's taking him a pork casserole and coffee cake then going shopping for him. It's a big relief for me.

I spoke to my brother Matthew today too, he's in isolation for a fortnight with Falak and Micah. Micah, who turned four a couple of weeks ago, has been poorly and developed a fever. Unable to get through to their doctor Falak eventually called 999 and a paramedic came out. He's improving but they've been advised to self isolate in case they have Covid-19. Like everyone though, they'll probably never know if that's what it was.

So today is our first Saturday at home. We contemplated going to the street market in Chorlton which Chris said is still on but decided against it. The decision was helped somewhat by our hangovers.

It's mother's day tomorrow. I'm not sure what Chris is planning with his mum, if anything. It feels weird to write this but I'm glad my mum doesn't have to go through this.

The other side of the dining table

Today I am working from the other side of my dining room table, just for a change of view. This is the third day that I've not worn shoes and I haven't left the house, other than to poke my head out into the back garden, since I went to the post office on Tuesday. My face feels puffy and I'm achey from lack of exercise.

I spoke to dad yesterday as it was his 70th birthday. I didn't realise but there were some crossed wires somewhere and he was expecting me to go and see him. I told him I was hoping to go on Saturday but I'm not really sure I should. I feel terrible that he spent his birthday on his own.

I'm a bit concerned because he can't get a delivery slot from the supermarket for three weeks and he's housebound. His cleaner goes in every day to make him some breakfast and leave him a sandwich for later, and Uncle Philip goes most days with a few things, but I'm still concerned. And it's difficult when I live so far away and don't have a car.

I've been looking at some home delivery services for hot food so I'll have a chat with him and see if I can get that set up.

We're due to go to the lake district next weekend for a couple of nights with Sarah & Steve and Kaz & Paul. At present we're all still up for it - we decided that as long as we're not officially restricted from travelling and we're all well then we should still go. I've got the number of the local pub so I'll see if they're still open, but even if they're not it'll be great to just get outside and get some fresh air in my lungs. I dare say it's easier to isolate yourself in the countryside.

Schools Closing and Lockdown Rumours

The Prime Minister announced yesterday evening that all schools in England would close on Friday, falling in line with announcements in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. The fact of the matter is that they won't completely close as they're charged with taking in kids of those in front-line services such as medics, or the police, but for most children, they'll be at home for some time. Exams will be affected of course but there'll be contingency plans in place for that.

Just heard now on the rumour mill - a friend of a colleague who works for the army - that there's due to be an official lock down tomorrow night which feels unsettling to me. It's funny how we take our liberty so much for granted. Of course it could just be that the increases troops at barracks are there to support the country, rather than restrict us, but time will tell.

Chris went out last night to get some supplies and came back saying it was eerie. People were steering clear of each other, the roads were quiet, the bars that were still open were empty.

I'm feeling worn out and run down. Tired and listless. I'm surprised really given that I'm barely leaving the house, and this has only been a week. My shoulder and neck hurt which is usually a sign of stress for me but it could just be that I'm spending so much time sitting down.

Work carries on of course, and as miserable as it is doing it at the dining room table I'm grateful.  Corporation Pop's products and work are all online thankfully and so far all work carries on as normal. We all come together every morning on a video call which gives me some outside contact.

Chris has nothing work-wise, football was one of the first things to shut down so that work went, then he got a call about his tutoring being cancelled and now he's looking for things to do around the house.

Looking on the bright side, the press are reporting a turning point in China, some three months since they started battling this. No new local infections. I dare say we have some way to go, it could be June at this rate, but a lot has been learned in Asia and I'm hopeful.

Toilet Paper

Closures continue all over the place, restaurants and bars by far the biggest hit at the moment. Public transport in London and Birmingham are reducing, or have reduced, their services partly in response to the continued rise in cases of COVID-19 and partly simply because fewer people are using them.

