Two Prides, One Bear, and a Dangerous Amount of Vodka

Brad and I arrived at 1.15pm, bang on time, as requested, to find half of Galway already there and, crucially, not a single other Bear. Not one. I scanned the crowd like a disappointed mother at a school play. Where were my people? Getting their faces painted, probably, the divas.

Brad's mate Tony turned up and marched with us, which was lovely. Tony, if you're reading this: you're a saint, and I would die for you.

The parade itself? Great start in Eyre Square, and then it all went a bit arseways. Poorly organised doesn't even cover it. We kept stopping. Stopping again. And nobody was leaving anywhere near enough gap between the sections, so we all bunched up like gays in a lift. Messy. Jammed. Still fun, obviously, because it's Pride and I was in it.

Mr. Leather London himself, Joe, arrived, had a chat, and marched with us. He's adorable. That's the official term. Adorable.

During pizza, a young lad came over and asked if he could take a picture with me, because I'm the current Mr. Bear Ireland. Me! I felt like a proper celebrity for about four seconds before remembering I'm just a bear who owns a sash. Surreal doesn't cover it.

Pizza was at Monroes, where Oran joined us, and then we went back to the hotel for a tactical rest. You know. To conserve energy. We're athletes, essentially.

After some "prinking" (pre-drinking, for the uninitiated) with double strength vodka, because we are not savages, we headed to Gass. It was genuinely lovely to catch up with old friends, especially Camilla and Ivan. Ivan! I haven't seen him in about four years, maybe longer. They're both so lovely. You don't realise how much you miss someone's presence around town until they're not there, and then suddenly there they are and the whole room gets brighter.

Myself, Brad, Oran and Tony, who is still lovely, spent the night drinking, chatting and dancing. A good night. A very good night.

Obviously we stopped at Superman's on the way home. Obviously. I met Pat McDonnagh and reminded him that I bought my car from him. I don't know why I did that. Neither does he. Neither does anyone. It just came out.

Also at Superman's: some bitch got stroppy because she was stood in front of the card machine and didn't like being asked to move. The sheer, glitter-encrusted audacity of asking someone to not block the payment terminal. Anyway.

The morning saw us devour a McDonald's breakfast, or as I lovingly call it, McDogfoods, and head home full of regret and sausage muffins.

And now? Off to Longford tonight for Longford Pride. Stupidly excited. Especially to see Dan, Lyndsay and Ava. Two prides in two days. My liver has filed a formal complaint, but the bear goes on.