I'm at the point in the journey when I'm wanting to go home. England is still strange and fascinating, my hosts (Kirsten and Adrian) in Sutton-Courtenay are wonderful, I'm even getting some work done in between lots of reading and a little sight-seeing; I have no actual complaints. But I feel like I've been away too long. I miss my plants, my teakettle, my cable modem, my closet full of clothes -- all the creature comforts. My own bed. There's a great desire to go home right now -- go standby on a flight and go. But, of course, there's lots of fun stuff scheduled for next week, lots of people I still want to see, we're going to Stonehenge and Avebury tomorrow, and I still don't feel like I've spent enough time with Kirsten, who is one of my very best friends, and whom I can't see or talk to nearly enough, now that she lives here. But the real reason it's no good wanting to go home now isn't any of that. It's that I'm scheduled to arrive back on the 15th, and so is Kevin, and so if I go home any earlier, he won't be there. Since he's what I'm missing most of all, leaving now wouldn't do any good.