One of the things I appreciate most about travel is that it sends your thoughts along new channels. I always return home with new ideas, a new perspective, and new conclusions. On this trip, I thought I'd undoubtedly learn a lot of new things about Brett. That hasn't happened, and, on reflection, I realize that it's because Brett is something of an open book. That's not to say there's nothing left to learn about him, but more that he's never hidden parts of himself from me.

I have, of course, learnt a lot about myself, as usual. Yesterday, I was feeling fairly lousy, still suffering from a cold or whatever it is; so I took the day off while Brett went off tourizing by himself. I spent the day reading Sunday's New York Times, which I picked up for $10.00 at a newstand, snoozing, and contemplating my navel. By the evening, I was feeling well enough to join Brett in going out to dinner in the West End, and, as we sipped wine in Leicester Square, I realized that there was one question I'd forgotten to ask him in his interview the other day (I'd interviewed him on video near the Tower Bridge). The question was: "what have you learned about yourself on this trip?"

From his answer, it was obvious that he hadn't thought about it at all, and, in fact, he couldn't pin-point anything he'd learnt. He's not anywhere near as introspective as I am. Nor does he write daily about his experiences, as I do, which is an activity that forces you to think things through and come to some conclusions. Incidentally, I've been on at him for several days to write something for my website about his own experiences on this trip. He's promised to think about it, but hasn't put pen to paper as yet.

Brett asked me what I'd learnt about myself on the trip, and that led into one of those intimate conversations that all good friends experience once in a rare while; where you let more of your guard down than you usually do, and draw a little closer. It's a bit of a paradox, but I'm much more open in this journal than I am with my friends. Brett, on the other hand, often tells me how much he values our friendship, and how much he cares for me; sentiments that I feel too, but that I find hard to express in person. I'm amazed he puts up with me :)

When we returned home last night, we unloaded the washing machine to find that all of my white socks had turned a fetching mint-green color. They're now gaily strung around the kitchen (Neil doesn't have a dryer).

I seem to have found my sleep pattern finally - I've slept a full eight hours for the last two nights, and, this morning, as I write, I feel better than I did yesterday, although still over-tired; as if I'm fighting something off. Still, once Bretts's out of the shower, we're going to go to St Pauls Cathedral. I'll tell you all about it when we get back home tonight.

7:36 PM

St Pauls is similar in style to St Peters in Rome, and, although it's a very impressive church, it's actually considerably smaller than St Peters. Despite this, the dome is still the second largest of its type in the world. I posted photos of the exterior last year, so I won't repeat them this year, but I did manage to steal some interior shots this time. You're really not supposed to take photos inside, but the nuns didn't mind charging people three pounds to carry around battery-operated audio devices, so I figured that if I switched off my flash, it wouldn't bother anybody. Only thing is, I kept forgetting to switch off my flash. Anyway...

St Pauls has the same large spaces as St Peters, shot through with shafts of sunlight coming from high-up windows and cupolas. The same ornate walls, and beautiful scale. It has a much greater feeling of spiritual substance than Westminster Abbey, which seems to have become the national attic, with all its clutter.

The gorgeous interior of the dome.

I was a little bit uncomfortable when a nun asked, from the altar, for first, a moment of silent prayer, and then the recitation of the Lord's Prayer. It seemed like 98% of the tourists complied. Are we atheists in that much of a minority?

Climbing up into the dome. The dome is actually an inner and an outer dome, with the steps up to the top in between the two of them. It's something like 550 steps to the top.

But it's worth it for the view.

Unless someone gets in the way :)

It was hot by the time we got out of St Pauls, and grabbed some sandwiches at Pret a Manger. We headed over to Seven Dials to people watch and for me to get a coffee, but we couldn't find any outdoor seats in the cafes, and sitting in the middle of Seven Dials roundabout was only fun until the exhaust from taxis passing inches away from your nose started to get to you. So we headed down to Covent Garden. I was beginning to get tourist fatigue - I just didn't feel that I needed to see any more sites. So I left Brett shopping in Covent Garden, and went home, took a nap, then went for a run, and finally wound up the day in writing this journal. Brett's asleep on the sofa (snoring of course), but, no doubt, soon he'll wake up and we'll go out for our usual late dinner in the West End. I think we may go out clubbing again tonight, since the famous gay club Heaven has a big night tonight, we hear.