I got up at 5am on Wednesday, packed my stuff, checked out of the hotel and caught a cab to JFK Airport. This was it. I was going home.

New York was battered by an electrical storm on this morning, which meant my BA flight back to London took off two hours late. We were on the runway for those two hours too. Just think of it - strapped in with no access to any electrical equipment and no trolley service. I was fucking glad when we took off and I was served a G&T, I can tell you.

The rest of the journey was good. I had four seats to myself, which is always heavenly on a long haul flight, and so I spent the remainder of the journey laid out, drinking more free gin and watching episodes of Peep Show on my laptop. I've managed to convert Aussies, Americans and Kiwis to this show while I've been away. If you haven't watched it, watch it.

When we landed at Heathrow, I didn't really feel anything at all. I wasn't sad, particularly happy or anything else. I was more pre-occupied with the reality of not having anywhere to live. As I made my way across London to the home of my former flat mates - where I was to te-mporarily crash while flat hunting - it occurred to me that of all the places I had been to on this trip, nowhere had the journey been so stressful and expensive as here. Welcome home, Matt.

It has been an eventful, interesting and certainly unforgettable six months. I would be hard pushed to name a favourite destination. So I will put it into categories:

Best scenery: South Island, New Zealand Best sight: Uluru (Ayers Rock) Best food: Melbourne Best hotel: MGM Grand, Las Vegas Best city: New York Best nightlife: Sydney Best beach: Byron Bay (New South Wales) Best shops: New York Best museum: Melbourne Museum

For the worst of the above, just insert Alice Springs or Cairns.

Anyway, this is the last post. Thanks for viewing my jumped up, opinionated rants for the last six months.

Now fuck off.