I went to the post office yesterday to send my dad's birthday present which I'm hoping will be with him tomorrow though I have definitely decided that I'm not going to go over. Robert is going for a night which makes me feel a bit better. He and Nat are due to move house next week which is going to be interesting.

After the post office we went to Morrisons, the shelves are still empty of pasta, loo paper, painkillers and flour but most things are still available and the place was busier than I expected.

Chris rode to his parents to see them while I was working, took them round Waitrose, and a few hours later brought them back here to see the garden and meet the cats that keep coming round. They brought with them a bunch of goodies: pies, soup, cleaning stuff that we don't really need, and a nine pack of toilet paper.

This obsession with loo roll is weird. It even affects us because with the shelves being empty, and being on your last four pack, you find yourself scanning shops on the off chance you can get some more before you're left without.

I have to say Maureen seemed quite blasé about the whole thing. She's 80 and Brian about 83 or 84, and she'd marched around the shops with Chris and came here without, it appeared a care in the world. They really ought to be locking themselves away for a few weeks already given Government advice. I'm a bit concerned that Chris has a cough, has been out and about, and is still spending time with them, especially as they're quite susceptible to colds and the like, and usually have a couple of bad ones each winter.

I cancelled today's meeting at Levenshulme Old Library because I'm being quite cautious and it would've meant a trip on a bus and being in what is essentially a community centre just after a social session. I was due to meet Scott, the director of my play in December, to check the place out as a venue but I've switched that to an online Zoom meeting to go through the planning and finances with him. There's plenty of time and lots of stuff that can be done at home.

Tesco are delivering this afternoon, though what I'll get is anybody's guess. I logged on yesterday to check something and nearly a quarter of what I'd ordered wasn't available so I had to change it all. Andrex is back in stock it seems - but you can only have two packets. It appears I've become an unwitting hoarder!

Lockdown diary or Coronavirus takes hold

Yesterday the Prime Minister urged the British public to avoid all non-essential contact with others.

While at present it feels a little over the top I'm confident that in the near future we'll see this as sage advice and suspect this is just the beginning of a long haul.

I've been working from home since Thursday as it is after advice at work to not come in if we showed any signs of flu or cold-like illness, and as I had a sore throat and a grumbly cough I acted on that advice.

We did go out on Saturday to see friends. We joined John & Peter as their dinner with Rose and Sylvian came to a close. We drank wine, ate cheese and caught up with them before heading to Croma on Clarence Street for dinner and champagne which Chris had won in a St Valentines day competition. After dinner we met David and Claire Dunne at The Refuge to celebrate his birthday with a couple of drinks. Needless to say we were quite drunk by this time!

The tram, restaurant and bar were obviously quieter than usual, which given different circumstances might have been nice, but generally it was a relatively normal night out.

The difference between Saturday and today (Tuesday) is marked. Plans to go to the Kings Arms to see Mike Heath's new play have just been thwarted as he's taken the decision to pull the rest of the run, after just one night, on yesterday's advice. As well, plans to see Night of the Living Dead Remix at HOME this Friday have been cancelled as they chose to close, along with all theatres, for the foreseeable, I've just had a Whatsapp conversation with Alison and Nicola about them coming here on 4th April and it looks like that's off now too because it involves public transport.

We've been invited to Charles & Paul's in lieu of our zombies on Friday and to John & Peter on Saturday as they've had to cancel their Paris trip. Phil & Charlie who have had to cancel their holiday to Lanzarote will also be there. I'm playing it by ear.

It's dad's 70th birthday on Thursday and despite the fact that he's only left the house once since March last year, and that was to be admitted to hospital after a fall, I was hoping to go and see him at some point though I suspect that's not going to happen. How miserable to be all alone on your birthday. Thankfully he doesn't put much stock on birthdays these days. I'll pop out shortly to post his birthday present and try to pick up a packet of loo paper which continues to be as rare as hen's teeth.

