What a circus. NYC Pride. A thirty-ring circus with shows playing round the clock all over the island. Boyz from all over, they're flooding the streets of Chelsea. It's Thursday night and our London boyz, with an ever-expanding entourage, have taken over their guest house and converted it into the New Chelsea Tubs – a sauna in every room! And GymBar right around the corner, packed with sports queens (not an oxymoron, apparently), with beer by the pint, and once properly sloshed, off to XL where we walk in as Shequida introduces Jason Walker, from Junior's stable, and there's Junior himself, front and center, supporting his boy. It's a mini-concert, and even a beer dashed to the floor doesn't deter Jason's falsetto. It's his stage and he's claiming it. And the boyz come and go, talking of everything but Michelangelo.

And Friday dawns sultry in the city and by dusk Jean-George's Spice Market is packed with pretty young things and we eat well and spicy and pricey and head to Viceroy to pick up Amsterdam cuties and then to G Lounge for Luau Pride under the tiki huts. Boyz and more boyz. They notice the London boyz and say, "You're from out of town, right?" and the London boyz go, "How did you know?" "NO ATTITUDE. YOU'VE GOT NO ATTITUDE."

So now we have to teach them New York attitude. Oh, God, what is it? It's the walk/snap/leer/box/booty thing all happening at once, with a smile to service, right? Is it teachable? Hmmm. Maybe not. But then watching a London boy trying to work a snap...

Saturday on the Pier. It's the New York passeggiatta. The outfits, the dogs, the collars, the shades, the swag. It's the parade before the Parade. And now thanks to the London boyz retinue, now up to ten, we're parading ourselves – over to Alan and Joey's afternoon soiree. Ever gracious, Alan doesn't bat an eye as his apartment fills with unexpected guests from London, Wales, Boston, and Brussels, and fortunately, because it's a relief to be in this swellegantly cool apartment. (Hello? Could we please consider converting the entire Piano Factory to circuit-queen housing? Alan, can you get right on that?) But wait – here's Kat looking terribly distressed and there's a huddle in a bedroom as she tells us we have to do an intervention – and I'm thinking, "Now? Can't it wait until after Pride?" But it's only her m-i-l – on diet pills. Very funny, Miss Kat; watch your back in Montreal.

And meanwhile, the doorbell keeps ringing as the circuit family arrives, everyone home for the weekend. It's so nice to have face time – instead of just space time with all these people. Lovely Lawrence with his tall cool LunchBox Boy, and Matt Kalkhoff, more glamorous in person than even her Bab's glamourpuss shots. and Patrick and Brian, who are/aren't moving to Gotham in less than/more than a year. And Alan's Joey, who paints such beautiful canvases. And LegupAtLast – so we no longer have to keep asking boyz at parties, Are you LegUp? – only to have them give us New York attitude. And Joey Cumley, of course, with not only ex-Michael in tow, but also working his Louis V, Movado, and Miss Chanel. And the NYC Hunk, aka Mr. Weinstein, who's doing breakfast with Kat at six on Sunday morning – watch your coffee cup, Mr. Hunk.

And now it's Saturday night and we're walking into Spirit/Twilo/SF, for the first time – you got me, baby – since it's become Spirit, and walking that entrance hall, we're flooded with Sunday morning memories of worshipping with Junior, but this time it's Offer Nissim whose work we know thanks to Joe Caro's CDs, and Miss Niss is a wisp of a thing with arms as long as his hair which he waves like willow branches as he conducts his orchestral maneuvres in the dark. It's a fascinating performance, this Israeli deejay working these songs into choral symphonies. All the songs are here, the ones we know, the ones that he's made his by his production. And the crowd cheers as Goddess Candis Cayne in a goddess gown (those legs, those tits....) introduces Maya who sings Miss Niss's songs. She's a little thing, too, with a mane of hair, and she sings well – though she might spend some time with Candis learning New York stage attitude. We stay for Peter's opening hour or so and he keeps the boyz working. Our New York boyz, John and Tim, are here, their first New York Pride since they moved to Gotham in August. They're loving it. It's a good Saturday night party, but one we feel fine about leaving at five a.m.

Because, for us, it's all about the Parade. The people lining the streets, the floats, the spectrum of color. Balloons and banners, Altoids and condoms. Beads and bracelets. Last week, after we texted one of our more curmudgeonly friends and wished him Happy Pride, he texted back, "What's to be proud about?" We didn't bother responding to him – but if he were alongside us, witnessing the parade, he might know the answer to his own query. To see so many people walking and marching, parading and smiling, hand-in-hand, and kissing, and hugging and loving, the geriatrics of SAGE and the children of Hetrick-Martin, the baton twirlers and the cheerleaders, the swimmers and the rugby players, the attorneys and the teachers, the fathers and the mothers – what's not to be proud about? We're alive on a planet that needs what we know about love. That's why we're here. To see so many young people, so very many very young people, and Robert says to me, "It's all about them. To see them out now. I think we're going to be all right."

The children are flooding the park at the end of Christopher Street. So many gay people. So many happy people. Such beauty. Such unblemished untouched beauty. A sea of Tadzios. We photograph them from a respectful distance. You don't want them getting New York attitude – not yet.

We walk up to the Pier Dance – just as Madge's Music mixes with Lola's Theme and we tm the Britty boyz who are deep in the maelstrom. Lola was their favorite song from last winter – and now they're shaking it on the piers of New York. It's music that carries us over the humps of this sometimes bumpy life.

