As much as I would prefer this to be a lengthy, all-encompassing entry capturing everything I saw and felt in England, I recognize the time for that has passed, and if I don't just write this, I will never write anything again. So -

Wednesday 7. Up at 4am. Walked 30 minutes to Centraal Station alone on poorly-lit street in fairly large, foreign town. Terrified, because I am a lone woman. Pissed because I have to be terrified to be a lone woman - that there are places I should not go. To hell with Chad Edwards - I have reason to be terrified. Makes me sick.

Stopped by two men. One, after accepting my charity, said the gods had blessed me; he heard it from the marshes. He said he was probably the best footballer in Utrecht. He asked if I trusted him, if I thought he was a good man. He said he would never forget me. Second a younger man in leather. Asked for bus fare. Thanked me. Yes, truthfully, I believe both were probably good men, just trying to get along. I probably gave almost €5 between them: nothing to me, glad to help. But I didn't give it to help; I gave it to protect myself. I don't believe either would have touched me, but I did it to protect myself.

And it makes me sick.

Long, long day of travel. After the numerous disasters on my previous journey to England, I allowed myself a ridiculous amount of time. And there is nothing to do at Luton airport. My advice: all other things being equal, fly to Stansted or Gatwick. Trust me.

In Dover, finally, around 7. Lani and Josh not at the hostel to meet me. No, they were very sweet and tried to meet me at the bus stop... the other bus stop in Dover. Took my stuff upstairs. Ate some pretzels. Read Lani's White Cliffs brochure. Waited, waited... till I heard Josh's booming voice coming up the stairs! Acting completely on instinct, ran out of the room and into my friends' arms. Oh. So good.

Went out to find dinner, relating my day's journey in my spastic, stand-up routine style. Settled on McDonalds - which has actual vegetarian sandwiches in the UK! Quorn! It's good; just don't tell me it's fungus. Then off to a pub - a vodka and lime, a vodka shot. Is that all? Yes, I am capable of self-restraint. Still probably spent the equivalent of $10...

And straight to bed, just as I was starting to get a buzz, too.

Thursday 8. Real hot (most importantly) free breakfast!

Train to Lewes. "Way out." Cool taxi driver. Hostel truly in the middle of nowhere. Walk to get groceries - god, what was so funny? Must be more timely in writing in diary from now on. Planned to read all night; had long, good talk with Lani instead.

Friday 9. Set off down a random path with Lani that led all the way to the ocean - or channel - or sea; I don't know geography. Beautiful, whatever it was. Ate lunch on the beach. Shared narcissistic Truman Show moment. Honestly, the sailboats never crossed the "horizon"! Read on the spider bench. Fell asleep on the spider-free bench. Planned to go to Lewes; spontaneously opted for Brighton instead. Ate a second lunch. Oh, cheap books, they will be the end of me.

Saturday 10. Monks House - what can I say? I've spent the last couple months immersing myself in the lives of Virginia Woolf and her Bloomsbury cohorts - now this was almost too intimate. Here she slept - here she wrote - here their ashes are buried. Here Leonard poured his soul into his garden; here Vanessa and Duncan theirs into the decorating. I cannot express how this made me feel, how it unnerved and energized me. I am so grateful to have been able to see it.

Lani and I decided to walk four miles to Lewes, despite steady rain and lack of sidewalk. I was in a pretty sour mood. Stopped by a couple bookstores and bussed back to Telscombe.

Had a long talk with Josh that night in which, it always seems to me, "we came to an understanding." We talked about our friendship, our different desires for solitude (him, total isolation; me, alone with everybody, to blatantly plagiarize Richard Ashcroft), questioning grad school. I formally "came out" to him as an asexual. We are almost entirely opposite sexually, yet he is one of very few people in my life who could understand.

Sunday 11. Spent £20 on a taxi to Alfriston with Lani while Josh walked the entire way along the South Downs.

Explored the city; did not take long. Amazing bookstore with an entire Bloomsbury section: they have first editions of Virginia Woolf. Oh how wanted something that said 52 Tavistock Square, with original artwork by Vanessa Bell! I returned to the bookstore twice more, pining over these tomes, but in the end could not justify the expense.

I realized that day that what I would probably be happiest doing, if it were at all possible, would be owning a small independent boostore. Perhaps a used/antiquarian shop, perhaps a feminist shop. But to work among books, to talk to customers equally passionate about books, perhaps organzing discussion groups, and most importantly to read what I want and for my own purposes - oh, nothing in the world appeals to me more.

I confessed to Lani my doubts about graduate school, my disillusionment with academia, which will probably only grow, the internal revolt against structure and obligation. I question myself; I question the institution. Would I be happy in that life forever? I'm not so sure.

I also formally came out to her as an asexual. She completely understood and I don't think was a bit surprised, though she had an intellectual curiosity about it which I found exciting. Always so interesting to compare notes with you sexuals. :) And so, so good to be understood and accepted by two people I love and respect most.

Monday 12. Bank holiday, pain in the ass. No, I should take it back: if it had not been so I would have had to take a train back from Salisbury to see Charleston farmhouse, which I was prepared to do! But arbitrarily it is closed on all Mondays except bank holidays, and Josh and I made our pilgrimage to the other main Bloomsbury outpost in Sussex.

Monks House left me feeling a sort of morose reverence. Charleston, on the other hand, felt more a joyous awe: the love that went into decorating that house is palpable and overpowering. Again, I really have no words. The house is alive. If I had to pick one sightseeing highlight of the entire trip, Charleston would be it, hands down.

It was also inspiring, really - the only desire I have to own property myself would be to make it so very my own - giving my family and friends free reign to paint whatever came to their imagination; oh, there would be spirals everywhere! Yes, I wished more than anything to be an artist.