The People of Roebuck Lane

I grew up in the countryside on a narrow and windy lane called Roebuck Lane on the edge of Saddleworth. At one end of the lane was the Roebuck Inn, a typical country pub, well known in the eighties for the quality of it's restaurant (sadly not so now) and at the other end was a little shop owned and run by Joan Greenwood. Between the two were ten houses.

Starting at the pub end there was a lady whose name slips my mind but who kept to herself and was kind enough to give us 50p one bonfire night towards food and fireworks; on the other side was an old farmhouse which had been converted into two residences - in one side was Vinny and Mad Mary (so named by my mother for her tendency to feed sliced white bread to the cows in the field behind our houses and the fact that they kept chickens in an old broken down ambulance) and in the other side was Jean, Frank, Christie and Damian.

Next along the lane was a terrace of five houses the first of which I lived in with my brothers Robert and Matthew and our parents Hilary and Howard. We lived at number five. During the time that I lived there I remember three sets of next door neighbours, the first Kevin and his wife Lorraine. Kevin was, I believe, the tour manager for the Grumbleweeds - a comedy and music act. Next to move in were Howard Jones the sign maker and Brenda who shouted a lot at each other and on whose wedding night introduced me to the word bonking through a sign on their front door which read 'Do not disturb - all night bonking in progress.' I think he made the sign himself but I can't be certain. As family tradition dictated they were both given nicknames, Brenda was the poisoned dwarf and Howard was affectionately known as the ferret - but never to their faces...

The Molloys lived there next. Steve was a professional rugby player who played for Featherstone Rovers and Paula was a nurse who according to my youngest brother had a huge arse. They also shouted at each other a lot.

Clara and John lived at number nine with their grown up kids. Clara and Jean from number three, were good friends and I used to go with them and Damian on shopping trips to such wild and adventurous (to a young child) places as the Mosley Mill Shop with it's fascinating aquarium shop full of the biggest and ugliest fish ever to have graced a tank and Ashton Market where Damian and I wandered between the stalls while Jean and Clara shopped and where twenty years previous Brady and Hindley had picked up that poor Kilbride boy and taken him to the moors. For me, through my childish eyes, Ashton Market was not about that, it was about Cornish pasties and my ever growing keyring collection.

Number eleven was an odd one. Brenda lived there with her husband who I only ever knew as China man. They would spend a long time abroad every year and then we would see Brenda and their daughter for a few weeks before they were off again. I might have seen China Man once a year if I was lucky but he was very elusive.

On the other end of our little block of five lived Jimmy and Elaine. Jimmy was known as Mr Angry after a rather unfortunate instance of trespass on my and Damian's part.

Next along the lane was George Groves's farm. He always had a dog tied up in the yard at the front of the house. This dog liked nothing more than barking incessantly and went particularly wild when someone walked past. It was the most terrifying dog I had ever encountered. I used to try sneaking past the farm to avoid the rabid outbursts of this devil creature and woe betide you if the dog wasn't tied up! Grovesy was accused of feeding our dog Dylan rat poison. The poison made Dylan's stomach bleed and cough up blood before he would try to cool down in a bog in one of the fields across the road from our house. We had to have him put down. Grovesy never denied having rat poison on the farm, what he did say was that Dylan must have gone in one of his barns to get it and he shouldn't have been in there in the first place. Whizbang, our cat, was also ill with what we suspected was poison but he recovered. Our next dog Skipper, another Dalmatian but this one with liver colouring rather than black, also died from rat poisoning. Needless to say that we didn't have a great relationship with George Groves and as a young child he was almost demonised in my eyes. It was years until we got another dog and when we did we took great lengths not to let him out of the house without a lead.

Further along the lane was a little stone cottage in the corner of a field. This is where Connie lived. I couldn't begin to start telling you about Connie, all I can remember is that because hers was the nearest house to Joan Greenwood's shop she became know as her near Joan's which over time and with the assistance of Oldhamers' accents morphed into something altogether more unpleasant. Connie tragically adopted the name Hernia Jones and was known as such for ever more.

