I watch two Black men in love take communion at Pride from the packed edge of a street opposite the Trafalgar Square stage. Sepia pink sweets that have been thrown into the audience are unwrapped and become currencies melting in their mouths. This intimate act of personal sustenance is shared through a kiss. It is so tender that I am stopped in my tracks. Even amid the swirl of bodies jostling for space, they take their time, while Kat Graham gives a thunderous performance on stage, as rainbow flags bob around us. A bearded drag queen in blindingly bright garb cannot resist the seductive flash of a camera, nor the cameraman enthusiastically throwing compliments to stow away for later.
