Whenever I hear seagulls I think of salt and ice cream. I drove to Sainsbury’s today to pick up some food for this week, and the seagulls were in full voice, crying like they did over Lyme Regis when I was 12 years old, and I thought of fossil hunting with my Dad.

Inside Sainsbury’s every trolley wanted to get in my way and people were discussing chicken in loud voices across whole aisles. I had planned to nip in, get what I needed, and hurry home, but that never happens. Lori had to work today – she had a draft to hand in for her other class – and I had said I would be home in time to drive her to campus when it was done. I timed my drive back from Sainsbury’s perfectly with school collection time, and had to dodge children with rucksacks. We just made it, and I sat in the car on Queen’s Drive while she ran into Queen’s. I wound down the window and listened to the birds. The tree trunks on the grass slope down the hill look like giant knarled hands. We drove down to the Quay to celebrate the handing in of drafts. The sun was warm on our backs but the air was freezing, and we walked across the bridge with arms folded, laughing at the idiocy which made us leave coats in the car. We stopped for a cup of tea at Roger’s Tearoom on the Plaza Terracina, where Roger himself grins over the customers with a beer belly and a red-faced laugh. He reminds me of David Williams. They have the best scones this side of Gloucestershire, and give you a huge dollop of clotted cream. Best of all, the menus hang from the ceiling on elastic string, so you can pull them down to read between faces at the table and when you let go they dance and bob erratically above your head.

I bought a replacement bulb for the light, but it started to smell after a couple of minutes. I called Dad and asked him if he had any bright ideas for fixing the lamp, which I see now was rather childish of me, but I did get to hear about their trip to Oxford to day to find a flat for Dave. He’s found a couple that aren’t too far from the flight school, so hopefully that will work out. I asked Dad if he’d written a letter to The Times, since there was a reply to one in there yesterday talking about having to pay to get into Winchester Cathedral, one of my father’s soapbox topics. He didn’t write it, but played along as if he had for a while.

I have done nothing of importance today. Tomorrow was meant to be my day off, but I just never got around to doing any work today. I don’t know where all the time went… I didn’t go shopping until after lunch, but I got up relatively early. It’s as if my morning was just eaten away. I think I replied to a couple of emails, but that’s about it. Which reminds me: I got an email this afternoon from Matt Hinton, a friend from USM who was opinions and then sports editor for the Printz. It was great to hear from him; I had emailed after Katrina to make sure he was okay because I knew his parents lived on the coast, but I must have had an old email address. He’s now crime editor for The Vicksburg Post.

I miss everyone from back there so much. I can’t wait to go back (24 days now, which is quite scary because essays have to be done before then!) – I’m longing for some good American food: McAlister’s cheesecake, Krispy Kreme, Mom’s roasts. And the smell of pine trees. I'm wondering how much will have changed. Katrina went right through Hattiesburg, and I dread seeing my old apartment torn down or changed too much. I don’t think I could manage to see the coast – Biloxi and Gulfport – knowing there’s pretty much nothing left. I’m looking forward to New Orleans, though. At least the French Quarter wasn’t hit as bad as the rest. To be honest, just going back and knowing I don’t live there any more is going to be odd.

I can’t wait to see everyone. Lori said we might go up and see Rebecca, too, which would be great – I’ve never seen Memphis (the airport doesn’t count!) and I haven’t seen her new house yet. What had started out as a ‘research trip’ is fast turning into a vacation! More than anything, to me, it just feels like going home. I set off for America five years ago thinking I’d miss England too much to stay very long, but now I long for that first step on American soil, knowing I’m home.

Back to reality. We got a piece of paper pushed under our door yesterday inviting us for drinks at the apartment across the hall. I’ve often been intrigued to see inside – you get a glimpse through the blinds every now and then, but never enough – so I’m looking forward to taking a peek. I’ve met Rob and Louise out in the hall every now and then, but it’s usually only a comment on the weather or a polite ‘how are you?’ They’ve invited the people from upstairs, too, so we’re going to go hobnob with the neighbours now.