Finally we follow the lane around the corner and down a dip and reach Joan's shop. A right old treasure chest of goodies and necessities. Sweets of course were there in abundance. Great big jars of chewing nuts and midget gems weighed out and served in little white paper bags. The penny sweets in the glass counter which would make up our traditional 10p mix (an occasional treat for going to Joan's for your parents,) the cans of pop - the ever elusive cherry pepsi which I asked for relentlessly for years and years and she never sold, shandy bass, giant cans of coke the size of a lager can and briefly when i was a teenager, the nasty but fascinating Tab Clear; chocolate bars - Fry's chocolate creme, Terry's Pyramint, Hellas Bars. I don't know why I wasn't the size of a house.

Joan didn't just sell sweets and drinks. Damian's mum used to send him to buy her cigarettes there - something my mum tried with me on a couple of occasions rather unsuccessfully as Joan was not at all happy about selling cigarettes to children. She did though. There was a big bacon slicer in the corner, you could buy potatoes, cleaning products, wine, cat food, fire lighters... The list goes on. Joan had a real community shop. When the lane was cut off by snow in the winter, which it was most years, she stayed open for those brave souls that could make it through the snow drifts (usually us kids) until Holroyd, another local farmer, would dig the lane clear of snow with his tractor. Even when the snow brought power cuts with it she'd be there with candles burning on the counter helping us to get through it and of course flogging us the boxes of household candles that we'd invariably run out of the previous winter.

Joan was in the paper once. The Oldham Evening Chronicle (the chron) ran a story about her shop being robbed. Joan was threatened with a gun which the thieves shot into the ceiling (something I looked for every time I went in there afterwards but never saw) and cleared her till out. I seem to remember that they didn't get very much cash - bad timing on their part. From that day on Joan always peeked through the little glass pane in the door between her house at the back and the shop at the front before she came in to serve anyone.

Roebuck Lane was a good place to grow up - despite the guns, the poison and the scary neighbours - it's a shame that I don't have a reason to go back there any more but I suspect if I did I'd be disappointed so I'm happy to leave it where it is - in my childhood.

The end of a family.

I wrote this on an old diary on 11th March 2003 at 6.35am:

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There are a number of reasons why I stopped writing there but primarily because I was avoiding writing about the events of last summer.

On 4th July 2002 at about 8pm my mum died.

She had been suffering from cancer a second time and despite much treatment - chemotherapy mostly - she didn't make it.

I got a call from my dad whilst I was at Kings Cross station waiting for a train to Leeds to visit Alison. He told me that somehow, during the night, she had turned in bed and her hip had crumbled and broke. At this point nobody knew the seriousness of this and we assumed that she would go to hospital and be fixed up. I asked dad to keep me up to date and went to Leeds. It didn't feel right.

On the Sunday as I was waiting for a cab to take me to Leeds station I got a call from dad again telling me that she was now on morphine. This is when I knew it was going to happen soon. I asked dad what he thought I should do (my train to London was within the hour) and he suggested that I should go to Preston.

I took the train to Preston and dad picked me up and took me to Churchtown (they were living at gran and grandpa's old house in Churchtown whilst renovating Clifton House.)

When I got there I went in to see mum. She was very drowsy from the morphine but still able to talk. I asked her if she was comfortable and she said no. I helped her to sort out her pillows. Every time she moved she was in agony.

She had a catheter as she was bedridden. Nurses came a couple of times a day to clean her and move her to prevent bed sores. Every time she moved she screamed in pain - you couldn't get away from the noise. Her bedroom smelled horrible, like pee and disinfectant, like a geriatric ward at a hospital - the smell of dying.

I went out with Robert who was there. I bought her some magazines - home magazines... Still planning the house! I don't think she could read them though. I also bought some food and wine and made meals for us all. Mum's last meal was one that I made.

