The storm is well and truly passing.  The stack of unopened mail on my dining room table can be opened.  The Malibu house is now rented for the time that we were going to be there.  The bathroom floor can be mopped.  The thick LA dust over the marble side tables can be washed away.

I can now turn my attention to Kristian once again.  So many beautiful tributes to him on the internet.  I like that they have recast him as a film director who also made TV.  He would be liked to remembered like that.  I have not yet scanned the pictures of Kristian and I.   They are very sweet.

I will bake another walnut and banana cake in his honor.

I have a few really important decisions to make which may very well mean that I have to go home, my tail between my legs.  Home to London.   I don’t feel bad about that.  I have had a total blast in LA and as this blog is proof life seldom gets boring.

There was a time before I met Richard, Jamie, Joe, Him, Matt-a moment before we met and that moment has to be reclaimed.  Before the note arrives, the stare across the busy club, the man at the top of the ladder, (I can’t remember how I met Jamie) the men who I have been most moved by.  I showed Him pictures of Matty and could not remember what it was to love Matty.   I can just remember driving in the pea green sports car down the M2 motorway to Whitstable and wondering if I could let him go without damaging him.  Like letting a fish go after you have caught it, removing the hook from its delicate mouth and setting it free.

I still remember Richard of course.  Richard Green,  the great love of my life.   Twenty five years ago he was at the top of a ladder outside the Oyster Company in Whitstable.  He was wearing tight white shorts and for five exquisite years we explored the world.  Tempestuous, glorious years.  Of course I never slept with him.  Even my mother knew that I loved him and was disappointed for me when he would flirt with girls in front of me.

He would drag girls into the bushes at country dances and return with stains all over his dinner jacket!

Sometimes I would arrive back at my darling cottage and he would be asleep on the sofa.  A window broken.  I didn’t care.

You know I have 50 intimate pictures of Him and Matty and  Jamie but I don’t have one picture of Richard Green.  Not one.  He is middle-aged now-like me-older and fat and by all accounts a miserable bastard.  But if we walked in through that door right now I know that we would begin where we left off.  We would have a huge amount to say and do.  He was utterly fascinated by the world and I was his willing side kick.  He was a perfect love because I had no interest in sex or relationships with other men-I had him and he was enough.  He was enough.

Isn’t it funny that I would include Him in the list of those who meant most to me.  I think that might change as time passes.  I would never have been able to trust him.  The next man he meets will not know his story will trust him and love him.

It is a perfect spring day in LA.  I am seeing Michelle later and hanging with Frank.  I like Frank.  Not like that!  Not so soon after the last fiasco.   Now, it’s Runyon time with the little dog.