Returning to Sydney after two years was like meeting up with an old friend. There were a few new shops and a different bunch of people, but essentially Sydney and I were the same, both happy to slip into the old ways of days doing nothing but soaking up the different neighbourhoods and admiring the views. The first view of the harbour was as joyful as it had been during the millennium celebrations. Sydney doesn't seem to have begun its Olympics comedown.

I got the tourist stuff out of the way immediately - a beer by the Opera House, a boat trip under the Harbour Bridge and a kangaroo pizza at Darling Harbour. Jess and Ange were there to show me the real Sydney.

I last saw Ange before I came to Australia the first time. She taught me how to surf in a crowded kitchen, demonstrating - while mixing a drink - the knack of staying balanced on your board. I found out this time that Ange has never surfed in her life. No wonder I hadn't even been able to stand up.

This time we opted for some simple wave-jumping at Bondi. "Are you okay in the water?" asked Jess. "Sure," I said. "I'm a strong glug glug glug." The wave that got me was particularly big. I was still choking up salt water when a bluebottle stung Jess. Traumatised, we went to the RSL to recover.

There's a Retired Serviceman's League in every area. Cheap beer and a lack of pretension are the main attractions, although at Bondi this is coupled with stunning views of the ocean. There I met Edward and Adrian, who invited me to their house in Surrey Hills before we headed to the Mardi Gras parade. The dykes on bikes led the parade, with the rainbow flag depicted in their headlights. For two hours a mix of political groups and drag queens in glitter paraded past. Harry Poofter and the Queerditch game marched past, with teams from Gryffinbackdoor and Slypitin. The Uniting Church and Jewish gay youth also went by. So did a group in lifejackets representing the refugees at the heart of the scandal in which the Australian government claimed, falsely, that children were being thrown overboard from refugee ships.

The gay community in Sydney is divided over whether or not straight involvement detracts from the political message of the march. James, a gay Irish man, didn't have a problem with this. "I love Sydney, it's so accepting," he said. James was particularly taken by the drag queen Dorothy in her red shoes. "Ra, ra, it's Mardi Gras!" he yelled whenever especially impressive floats went by.

During brunch the next morning on Oxford Street in the heart of Sydney's gay area, an assortment of men in leather and glitter staggered past on their way home. James appeared looking remarkably fresh after a few hours sleep. Now on his third outfit in 12 hours, he was wearing a pair of silver wings which flapped as he walked.

The most wonderful thing about Australian beer is that it's served cold. The Ancient Briton pub in Glebe boasts of the coldest beer in Sydney at 0.5C. After browsing through the second-hand bookshops and vintage clothes stores I was more than ready for a schooner. 0.5C is several degrees lower than the temperature at which beer is usually served in Europe and makes the drink much more refreshing.

There was beer again at the Bronte RSL, where Ange insisted on joining the regulars for a game of bingo. "We have newcomers for the final rounds," said the caller into his microphone. "Bingo!" shouted Ange. It was a false call.

Several of the women came up afterwards to commiserate with her on her loss. "It's a good job it was a false call," said the manager. "They don't like newcomers to win and they don't like young people to win."

From Bronte there is a spectacular walk through a huge cemetery with graves overlooking the ocean and along the cliff tops. We walked the short distance to Coogee Beach, stopping at Gordon's Bay for a dip and a picnic. Then it was to Leichardt, where Italian restaurants line the street and bars surround a square designed to look like an Italian piazza. The only downside to Leichardt is that it is directly beneath Sydney airport's flight path. Conversations are interrupted every few minutes. "You should write about how wonderful Jess and I are, and the lamentable lack of straight single men," said Ange. "I wonder why you've found that?" I said, but her reply was lost under the roar of a passing jumbo jet.