I spoke to Matthew and told him that he should come over. I think Robert picked him up. I don't think he realised how serious it was until he got there. I kept taking him out of mum's room because he was getting so upset and I wasn't sure if she knew or not but felt she might so thought it best.

At some point during the five days we were told that she wouldn't recover. Also her morphine was increased gradually. It was in a pump that hissed every now and then as more more was injected.

I was on the phone to Chris a lot. I wanted him there but also felt that it was right that it was just family. I was annoyed when Kevin turned up, not least about his reaction when he saw mum. It was a look of shock and fear and revulsion which whilst being understandable was something I didn't need to see.

John came over a couple of times. He was a wreck.

I called Janet and Celia because I thought they should know. Janet wept like a child as soon as I told her and had to hang up. Celia kept talking normally for a few minutes before suddenly breaking down. I also had to call Matthew's boss so that they would know why he wasn't at work. It is the most surreal and painful thing to have to tell people that your mum is going to die in the next few days - especially when the people you are telling are your mum's best friends.

On the Thursday Chris drove up. He arrived at about 7pm and I needed to get out so I took him on a tour of Churchtown. We walked down the road. I showed him the two houses that Phillip and Denise had lived in then we went to the Punch Bowl for a drink.

I was about half way through my pint when Kevin called from the house. He said 'I think you'd better come back.'

When we got to the house she had died. She lay there with her head back and her mouth open not breathing any more. She looked yellow and old.

Dad, Robert and Matthew were sat around the bed and the curtains were closed. I held her head in my hands and kissed her. Then I broke down.

Dad said 'a prayer to speed her to heaven.'

About 5 or 10 minutes later the nurses arrived at the door to see to mum again. I told them that she had gone and asked them for a couple of minutes before they went in to clean her.

The nurses did there stuff and then Chris & I went in to sit with her before the undertakers arrived. The most startling thing was the change in sound in the room. After the gurgling and rattling in her chest and throat as she developed pneumonia the room seemed extremely calm now. I held her hand and kissed her again. The nurses had sprayed her perfume around the room.

Dad was in the living room phoning family and friends to tell everyone. Eventually the undertakers came and took her away. We all packed up and went to John and Elaine's.

I have never been back to that house.

Mum's funeral was on 11th July. It was a very sunny, warm day.

She left from Clifton House, went to St Chads and was buried at the cemetery just outside town. Everyone went back to John and Elaine's afterwards.

The strange thing is that only now, months later,I am noticing how it affected me and continues to.

I went back to work immediately but don't know how I managed to do anything - it all seems a bit dream like now.

We've left London now. We lived at my dad's (that's weird too - not saying 'my parents') in Poulton for a couple of months and now live in Chester.

I still have weird dreams about mum and get upset every day.

If you imagine your body is made up of your emotions, it now, still, feels like a huge chunk of my chest has just disappeared. Most of the time I feel empty and as if I am just floating about aimlessly. I don't feel like I have much influence on my own life - I just react to situations. I have little enthusiasm for anything and no ambition. I don't feel that I can talk to anybody about it and I don't think most people are interested.

The whole affair (for want of a better phrase) has made me clarify my thoughts on what happens after death. During mum's funeral the words about God and Jesus did nothing to comfort me. It's hideous but I can only think of her in a box under ground. It kills me to go to her grave. Mum was only 55.

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Reading back on this tonight is upsetting but also makes me realise how much I've healed over the years since mum died. I still don't go to her grave though.

Pride?

The august bank holiday weekend sees Pride hit Manchester as it has done every year (I think) for the last twenty years. I don't always go but this year I am doing and it's already tinged with nostalgia for me.

