Thinking about death and contrast in Waltham

Ten percent of population, one day of year. Hmm

Gay Pride comes round once again. Last year, the national event was held in Rome and emotions were running high. Family Day, the church-inspired hate-fest had been and gone shortly before and the mood was one of rebellion and righteous anger. This year, Rome Gay Pride is precisely that, for Romans and anyone prepared to make the trip, and there doesn't seem to be much of a mood at all. Not that small gauntlets haven't been thrown down. The march now ends in Piazza Navona, instead of the previously authorised Piazza San Giovanni, where a bunch of choristers now need heterosexual silence to warble in (this may be a novelty for them). Politically, this is bad news, but hey! Piazza Navona's so much more convenient for the shops no one's complaining. The council, with its new mayor, Gianni "Bovver Boy" Alemanno in charge, has refused its patronage, but that's not new. It was also refused under centre-left administrations. Gauntlets, shmauntlets, in other words.

A worrying note, though, was struck, last night by a lesbian friend of ours. We called to fix up a place to meet. What for? she said. For Gay Pride, we told her. Gay Pride? she said. No one's going on it this year. We are, we said. So if you read this, and are in Rome, you might want to prove her wrong. The march starts in Piazza della Repubblica at 3, heads off down Via Cavour at 4, passes across Piazza Venezia and then, by which route I'm not sure, ends up in Piazza Navona. It's all pretty scenic, so you won't regret it. I'll be the one in 80 centimetre gold lamé platforms and a frock even Ru Paul wouldn't risk wearing. Don't worry, I'm joking.

There will be photos.

Shelf life

The O. Henry Prize Stories 2007 website has been doling out its authors with such parsimony that I was beginning to wonder whether it would ever get to me (and Susan Straight, and Adam Haslett, who may have written my favourite, and Ariel Dorfman, and...). Then, all at once, we're being tipped out, one on top of the other, with an abandon that suggests the 2008 anthology is about to appear and space is needed, so in with the new and out, out with the old. I feel rather like something on the bargain shelf in Tesco's. Still, if you aren't put off by my sell-by date and want to see what I had to say about the O. Henry prize and various other things, click here. (Though I don't know why my photograph wasn't used. I'm sure I sent one... Should I be worried?)

PS This image has nothing at all to with O. Henry or my story (or indeed my missing photograph).

Pushing trolley round faith supermarket

Oxymoron