My good friend Axel, son of German-Austro industrialists, arrived in London with his Easter boat party this weekend but, thank god, this was not the reason Thom and I took the train to the city. Rather, we were intent on seeing Madame de Sade, a rather thin play about the (oh suffering!) wife of our hero. I am forever astounded at Thom's development and, in the interval, as we aired our first thoughts, I rather regretted feeling that I had to remove the Mapplethorpe from the kitchen wall for the duration of his stay with me. He is only ten but nothing shocks him or, clearly, his friends. Yet as we travelled back I wondered if my gesture was less the preservation of his innocence but perhaps a rearguard attempt to clear some space for him and his rebellion, his own transgressions. Later, pouring a small brandy, Thom came down and kissed me goodnight. I went to bed feeling older, conservative, and pleasurably so.