On Sunday night Paul Cons, nightclub promoter, is hosting Flesh at Fac 251. Flesh was a gay dance night that was held monthly at the Hacienda during the first half of the nineties and it's where Chris and I met for the first time fourteen years ago. I have never seen the likes of flesh anywhere else in the UK and although I only went a handful of times I loved it. It was a heady mix of glamour and hard nosed clubbing; it was dressed up and it was dressed down; it was cool yet it was warm and friendly; I felt that I could wear whatever the hell I wanted to (and I generally did) and feel totally comfortable rubbing shoulders with scally gays, drag queens and straight blokes. Flesh came to an end in 1997 as I remember.

This weekend's venue, as I have mentioned, is Fac 251. This too brings back memories for me as I used to know it as Paradise Factory and I can confidently say that in the mid nineties this was the best nightclub in Manchester. I practically lived there from September 1995 for about two years and it's where I saw Chris for the first time - one week before we actually met down the road at the Hacienda.

So you can understand why I feel somewhat nostalgic and a little bit excited about Sunday night. As for the rest of the Pride weekend - well we shall see.

Throughout the years my opinion of Pride (or Mardi Gras as it was known back in the day in Manchester) has changed. At various times I have been on a parade float, worked behind the bar of one of the bars in the village, actively avoided the entire event and been a willing visitor.

I read this on Twitter today: "@Will_Hoe Re: Pride - don't get me wrong, I'm very proud to be gay. However, my pride doesn't manifest in vodka, cocaine, vanity and random sex. :)"

This got me thinking. A line that I have always used with regard to Pride is that I don't like drinking warm beer, out of a plastic glass, on an overcrowded street. On recent reflection I think that both of us are guilty of missing the point.

Over the years Pride has become less politicised and more obviously a big party and I for one think it is important to bring the political agenda back to the fore.

I have been lucky enough to live in Manchester and London where on the whole being gay is not a problem for most people - in fact in the industries I worked in it was commonplace. Let's not forget though that whilst gay people are mostly accepted in Britain's big cities, gay men and women are still victims of violent crime for no other reason than their sexual orientation.

Then remember those people that may live in smaller towns who still, in this day and age, feel that they must hide who they are for fear of rejection by family, friends, colleagues & community or worse, fear of violence. This still happens to many people in Britain and will continue to do so. I believe that Pride should have many functions and I believe an important one is to encourage acceptance through awareness. This must reach beyond the cities that the Pride events occur in to be really effective and I believe that the media is key to doing this. In raising awareness, as well as helping to make homosexuality acceptable in communities, it can let gay people who don't feel comfortable being open about it know that there is somewhere that they can go to meet other gay people and be themselves without fear of reprisal.

Another, often forgotten issue, which I think is of equal importance and I think Pride should be highlighting, is the struggles of gay men and women in countries where it is still illegal to be gay. Countries where human rights are breached and where a gay person can be sent to prison or even executed because of their sexual orientation.

Pride has a part to play in raising awareness of these struggles as well as lobbying the UK government to put political pressure on such countries as Iran or Cameroon.

There is, of course, an element of this kind of action within the parade but I see it is sorely lacking within the consciousness of many of the people that attend Pride and that is a shame.

Pride can be a drink and drug fuelled shag fest but it can also be a real and strong force for change and for good.

Long live Pride.

The jump

It's rare that I put my life in danger for anything or anyone. The most daring thing that I have done in the past is probably ride a roller coaster which considering all the safety measures to which fairground owners must adhere is probably not all that dangerous.

This Saturday just gone however all that changed when I took part in a mass skydive at Langar airfield in Nottingham. The skydive was on behalf of and in aid of the National Hereditary Breast Cancer Helpline and we did it for two reasons; firstly to raise awareness that a number of NHS Primary Care Trusts around the country go directly against NICE guidelines that they should help fund this important service to the tune of £422 a year and secondly to cover the shortfall that these non payers leave. If you want to know more about the charity you can read about it here: http://www.breastcancergenetics.co.uk/

After arriving at the airfield late and dealing an awful lot of confused people I was instructed to wait. There was a lot of waiting. Eventually my name was called, I was introduced to Milko my tandem partner and I got all trashed up in my blue jumpsuit and strapping.

