Last night I decided to go out for a drink. At ten o'clock, after watching the football and writing my journal, there was still some light in the sky. It was oppressively hot in my room, even with all the windows open, and I just had to get out.

So I mustered the energy to take a quick shower and head out. I called my friend Max, who I knew was arriving in town the same day, and he turned out to be available, so we walked together to the West End for a drink. I hadn't seen Max in about a year, and we did some catching up while we walked the quiet, humid streets. What I'd forgotten is that pubs close early on a Sunday, and there was nowhere open by the time we got to Old Compton Street in Soho, except for restaurants (where you couldn't drink unless you also bought dinner), cafes (which served no alcohol), or clubs (far too big a scene for my tastes right now). It figures - the one time I decide to go out, and there's nowhere to go! The streets were buzzing with life however, and we found a spot to sit at an outdoor cafe with our regrettably soft drinks. There were definitely some cute boys around - I don't remember the English being so attractive!

Although it really wasn't that late by the time I got to bed - only around 1.00 a.m., since I invariably wake up at 7.00, even when on vacation, I definitely did not get enough sleep. I took the train back to St. Albans to spend a pleasant afternoon with my parents. It was yet another hot day - hotter even than the day before, and of course, being English, we discussed the weather at length. But these days, Mam can't use her usual explanation of the strange weather being on account of "them Russians dropping bombs." We went for lunch in one of the stylish new restaurants in St. Albans (English eating habits have definitely improved beyond measure!), and afterwards sat for a couple of hours in the shade cast by a large, old tree in the park behind the Abbey, before finishing off the afternoon with a drink in a Tudor pub. This pub wasn't as old as the one I went to with my sister the other day - it was only from the fifteen hundreds :)

Trying to get my parents to pretend I wasn't taking their photograph

Mam definitely didn't know that I was taking this shot - but I wanted to capture a portrait of her. She'd probably hate it, but I love it. It shows a woman with kindness written all over her features. I found out today that she has Alzheimer's. It came as a bit of a shock, but also as a relief, in a way, since now I know that there's a real reason for her slow decline.

Dad probably knew that I was taking this one, but he's making a noble effort to feign ignorance. It captures his humor and cheerfulness.

Our view of the Abbey, through a break in an 1800 year-old Roman wall. My Dad took this one.

Dad doing something at which he's quite accomplished - knocking back a pint.

I suppose I'd forgotten how easy it is to enjoy my parent's company. When I was in the U.S. imagining the trip, I was only remembering the last time I visited, during the Winter, five years ago. It was too cold to get out of their tiny, stuffy house (where I was staying with them), and there's a deadening effect that takes place on intercourse in such claustrophobic conditions. Yet I don't know how much longer my parents will remain well enough to lead such active lives - it's unlikely there'll be a great many years left where I can enjoy their company like this. I made a mental promise to try to come every year from now on.

I saw something of myself in them today, too. I've always thought of myself as the creature from the Black Lagoon in comparison with them - very different outlook on life, different sensibilities. Yet today I saw Mam's intense irritation with loud music, motorbikes and rude people (sounds very familiar!), and recognized how my Dad loves to take hold of an unusual opinion and worry it to death - like his statements today about what an awful person Princess Diana was (with the nail in the coffin - "well, she went off with that wog, didn't she?" - refering to Dodi).

It's amazing how such prejudice can exist in such a decent man as my Father. I don't think I inherited that quality from him. But I hope I got some of both of their good qualities. I watched how all afternoon they noticed clouds and trees, and ... other things (Mam saying "look at that lovely basket!" while I tried to supress a giggle). And Dad singing quietly to himself while we lay on the grass.

Tonight I was invited out for dinner to a very posh (by my standards) London restaurant - the kind of place that makes my wallet hide itself in the folds of my pocket and make whimpering noises. I made an effort to dress decently which was immediately ruined by twenty minutes on the Underground at rush-hour, which is enough to ruin anyone's pretence at elegance.

The lovely couple who'd invited me were David and Kelvin, who are movers and shakers in gay media in London (Kelvin has been called the Rupert Murdoch of gay media!). They're my model gay couple of the Summer ... so far :) They've been very kind to me, but the real joy was in finding such great company - excellent, intelligent conversation, and a lot of laughs. Oh, and the food was fantastic - sticky toffy pudding for desert, something I haven't had since I was a wee kid! Even the decor was striking, since the restaurant is owned by the notorious (at least in Brooklyn) artist, Damian Hirst (not sure if I'm spelling his name correctly or not). David and Kelvin, if you're reading, thanks!

At dinner with David and Kelvin