Despite another poor night's sleep on the sofa, I felt happy and energised once I was up. At least once I'd had a cup of coffee. For the first time, the sun was stealing into the kitchen, and the warmth felt good on my skin.

Brett was still in bed, so I went out for a long run in Russel Square. I was fairly wiped out by the time I got home again, but I felt youthful and alive, nonetheless.

Brett and I split up for the afternoon. I took the train to St Albans, while Brett went to the Y to go swimming. My sister Sally picked me up at the station, along with one of her charges, Tom (my sister is a nanny, and this little kid is probably the closest my parents will ever come to having a grandchild).

Tom

We drove into town where we met my other sister, Kirstie, and my parents, for lunch. Kirstie was the same as ever, but my Dad had put on a little weight, and my mother semed much more out of it than she did last year. She joked a little, and strived to look bright-eyed and alert, but I'm not sure she ever quite knew who I was. She's gotten very good at faking it, though, which at least shows some mental sharpness.

I was fairly dreading that we'd have lunch at the Pea Hen. If you want English food at its dreadful worst, go for lunch at a pub. I had Ploughman's Lunch, which consists of a 3/4 lb chunk of cheddar cheese, crusty bread, pickled onions, chutney and some miserable cold, dead vegetables (cucumbers, beetroot etc.) I soldiered through it, like a good, stoic Brit.

My Dad's come to depend on my sisters, and the three of them are a sort of support group for each other in caring for my mother. My brother Neil has been up to visit them once in the six months since he moved back to England. My sisters, I think, wouldn't care if they never saw Neil again.

I do feel a sort of gloom about it, more for my Dad than for my Mam. I can't imagine what Dad's life would be like without having Mam around - I think he'd fade away. But I don't feel as upset about it as I think I should. Sometimes I think I must have been short-changed when feelings were being allocated. Or maybe I'm so scared of deep feelings that I won't go anywhere near them.

Dad and I still find it awkward to be with one another. We're both reticent, introverted and shy, and ever since I was a teenager, we just haven't found an entirely comfortable way of being alone with each other. Even when we hugged today, it was awkward. Part of me wanted some big, emotional, movie-of-the-week moment with him, but a much larger part of me ran scared at the idea.

When I got back to London, Brett was still out, so I decided to go work out, and had a great upper body workout at a local gym in Bloomsbury. There were a number of extremely cute guys there, but not one of them even made eye-contact with me. I'm still not sure why it is that I NEVER get cruised by cute guys at the gym. I feel like there's some fraternity nobody asked me to join. Brett's always telling me how some cute guy came up to talk to him at the gym, and, sorry Brett, but I'm better looking than you! So what's wrong with me? Oi veh, it's not really that important, but it's always kind of bugged me.

This morning, I suddenly noticed a large, framed photo on the wall in the entryway. It's a photo my brother took of me about five years ago or so, when he visited San Francisco. It quite touched me, because it's the only thing he has hanging on the wall in the entire apartment (my brother is even less domesticated than me!)