Before I knew it I was sitting backwards on the floor of the aeroplane with about ten other people and we were off. It took about fifteen minutes to climb up to 13,000 feet. We saw the airfield get smaller, Nottingham appear below us and finally the clouds were below us and the sun was shining brightly. The final minutes before the jump went by so very quickly. The aeroplane flattened off and the engine became very quiet. The door was slid open, we were washed with very cold air and the plane was filled with bright sunlight. Within seconds my flying companions were moving towards the back of the compartment and two by two dropping out into the sky below. This was when it struck me that i was about to do the same. I was the last to jump. Milko and I moved to the edge of the opening, I wrapped my legs under the aeroplane, waved at the camera man and we fell out into nothingness.

Freefalling for the first time was shocking. For forty five breath taking seconds we fell at 130 miles per hour through blue, through clouds and towards the fields below.

Before I knew it Milko had pulled the cord and the parachute opened. We slowed with a sudden jerk and we were hanging in the air. After adjusting the straps and adjusting my sinuses with a quick nose blow I started to regain a sense of being conscious of my surroundings. It took about four minutes to float back down to the ground where we landed with a bit of a stumble.

It took me the best part of an hour to feel normal again - for the travel sickness to ease and for me to begin piecing the whole experience together. The further away from the jump I get the more exciting it seems.

It's taken me five days to say with conviction - yes, I would do it again.

Want to watch it? Here you go - Skydive

Five things I've done this week

1 Said goodbye to a friend: Lee and I have been regular drinking partners for months. Sometimes every week, more recently every two weeks and almost always on a Tuesday. This Tuesday was the last time. On Friday he flew off to Spain to begin his new life as an English teacher. He has no teaching experience and doesn't speak Spanish but he went all the same. I'm quite jealous really. As usual we got really drunk and talked rubbish. At the end of the night there was an awkward hug and that's it. He's gone and by the time he comes back - whenever that may be - I will be back in Manchester.

2 Bought my first car: I collected my car, which I had bought off Lee as he was going to Spain (see above) Since I passed my test at the beginning of May I haven't been behind the wheel of a car other than to do a three point turn in a church car park. The car I bought has been declared off the road for a couple of months and as I can't afford to tax and insure it immediately I asked my dad and cousin to tow it to their work and leave it there for a month.

3 instructed the lawyers: we've finally found a house to buy. Chris has been working in Stoke for over a year now and living in a hotel there for three days a week whilst I stay at home in Preston on my own. It's miserable. We decided to move back to Manchester about six months ago, we've had our house on the market since Easter and we've got a buyer now. We have also found a house that we want in Chorlton, south of the city, and had our for accepted. Very excited. Should be there in about eight weeks.

4 Had a hair cut: the hairdresser FORCED me to have a beer at 2.20 in the afternoon. She is very wicked. Between us we decided that what she would do is disconnect the top of my head from the side completely and blend the back. It sounded quite brutal but it all worked out in the end.

5 Worried: next Saturday morning I am jumping out of an aeroplane somewhere over Nottingham. I am raising money for the National Hereditary Breast Cancer Helpline in order to cover shortfalls in funding caused by a number of NHS Primary Care Trusts around the country choosing not to pay the £422 that their guidelines recommend they do. We will also be naming and shaming these PCTs in the process.

At the beginning of the week I read a report about two experienced sky divers dying recently at Langar airfield where we'll be jumping. This led me to worrying. I'm scared of flying let alone leaping out of aeroplanes.

I called a friend who used to skydive as a hobby. He informed me that I am more likely to die in the car on the way to the airfield than by jumping out of the plane. I'm quite convinced now that I will die in a car crash.

If you'd like to sponsor me you can here... http://justgiving.com/Richard-Douglas