When I came out in 1987, my mum’s reaction was, at least you get to wear sensible shoes. I turned up in Brighton in 1990. All shaved head and Doc Martens and big brown eyes. I did what any baby dyke would do arriving in a new city. I slapped it about a bit. I fell in love with house music. I swam in the sea, danced with lovers, hit the streets with placards. I raged, I celebrated, I occasionally lost it.

I found joy on the streets, a neurodivergent non-binary soul in love with Brighton. I made my way, I started club nights, I learnt to DJ, I found my tribe. Then one day I found the love of my life and the rest is, well,  various outfits…

Brighton has given me so much, and I am so proud to come from a city that has always declared love wins. Where refugees are always welcome. Where we see off the fascists, protect Trans kids, kick out the TERFS and welcome the queer dears. Where house music was nurtured, where LGBTQIA+ Pride meant something, where the kooks and geeks like me found community.

There is salt in my veins, activism in my boots and love in my heart because of this city.

And that love keeps growing because of you. From the elders I shared a lifetime with and the new friends who make that lifetime even better.

Back in the 90s, our LGBTQIA+ community had to fight the Tories, the media and the bigots for every second of equality. It took Queenie and me three weddings for the law to catch up with our love. We had to protest for parity in marriage, parenting, gender recognition, education, healthcare, the workplace and housing. Hatred in the media became hatred on the streets; every one of us queer bashed souls nurtured back to life by our community.

The enemies of our dyke liberation may have different names thirty years on – but just like with Maggie we’re making plans for Nigel.  As so many of you have shown me over the past 36 years, what makes Brighton so utterly magnificent is the community we have. The strength in dyke numbers. The belief in our ability to make life better, for us, for each other, for Brighton. Turning up for each other, for community. With placards or sound systems, activism or partying, mentoring or friendship, dancing or marching, loving and, erm, more loving.

For a community that is inclusive because every label we have – be that our gender, sexuality, identity, or neurodiversity – reads: handle with care. 

In 1991, as part of the organising committee of the first Brighton Pride since 1973, I stood on North Street in my battered Doc Martens, looking up at a Pride banner we had convinced Brighton Council to display across the street. I never thought the day would come. We fought so many bigots and bureaucrats to make that happen, and I was so proud of what we had achieved. It was the beginning of something that would change our city for the LGBTQI+ community. Today I stand here in equally sensible shoes looking at you with the same sense of immense pride. This is a first we will all remember for decades to come (mind-altering drugs permitting!). This is us, Dyke Brighton! No longer in the corner, no longer a last-minute, underfunded thought. We’re not ticking boxes anymore. These boxes standing here are making a change. This is us, this is Dyke Pride. And fuck me, it feels good to see you at the front. 

One last thing..

Queenie and I have been together for 33 years. Occasionally a drunk person will ask us what the secret is to a long-term relationship, so we thought we’d share it with you today.

Never, ever, ever wear matching anoraks

When someone calls you up asking if they can come bang their bongos in your club say yes

Always be the L with the T

Fuck Rowling – not literally

The dancefloor is your church – go worship regularly

Always turn up with your placards – you might just be that one person that makes the difference.

Stockpile oestrogen – you’re going to need it.

Be more peacock – never save anything for best

Be more dyke

Oh and always

QUEENIE: Pee after sex