"Make it Christmassy," they said. Ho, ho, ho.

I had a discussion recently with a gay man from Roscommon, who left Ireland eight years ago and hasn't returned since. The topic of conversation was "how Ireland has changed". He doubted that it has, especially in his neck of the woods. I, however, was full of impressions of my recent trips to the ould sod, and could only insist that for me, as a Dubliner, it has, just in the past three and half years alone. I found myself waxing lyrical about the place, and realised, at a dinner table full of London Irish people, that I was the only one planning to move back when my time here is over.

So what does this Dublin in my mind look like? What will I find when I stumble wearily through the arrivals gate in Dublin airport with the hordes? The mists are clearing . . . I can see it now . . .

I wander around Grafton Street, and everyone is smiling, meeting my amusing roving eye as I drink in all the healthy, prosperous Irish faces. As they stroll, with bags of shopping full of tasteful Irish produce for presents, people still have time to stop and chat with friends, or call out cheery Christmas greetings to their acquaintances.

Heartiest of all are the welcomes to the returned emigris, as we all are marked out by that special sense of wonder at the magic of it all. Even strangers, sitting opposite me at my table in Bewley's, will catch that look in my eye and ask "How long are you back for?" and enquire how the big smoke is treating me. I may feel unused to my privacy being invaded, but I soon realise that it's well meant, for they are thinking of their own son/daughter/brother/sister who'll soon be turning up to fill up their childhood beds, and their only wish is to hear comforting words about life Away from Home.

LITTLE HABITS

Having indulged the smiling enquirers with witty stories of my adopted land, I wish them a happy Christmas as I venture out into the mild, carol-laden evening. I take a walk down to the George, and am welcomed by a cheery smile from the doorman. The air is warm, the voices are happy and bright, and the barman tops up a waiting Guinness and hands it over to me. "On the house," he says, "keeping well?" "Cheers!" I say, and we exchange pleasantries about how well the city is looking.

At the bar, someone is reading the Bootboy column in Hot Press, chuckling wryly.

I get chatting to a couple, who are only too pleased to make me feel comfortable. "It's Christmas," they say, "it's not right that you should be on your own." They are amusing, and entertain me with endearing stories of each other's annoying little habits. We discover a shared passion for gardening, and soon I am being invited to their house for afternoon drinks, to see their collection of Camellias, some of which are already in bloom, so soft has the winter weather been.

I find I am relaxing in this genial place, with all the friendly couples there. Since Equality, of course, Irish gay men have come to a new awareness of their capacity to love and form relationships; the scene has been transformed from a threatening, lonely meat-market into, dare I say it, one big happy family, a network of friends, but managing to be open and inclusive to strangers as well.

It's that happy Irish knack of sociability, that love of people. They may have a curiosity about life in London; their eyes may open wide as you regale them with stories of the perfidy of men there who are still locked in the hedonistic prison of a life blighted by inequality, but they are not judgmental about hearing talk of one-night stands, and are quite willing to acknowledge that Dublin's fame as a gay tourist capital of Europe is more to do with the saunas than the friendliness of the scene.

"Where else are single people to have sex?" they sympathise, as they give each other's hands a squeeze. "They're safe, clean and comfortable" - "So we hear," his partner adds, giggling. They are too tactful to say it, but you know that they've discovered how much more satisfying sex can be in a loving relationship; before long they are teasing me playfully about which of their single friends would be perfect for me, and how I must come to their party.

PLEASANTLY MIXED

With their words of encouragement ringing in their ears, and after exchanging telephone numbers with them, I wander upstairs to dance for a while. The crowd is pleasantly mixed; since Equality, all are welcome at gay clubs, and gay people are welcome everywhere else. But the crowds flock to the George for its incomparable sense of community.

As I'm dancing, I notice out of the corner of my eye someone with laughing eyes watching me from across the floor. I find I am a little shy, but enjoy the attention. After about ten minutes, he comes over to me and offers to buy me a drink.

As we get talking, we find out that we are both home from London, and that we have so much in common. He's my age, and extremely cute. It becomes apparent that we both fancy each other; after a while, however, he asks me if I'd like to meet for coffee over the next week. He says, to reassure me, that it may seem strange, compared to the London scene, not to get together immediately, but he'd like to take things slowly, to get to know me better as a person first, before anything sexual might happen. He tells me that in London, he's found this approach turns most people off; he talks of the times he's found himself with someone who's got a boyfriend already, or who simply use him for the night and don't even bother with phone numbers the following morning.

There's something about the fact that we're both in Dublin that allows us to feel safe to talk about this; the coldness of London seems wonderfully distant. We leave together, and have one long, lingering smoochy kiss before he gets into the first taxi in the queue outside the club. We are going to meet the next day, and as I snuggle up in bed at home, I wonder what ever possessed me to leave this wonderful town.

End of fairy tale. Merry Christmas. n