I'm going crazy with boredom. After only two days with my family, I'm wondering that when I first planned this trip, I'd thought that three days wouldn't be enough. Now I'm starting to wonder how I lasted eighteen years of it before escaping to college. I just left my sister and her boyfriend Paul watching "Celebrity I Want To Be a Millionaire" on television. And there are still four hours to go until a respectable bedtime.

I arrived late on my birthday, the 23rd, and was met by my sister Kirstie. It was supposed to be Sally but she'd had a slight mishap with her car, having stranded it on a steep curb outside Kirstie's house. The next morning, I awoke to a typical English day for this time of the year: grey and damp. No wonder the Brits always look depressed.

I took a cab downtown to go to Kirstie's excellent gym, and found, on the way, that St Albans finally has a Starbucks. The gym is much like any gym in the U.S. except for the private changing cubicle in the locker room, presumably for people who are shy of getting changed in public. The televisions were all showing the day's lead story: the Queen's corgi had been mauled to death by Princess Anne's bull terrier. The public, in a live poll, had voted 85% to 15 to have Anne's dog put down. The Queen was said to be devastated, while Anne was merely distressed. I'm sure there were a few awkward silences around the royal dinner table on Christmas Day.

I barely had time to shower after the gym before taking another cab over to Sally's where the family were gathering for a Christmas Eve buffet at her flat. My Dad looked essentially the same as usual, despite having had a heart attack only a month earlier. Perhaps he was a little more cautious in his step than he used to be. My brother Neil arrived late, and all three of the rest of us kids put on a big show of being on good terms with him. Neil had grandly given us the opportunity of giving to a charity as his gift to us, but he arrived, nonetheless, with little token gifts, including nut-based cookies for Sally (who has a dangerous nut allergy), and a crate of wine for my Dad (who's limited to a glass per day).

The kids: Neil, Kirstie, me and Sally

Six hours of family gossip, and the repetition of famous family stories. It was a mixture of comfort, familiarity and boredom, and after six hours of it, I clammed up and waited silently for someone to declare it was time for us all to go home.

This morning, I got up before Kirstie and Paul (my sister's boyfriend), and went for a run. It was mild for the time of the year - a slight bite to the air, but not cold enough for me to wear gloves. My run took me along to Sandridge Village, then along a country lane to Sandridgebury, a little hamlet with just a few houses, and a big commercial stable, where a few members of the horsey set were just back from a ride across country. Once through Sandridgebury, all around was open fields, and there were no sounds except chirping birds, and the occasional neighing of a horse. And I saw a robin redbreast, the tiny little, reclusive bird that's popular on Christmas cards over here.

By noon, the family had gathered again, this time at Kirstie's, for Christmas dinner and presents. The only part of this I was looking forward to was giving out my gifts. As I predicted, I got some terrible stuff from my Dad, including a horrible scarf that wouldn't fetch a quid at a thrift store, and a calendar of scenes from the English Lake District. As well as yet another bottle of spirits, to add to the other three my siblings had added to my collection. Do they expect me to drink them all before flying home? Christmas dinner was quite good though - a traditional affair with turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce, roast potatoes, yorkshire pudding, sprouts. Followed by Christmas pudding. Then we all sat back watching the Queen's speach at 3.00 (my Dad is a confirmed royalist), followed by the usual Bond movie. And that brings me up-to-date.

I'm not sure what I expected from coming here at Christmas. Maybe it's selfish of me to be so bored. It's probably nice for my Dad to have us all here the first Christmas after my Mother's death. And it's a better time than I had last Christmas, when I was horribly sick with food poisoning. And possibly less painful than spending Christmas Day alone, like I would have done had I stayed in San Francisco. But I wish it could be like it is for my brother: he can come and go - with just the right-size serving of family. And he has a boyfriend to go home to.