The phone buzzed. It was a Facebook message – I could tell from the tone.

I was sprawled out, like an ungainly heap on the sofa, reading Hillary Mantel’s book – ‘Wolf Hall’ – about King Henry Tudor and his headless wives. It is taking longer than anticipated to read. Perhaps it is because I feel sorry for Queen Katharine and want her to cling on to her position (I know that this is not logical – this book is based on historical fact – it’s not going to have an alternate ending). King Henry did Katharine wrong, when he decided to install that TROLLOP Ann Boleyn as his new bride. Mind the head though, Ann – who knows what is coming? It could be an axe.

I unscrambled my limbs into a more respectable position, and reached for my decrepit phone and swiped to read the message.

It was a simple request.

‘Want 2 go 2 Manchester 4 Pride on last wknd in Aug.?’ Continue reading Pride in the name of Manchester →