First there was Brighton Pride, with its array of drag queens, glittery thongs, and PVC chaps. I have never seen so many arses on display in one place (although I've never been to an orgy so, y'know), but frankly, I was a bit disappointed. Not a tight, gleaming, bronzed bun to be seen, and believe me, I looked. Instead, the midday sun was bouncing cruelly off a bunch of white, hairy, wobbly bottoms, clad in the type of sparse underwear you can only really hope to get away with if you are permanently clenching.

And then, as the sun set and the atmosphere got more than a little murky, we met up with the slinky minx herself Ms Kirsten Morris:

And the master of darkness, mjohnson:

And this man, who looked a lot like Howard Moon:

Everybody managed to interface without a keyboard, which was quite an achievement. I think we may have even shared a group hug, which is difficult for internet weirdos, seeing as we don't like touching real people, only ourselves.

On the way home, we were treated to the sight of a man, naked from the waist down, strolling down Queen's Road like he was just off to buy a paper. Whatever he'd been doing, he'd remembered to put his shoes back on, it remains a mystery why he didn't think to do the same with his trousers.