Oh, best of all - I had read that a portrait of Virginia by Vanessa had very recently been recovered and was on display at the "Charleston Museum"; I had no idea where that was, and had no real expectation of seeing it. Then Josh said, "Oh, this must be Virginia," and I turned to see, and oh, there it was! Absolutely amazing to see after having read about it - yes, I felt so lucky to be there.

Tuesday 13. We all went our separate ways, having different ideas about the best way to spend our last day in Alfriston. I couldn't resist the allure of one more Bloomsbury attraction, and walked three miles to Berwick Church, painted by Duncan Grant, Vanessa & Quentin Bell. Breathtakingly gorgeous. Yes, words fail - thankfully I have my pictures.

I haven't been in a church for nearly two years; haven't attended sporadically for nearly ten, and not regularly since Sunday school. Even an atheist wants to feel something in a church - at least I did. But I did not. The paintings moved me, and so I felt guilty: yes, I came just for the art; yes, this might just as well be a museum to me.

On my walk back Lani's bus to Lewes passed me and we waved to each other. Spent most of the rest of the day walking leisurely along the South Downs Way. And I tortured myself one last time over the first edition of Orlando with all original illustrations. For once in my life, I chose prudently.

Wednesday 14. Took an early bus to Lewes. Could justify the purchase of two cheaper used books, especially considering the money went to cancer research. Began the Bridget Jones sequel there on High Street listening to a one-man band play "Sloop John B," "Brown-Eyed Girl" &c, on the train to Salisbury where I most unfortunately left my sunglasses behind, and finished at about 2:30 am in the hostel lobby. Josh and I decided to sleep in the lobby (because, why not?) and I got about three hours of fitful sleep before -

Thursday 15. - a staff member came in and asked whether we had checked in last night (of course) and if those were our bags outside (no; we have a room, only elect not to use it!). We got up for breakfast around 8 and then promptly went back to bed. I stayed in bed until 2:30 - positively shameful, but after all the miles I'd walked in the past week, it felt so good. I know I never did leave the hostel that day, but lord, what did I pass the hours doing? Did I really read all day and night? I must have.

Friday 16. Another lazy start to the day. Sometime after noon however we really did get out of the hostel and bussed to Stonehenge and Avebury. Having already seen the former and reluctant to spend precious pounds on a frankly disappointing attraction, I sat outside and read, shocked by how quickly Lani and Josh returned. But truthfully, no matter how deeply you gawk at it, how slowly you try to make your rounds, it still isn't much to see. Really, watch the In Search Of episode on it: much more dramatic and satisfying.

Avebury, not much more exciting. When I finally gave up trying to pet baby sheep (the sounds that come out of those animals!) I just starting taking random pictures - so that will be interesting. Yes, it is awesome and mystical, but... they're still just rocks.

So for our final night together we went out to eat and drink. Josh had his fish and chips at last; I was amused by the English bartender's attempt to say "quesadilla" (So far off the mark that Lani didn't even realize she'd ordered it by mistake). The hotel bar was too quiet - and too creepy with old greasy suit-wearing man staring at me - for the kind of carousing we had in mind, so we went off in search of a pub.

I had two? possibly three double vodka and limes (oh, also lubricated by my half pint of cider at dinner) and three? possibly four but almost certainly not five vodka shots. Yes, I drank so much I lost count. Josh even got drunk (noticeably so for the first time) - that is an indication of how much alcohol was consumed. Somehow over the course of the evening we took 36 pictures. I do not remember at least 2/3 of them; indeed, I have forgotten most of the night. Totally freaked out by how much I didn't remember in the morning.

Some of what I do remember: "Hold fingers! Hold fingers!" Josh's crush on (admittedly adorable) bartender. "I've never in my life been happier!" I licked and bit Lani "twice each!" as I kept insisting, I don't know why; finally Josh allowed me to lick him. "The alcohol has a penis!" We said "penis"far too loudly, far too many times. Somehow Lani can still act cool when she's drunk; Josh and I were out of control. He told a random stranger on the street he was hot. When I insisted I was nearly sober I was in reality the closest to blackout. Somehow we found our beds...

Saturday 17. I was so painfully hungover. I knew not to eat a thing (I marvelled at Lani and Josh's desire to eat a full English breakfast) but thought I was safe drinking water. Wrong. For the first time, I'd drank enough to vomit - it seems less shameful the morning after, but still, I drank way too much. And spent the equivalent of about $35.

And then we were on the bus - and then I reached my stop: said a hurried goodbye, and the trip was over.

On my bus to Luton airport, I tried to soak up as much of the scenery as I could: I was truly and painfully sorry to be leaving England. I swear, nowhere else in the world is the grass that shade of green. Whether its London or Telscombe Village, something about it just fels like a place I could call home. I will visit once more in May and then - will I never be back? will I move there one day? I truly felt empty leaving - somehow a part of me is connected to that country.

Partly for that reason, partly because I could barely stand without feeling ill, partly because I had nearly six hours to wait for my plane, I contemplated getting a hotel in Luton for the night. But time passed while I was indecisive and then, when I tried to withdraw £50 from my bank account and found I didn't have the funds, the question was closed. Financial dumbass once again.

Muddled through till departure; cleared customs in Amsterdam late. Again considered getting a hotel, not wanting to repeat the scenario I began my journey with. But when the receptionist told me a night at the airport Sheraton was €130, I couldn't justify even putting that on my credit card. And so had no choice but to take a train back to Utrecht. Luckily I found the buses run later than I thought and I reached my flat without incident. Turned my heat back on, changed my alarm back to Netherlands time, and crawled into my bed. Felt like none of it had ever happened at all.