Ok ... "And suddenly the memory revealed itself: The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane." - Marcel Proust (Remembrance of Things Past)
I usually mark this day with grievous sobriety ... and our community has had to get used to many such moments by default. But we are also known for wild abandon, colour and wit, so lets acknowledge our hard won laurels by trashing the fabric and being appalled by the colours ... fuck sobriety ... I want to remember the good and tacky times ... and celebrate lives that brought us joy and gaiety!
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