Naturally, out, loud and fabulously proud people descend on the city during Gay Pride. Some people are, however, more loud than out. Natasha and I were sipping Prosecco at the bar in Momo when a stereotypical gay guy (big hair, colourful shirt, basketball player-style hand gestures and perfect veneers) sidled up to me and introduced himself. ‘I’m a pilot,’ he said. [Lying did not come naturally to him.] His floral shirt-wearing colleague joined in. ‘I do the same as he does,’ he said. ‘That’s my girlfriend,’ he pointed towards a woman talking to another guy further along the bar. She didn’t acknowledge him. ‘Are you Russian?,’ Pilot 1 asked Natasha while extending a limp hand to shake.
‘No, but I do get asked that a lot. I’m English.’
‘Are you sure? Both parents?’
‘Yes.’

The conversation didn’t take off but veered between flattery (on the job front) and awkwardness (Pilot 1 ignored Natasha following her irritation at the question of nationality) to plain boring (it emerged that Irish-born Pilot 2 is a massive fan of Riverdance; Natasha was fortunate enough to be on the other side of me so chatted to the barman instead). When Pilot 1 stared at the freckles on my arm for an uncomfortably long time before asking if I’d thought about seeing a skin specialist – ‘Trust me, I’m South African [who flies for an unnamed Japanese airline],’ he said, earnestly – we knew it was time to make our excuses and leave.

‘I can’t believe they had the gall to chat you up,’ Natasha said. ‘Why do some gay men chat up women?’
‘Perhaps it’s because they do it to see if they can pull them. Rather like some straight men in that sense,’ I said. ‘Remember TV Presenter, who always chatted up waiting staff because they can’t get away.
‘I think they do it to play games and make their lover jealous,’ Natasha concluded.