2.10 p.m., British Museum

Last night, we dragged ourselves out, despite jetlag and torrential rain, for dinner at Balans, a well-known gay restaurant. As is the case with so many gay establishments, it was long on style and presentation, and short on content. All of the waiters were good- looking, gym-toned, and extremely flirtatious, but rather lacking in class. You could have easily thought you were in Chelsea, New York (no disrespect intended, I'm sure).

By the time we'd walked home, my eyes and body were quite knocked out, and I was intensely looking forward to bed. But Neil's bed is only a double, and once Brett had made himself comfortable, and had started to snore, I found sleep quite impossible. So I moved into the living room, and curled up on the tiny, two-seat sofa, where, eventually, I got a few hours of sleep.

The morning was a little strange. My brother called at seven, from Hong Kong, just when I was in the middle of my dreams. After speaking with him, I crawled back into bed with Brett.

Brett, are you ever going to get your butt in gear?

The rest of the morning was taken up with shopping at Safeways, and eating breakfast (we both ate exactly what we eat at home; coffee for both of us, a fruit/nut/protein shake for me, and a disgusting mix of orange juice and protein powder for Brett). I touched base with my family. At first, the idea was that Brett and I would go up to St. Albans tomorrow for lunch with Mam, Dad and my two sisters. But I was grieved to learn that my mother isn't doing too well now. She had a good few months after she'd started taking Aricept, but now, the Alzheimers was apparently overpowering the effects of the drug. At the moment, my mother thinks she's in a boarding school. I mean, we all laughed about it on the phone, but's it really is quite sad.

So the plan now is that I'll go up alone tomorrow, and then Brett and I will go up again on Saturday. My Dad really wants to meet Brett, and my sister Sally wants us to have dinner with her and her best friend (Oh Lord ... I can only take Sally in small dozes.)

Inside the courtyard of the block of flats in which we're staying.

Just around the corner, Commonwealth Hall, where I lived for two years.

It was raining again, so we didn't do too much in the afternoon. Brett took a tour of the YMCA, where we'll work out tomorrow, we had another sandwich lunch at Pret a Manger, and then took a look at the magnificent new Great Court at the British Museum. This surely has to be one of the best public spaces in the world; under a perfect, geometric glass ceiling, curving in from the old limestone facade to rest around the edges of the central Reading Room.

Outside the British Museum

Inside the Reading Room

Four photos stitched together, showing the Great Court

Leaving the museum - it's raining again.

Now I'm sitting at a bench writing these notes while Brett does a quick shufty around the musty exhibits (antiquities is not my thing). This is the first time in many years when I've gone on one of my trips accompanied by a friend. I'm not always the best traveling companion. When I get tired, I can get grouchy and moody, and I can be a bit of a control freak at times. But it's not at all like that with Brett. I love him, and want him to be happy, and I'm happy in his company. Except when he snores.

Tonight we went to the West End for a late dinner, and I took him on a half hour nighttime walk around some of the most famous spots - Picadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, Whitehall, Downing Street, the Houses of Parliament. Seeing his look of wonder as he stared up at Big Ben, bathed, as it was, in a beautiful yellow light, I remembered my own sense of awe and wonder when I first visited London, when I was about ten years old, with my Dad and my brother. It was a great moment.

Back home, looking at gay mags we picked up. Here, the gay mags (I mean the weeklies, not the porn mags), contain much more explicit advertising than back home.