I want to throw a tantrum as we head up Ninth Avenue. I don't want Pride to be over, not yet. I want Pride like this all the time. I want to swim in a sea of gay people who know how to love. But Robert says, "Relax. Chill. It's not over. There's still Alegria."

Big Top Alegria. Alegria Circus. The Greatest Pride on Earth. With Ringmaster Ric and Tony and Abel. The line going in reminds me of the Saint, waiting to pass through the three stations before getting upstairs. That kind of meet-and-greet line, with air kisses and hugs, and a hushed tone. The boyz, so professional, in their tees and jeans, muscles bulging. Their faces nicely tanned. The wall of televisions with Ric Sena's GREATEST PRIDE ON EARTH. It's three a.m. and the boyz are pouring in.

Inside, we pause a moment in the Reed Room. It's packed, even in here. The boyz are dancing wherever, on the banquettes, on the tables. We take a deep breath. "Dolls? Fellas? Are you ready? Let's dance."

And so into the Big Top Room we go. It's mayhem and madness, just as we expected, just as we wanted. We watch our step and make our way to the back bar where there's a viewpoint we love, the whole Big Room from the back. In the center, there's a circus tent carousel in yellow and red with yellow and red lights and on the stage, a huge skinless elephant, his feet on circus drums. Trapeze artists and acrobats swing from the circus tent while tassels in yellow and red swing from the sides of the SkyBoxes. It's a circus of the mind, a Pinocchio Fantasyland, the circus you see in your dreams where everything is suggestive.

We head upstairs to VIP and watch from above. The sea of boyz, the men so beautiful. We're wondering about our London boyz, hoping they've made it here safely. And there goes Ringmaster Ric in black top hat and black cape. Tony Moran has this beat going. It's so perfect for the circus. It's this beat for this sound system which is so incredibly tuned. There's so much going on. We're mesmerized by it all. There's a tm from Lawrence who says he's shining his light on us from the floor – but we're so hypnotized, we don't even see it. And then there's our London boy Chris, and one look at his face says it all. He's seen it now, Alegria all over his face. He's charged with happiness. "Just a little party," he says, laughing. What Tony's doing with his music, it's irrestible, it's contagious. There's no one standing around; there's no one not moving. We're dancing on the boxes, overlooking the floor. And then, there it is, just as the circus performers hit their positions around the room. Those elaborate costumes, the surreal circus of the mind, in purple, green and crimson red. There it is, we can hear it starting. It's THAT SONG. That song Joe K. loves, the song from GayDays, the one performed at Pier Dance (but NOT the hip-hop version) – oh, no, this is it, the real thing. Dolls? Fellas? Are you ready?

And even if there was one person not moving, s/he's moving now. The place explodes. Let's dance. Let's keep dancing. Let's never stop dancing. And now there's Lawrence, we see him with his blue light. Big happy smiling Lawrence: love him, love him. And oh, no – can it be? Is that for real over there? Is that really her? IT'S NURSE. Nurse is here. Looking hot, looking sweet, she's pumping that arm, dropping to the beat. Crazy girl, we rattle with her in tweakspeak. We live her all over.

We're downstairs in the Pump Room, squashed in a corner, but then we find another London boy, Stuie, and he's manic, bless his heart. "If you know anyone, tell him Stuie wants a shag." By all means, dear heart. Consider your message delivered. We're dancing by the railing, watching some mirrored man scale the elephant. Completely covered in mirrors, he's stepping carefully up the skinless elephant. He could fall. We can feel it. The elephant could crumble – but it doesn't. And oh, my God – there's Joe Caro in his quadrant. Right by the stage. Duh. He's here. We were worried; we didn't see him the night before at Peter's Gods, but of course he was there. He's working his shorties. He's got a fan and lights. He's making the rounds, searching for Korean gangs. And look, there's Chynna Girl from South Beach. Flawless.

It's a circus, the Alegria Circus. We watch our London boy Chris work the staircase. Now he's got that New York attitude. He's making this party his own. He's working his beat. And Paul comes up to us and says, "I thought there was no smoking in New York." Well, yes, that's true, I explain, but at Alegria the boyz are all suns, so they do what they want. But it's not like they're messy at this circus. This is a well-behaved, professional circus. Even the two married men we see to whom we could have said, "Do your wives know you're here?," even they're professional in their indiscretions. It's such a beautiful crowd – filled with pride. There's so much to be proud of.

And then it's six or so and Tony takes his applause as Abel takes the controls, alongside Ric, and now we're off on the second journey, into the second ring of Alegria Circus. Abel starts it off right, slow and dramatic. Long enough for us to catch our breath. And then, bam – we're off and running. Thank you, needed that. Let's go round again.

And later, much later, way up under Abel's influence, there comes this moment when we're upstairs, looking down as the lights lower and the circus tent carousel rises up toward the ceiling, and as the music becomes more atmospheric, with male vocals, and the circus darkens with the smoke/nitrous fog lazily rising above the crowd, the silver ALEGRIA globe goes white silver sending out shards of white light which shoot above the boyz – and now the circus has taken flight, heading out into the galaxy. It's beautiful. A pause in the journey. And I say to Robert. "I hope we know these people when we get back to the home planet." Because we're all here in this together now and you just want to imagine a time when we can all look back on this and say, "Well, wasn't that a trip?"

It's so hard for us to let go of Pride weekend. We want to wrap ourselves in all the good that happens and hope that it's enough to last us through the year. We leave the Alegria Circus at nine-thirty, out into the sultry heat of a Manhattan summer Monday. Another day in New York – with every reason to be proud because we know such good people. Thanks to everyone who made our Pride so fierce. You live in our hearts all year.