This is my penultimate day here in Spain. I am looking forward to seeing the dog, my own bed, and my friends. I am not looking forward to going back to work!

I met up with one of the bears that I met the night before in the main square in Chueca. He showed me some of the traditional tourist sights of Madrid before taking me back to his neighbourhood.

I think maybe something that really distinguishes a nation’s capital from any other city is the amount of space given over to parkland. Madrid had more grand architecture and imposing streets, but it really was the amount of green compared with the other cities that impressed itself on me.

It’s attempt at a river is every bit as tragic as rumour told, but at least they bordered it with parks.

At his flat we watched a film called “Pieles” (Skins), in Spanish with English subtitles. Its opening is deeply shocking, and from there it explores a cast of damaged, lonely people in ways that are often uncomfortable, sometimes funny, and always thought-provoking.

It was uncomfortable, thought provoking, and enjoyable all at the same time.

Afterwards, we left for a poetry event that summer of his friends were taking part in.

On the way he kept singing love songs. Together with the way he behaved towards me, I started to worry that he might be looking for something more. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, and I needed to say so before I could relax. Setting boundaries is frightening, but once I’d said it, nothing changed between us except that I could finally stop worrying.

The evening was a bit of friend overload, but the first person he introduced me to was a self-confessed fag-hag. She was beautiful – if I was a woman, I would want to look like her!

With her was her son, who’d grown up around her mother’s yet friends and was just the sweetest little thing. Eight with gap teeth. He knew that he was cute and worked it. He played with my various bangles and we chatted in my muddled Spanish while his mother and my bear friend chatted. When it was time to go to the recital, he commanded a piggyback from me and I was only too delighted to oblige.

The little lad was one of the first to say something in the recital, which was just adorable! But he was bored when the adults started and his mother left with him shortly afterwards.

Spanish poetry. What can I say? It’s actually easier to understand than conversation because the readers enunciated better. The introductions I couldn’t make head nor tail of. I understood that much of the poetry read was about love. One seemed to be about peace and the environment.

Many of the performers were from Southern and Central America, and the Carrabean. The most memorable if the night was from the Dominican republic. After my bear friend explained the meaning of the word maricón (faggot, ie a term of derision), the rest of the poem fell into place.

It was very hard work to follow these poems because there was a lot of noise, people talking, clattering at the bar, and my friend constantly introducing me to various friends of his – I quickly lost track of them.

We walked to Chueca and went back to that same bear bar with his friends. I was tired by then and wanted an easier and less social time. I took myself for a last late night walk around the area, enjoying the festivities and gorging myself on eye candy.

Andi realised that I felt sad and was in a late night cafe drinking cold milk and eating cake all by myself!

Was it because tomorrow is my last day? Was it because I felt lonely at last? Or that I was aware that I was one of the older gays and my chance to play with the pretty things was gone?

I actually do not know.

Actually, I do know: here, in Madrid, at Pride, I miss my ex most of all.

I wish he were here with me right now.