"By the time you read this, I won't be at Brighton Pride. I won't be blowing a whistle, dancing to Steps, counting non-specifically like an overgrown toddler learning the first steps of maths ("1-2-3-CHUNE!") or pointing like an idiot at goodness knows what invisible vista."

Me neither, Julie. Oh, I wanted to go, but was hit by the three W's: work, worries and weather. Yes, I'm in the office on a Saturday afternoon, trying to summon up the enthusiasm to lay out a 16-page dull, dull, dull supplement.

I've had conflicting weather reports via SMS from those in Brighton:

Jonathan: We are on the Fairy Express, approaching Brighton. Looks like we'll need these brollies.
David: Bad weather, wear leather, and carry an umbrella. Your head you must cover or else you'll not recover (sorry, been watching SM:TV)

Jonathan: It's sunny!
David: The sun always shines on TVs!

Ian: It's raining

Andy: WE R IN A PORTALOO AS ALL TENTS R FULL & ITS PISSIN DOWN