Yes - It's back, in response to the silent protest waged mercilessly by all of it's fans (for which thank you) we present a special re-union episode, set many long weeks after the last one.  Our cast of characters is older now, if not wiser, and though their hair is greyer and the wrinkles are showing, there is still something of the old passion, the old magic in their eyes.  And may I add, something of the old malice in their hearts...To set the scene:  Emerald eyed beauty Gattino did not go out with Andy as trailed in the last episode (blame Continuity), and has since disowned the boy.  In casual conversation with musical Maestro Ben however, a suggestion by our hero that a sleazy weekend in Amsterdam wouldn't go amiss was seized on with gusto.  Having gone through endless complications this daring plan to wallow in sin city, Europe somehow became a Bank holiday weekend in Dublin.  The Nuns there can apparently get a litle giggly on Communion wine, so all is not lost in the vice department.  To discuss the final details of this plot for unrivalled and wild abandon a meeting was arranged.....   GAYS OF OUR LIVES: THE MILD BUNCH   You see the trouble began when I started involving other people.  Darren (shoe-salesman/Jude Law - keep up!) had expressed an interest.  Ben said he'd want to bring his friend Mark.  And since nothing was getting done (and more to the point I hadn't been out of the house in weeks) I suggested going to the movies, with a quick drink and a chat before or after, on the one night Ben had said he would be free.  Sunday.  It was arranged to do so - to see American Psycho (Don't know what it's like, but the poster is good enough for me.  Oh boy!) - with Ben before I rang Darren.  D couldn't make it - to Dublin or the movie.  But Ben was already coming to Liverpool- with his mate Mark.  And Mark's boyfriend Simon.  Neither of whom I've ever met I hasten to add.  And after meeting them I still haven't.     Why Ben was bringing these people was a bit of a mystery since he went to great lengths to tell me in advance that - and I remind you they are boyfriends - neither one speaks when the other one is around.  (Yes.  I see.)  Mark, I was told, is silent. Simon, I was informed, is a "social paraplegiac".  No I don't know what that means either, but I think we get the idea.  Why then my intention to see a movie was not seized upon as an act of supreme good sense is utterly beyond me.  But my protests were in vain.  They (presumably conveying the idea by telepathy) just wanted to go somewhere for a drink and - no, I'm not joking - talk.     There comes a time in every young man's life when he finally realises he'll never ride through the desert on the back of a Harley with James Dean, will never be found in a drug induced stupor in a celebrity hotspot, and will never, ever, be the first name on the invitation list for all the wildest parties.  That moment of soul destroying self-discovery came to me last night.  Sunday night.  In Liverpool.  Ben is a self-proclaimed stranger to the city.  Mark was, as predicted, uncommmital and silent.  Simon was one of those people who responds to every last comment, question or suggestion with a shrug of the shoulders, an undeserved nasal snort of laughter and a "what do you think?" glance toward his boyfriend.  I, of course am simply inept.  In my defence I was born that way, and though I know the centre of Liverpool like the back of my head (?), not so at night, especially Sunday night.  Without lighted shop fronts and the flow of traffic I don't know left from right or up from down.  And while it's also true I've been to most of the gay establishments they had it in mind to drop in on for their quiet drink - usually situated down some empty side street - it's always been trailing behind others in a state of more than mild inebriation.  I've never gone sober before.  So it was no point asking me.  Anyway I thought we were going to the movies, so leave me out of it - and lets get back to other people's failings!   Four young men on an empty street in an empty town on an empty evening excercising their empty minds.  "What do you think?  Should we?  What about you? What do you think?  Well what about there?  Do you know where it is? Should we?  What do you think?  Is it this way? I dunno  - what about you" all punctuated by shrugging shoulders, Idunno's, glances at others, and it's up to yous.  Oh, and of course, "don't look at me!" (my contribution, as I looked at my watch wondering if we could still make American Psycho - or at least hire his services.)  And finally we found our bit of paradise...   A bar, cum restaurant I think, very nice, upstairs at a table looking out over an open window on a balmy summer evening.  Very lovely.  It would be quite the spot to be in if we weren't the only ones in it.  Not one word of  exageration - for the entire evening there was not a single person other than us four.  Not even any staff in view.  They were kept open just for us.  The fools.  Ben was sincerly enamoured of the place, and our place at the window, suggesting several times and with no hint of irony that it was very much like being in Paris or Nice or Venice.  I looked out of the window at our view.  An endless expanse of scaffolded brick wall draped in blue plastic netting, and below on the street one could clearly see..well...a street.  I pondered the likeness to the Cote d' Azur and decided to reconsider my long held ambition to spend my summers on the Riviera.  Why bother, when it was all here?   The company, I have to say is undeserving of complaint.  Both quite attractive, and pleasant to be with.  By which I really mean one of them - Simon - was decidedly shaggable.  He's one of those people who just missed being ugly and ended up pretty instead.  I'm referring principally to his unmistakably deep set eyes.  On some it can be a disadvantage, on him it was...Ooooo...!  Combined with a very fresh faced complexion (I was astonished to discover he's 29 - I was prepared to accept 19.  The bastard.), a boyish hair cut and a little gold earing he was really rather scrummy.  He also filled the arse of his jeans with uncommon generosity.  I'd still like to imagine, however, that there would still be room left inside for my face.  We can but dream.   They were neither of them as posh as Ben,  but then nor were they as common as me, as the conversation showed.  "You're wearing white socks!" said Mark to Ben, duly amazed at his social faux pas.  "Well.." he replied in his defence, "I'm in Liverpool" then added "I bet "Gattino" is wearing white socks" and looked under the table to check.  Iwas naturally offended at the suggestion, when not smugly relieved that for the first time in my adult life I wasn't wearing white socks....  "Oh I like your shoes! Very nice.  And your jeans! Oh - and your Tshirt!!"  If the boy had any taste I'd be flattered, but as those of you who've met me know, if I ever dress well then there's been a terrible accident.  Since his admiration was working its way gradually up my body I was wise enough to slip off my cravat and yellow bandana before we both had our illusions shattered.  (One final point of interest here is that he observed that the aforementioned t-shirt was clearly made with Lycra, which I report just so I can say - ARE YOU LISTENING, ATTILA, ARE YOU????!!  He obviously thought that because of the way it swathed my bulging manly physique!  SEE?!  I TOLD YOU!!!  Then again, it might just have had lycra in it...)   When Ben went downstairs to order again from the skinheaded solitary barman, he returned to report the conversation whereby he'd asked about it being so quiet in Liverpool on Sunday, and the barman replying that we ought to have gone to the G Bar (which you'll recall is where I went with Attila).  "Isn't that a gay bar?"  Ben asked us  "How did he know?"  Then after a moment's consideration: "Do you think it was the Perrier water and the Bacardi Breezer?  I should have asked for 4 pints of beer....."   In future episodes...  Attila is even as we speak preparing to send me an email today informing me precisley when he can recieve me in Glasgow (He's been begging and pleading with me for weeks).  He still thinks I'm after his body - the poor gullible child.  But it keeps him loyal....Rennie is coming up to this part of the world, partly to see his bosom buddy Tina "they don't come meaner" Arena, who is starring in a new west End musical about the Hunchback.  She's playing the hump...Peter, my literary agent has gone into a sulking silence because I didn't meet the dealine for my multi-million dollar contract...And then there is, perhaps, Dublin...  Stayed tuned!