A crocheted Freddie Mercury atop a bollard on Titan Road outside the Thameside Theatre

Further along from Freddie is a similar figure for Cher, but about as X rated as you can get in crochet. The steps outside the library are painted rainbow, the lamposts are hanging vertical flags (in hideously clashing colours) alongside huge dream catchers with bright coloured streamers, outside tables are neatly arranged, a sound system is being set up. Glad confident morning for Thurrock’s first ever Pride Festival. Had to get here eventually. Inside the library the cafe is all spruced up in rainbow colours and workshops are advertised for the afternoon, make up, song writing, Bollywood dancing. What looks like a band with clothing that could best be described as “optimistic” bubble out of the lift and head for the doors, giving me a grin on the way. I ask a couple of the blokes setting up what time its all kicking off and wish them luck. There is something necessarily exhuberant, and life affirming about all this. Something that we could all do with a bit of at times like this.

Alongside the posters downstairs, a small group of pensioners sit in a small grey huddle getting one of those advice sessions that libraries run now, and make them such an important community hub. Next to them, an even older pensioner – in his dark blue army blazer and regimental beret – stands with a D day books stall from the museum but seeming almost to be one; looking slightly bemused but friendly. I slightly regret not speaking to him – and just asking as one of the last survivors. They won’t be here for much longer.

Half way up Cromwell Road, someone has put a huge Palestinian flag in their window. Which feels like waking up.

On the High Street, at that strategic corner with George Street that all the buskers use, the Saturday posse of evangelists is out. A couple of young black guys with a sound system, some younger women with leaflets. One of the men is preaching to the unconverted in a way that makes no connection at all. “Jesus Christ who died for the sins of the world”, and all that. Shoppers hurry by as though they don’t exist. Not even bothering to avert their eyes. As the parable goes “And some fell upon stony ground”. They have no crowd around them (missing a trick there; even faking an audience might generate a little curiosity from the otherwise lost and vulnerable). But perhaps thats not the point. Going out, giving testimony, being ignored, a sure sign of elect status. A smiling small boy offers me a leaflet and invites me to their Church. I smile back, thank him for the invitation and tell him that I’ve been an atheist since I was his age so I didn’t suppose I’d fit in. I don’t know if he thought that an “atheist” was a different denomination, Methodist, Baptist, Pentecontalist, Angloican, catholic, Atheist. It seemed kinder than telling him I didn’t believe in God.