London, United Kingdom

There goes the alarm - for the first time since leaving England I've slept through until 8am. How useless; my body clock's adjusted just in time to leave. Excited to be going home, I look out of the window and rain is cascading down.

At 10am we all meet in the lobby and get a cab to McCarran International Airport, driving through hailstones that clatter on the windscreen and roof. It's definitely time to get out of Vegas.

We're on American Airlines back to LA, to connect for our BA flight to London. At check in, the staff try to charge Duff for his check-in luggage. He's paid £800 to get a seat tomorrow on Air New Zealand, the first flight he can get as BA can't reschedule him for days, so he's got a final night in Los Angeles. However, as he's not on a connecting international flight today there's baggage fees to pay. Fortunately with some sweet talking, mentioning volcanoes and getting the laptop out to prove ha has a Air NZ flight in the morning, they eventually waive the fee.

Jacqui and I double-check our bags are fine and are assured by various staff that they are cleared straight through to London. I'm happy to pick mine up in LA and transfer it myself as we have three hours to kill when we get there, but the cheerful staff promise it'll be transferred between airlines.

We head upstairs to the gate and are greeted by the sight of people playing slot machines, desperate for their final fix before they leave Las Vegas. As I watch them I realise that I've not put a single cent into any machine, or approached any of the gaming tables. It's not even occured to me. What a saint I am!!

As we taxi along the rain-soaked runway we can see the whole of the Strip, waving goodbye to our hotel as we go. In the distance is a huge black cloud; a torrential amount of water flooding from it on to the suburbs. Up in the air, bursts of turbulence batter the plane but we make it to LAX ahead of schedule.

Duff has decided to come to the BA check-in with us on the off-chance there's a seat on our plane, so we wander down to the baggage reclaim with him to collect his bag. It's a short walk from there to the International Terminal and as we venture outside it's noticeably chillier and greyer than when we left.

At the BA desk there's a holding pen for stranded travellers, all hoping to get on the next plane. One guy is losing his temper. "We booked our flights six months ago," he rages. "And we've been here three days now and you still won't fly us home." The BA staff try to reassure him that they didn't blow up a volcano purely to ruin his holiday, but he's not to be satisfied.

Duff slips up to the desk and is unfailingly polite. As a solo passenger whose cancelled BA flight is still to be scheduled a few days later, is there any way he can be considered if a seat comes free? He's bumped to the top of the waitlist.

While we wait to see if there's any news for Duff, we have a spot of lunch and I celebrate our imminent return to British shores with a cup of tea, my first in almost two weeks. Needless to say, it's a pretty ropey affair but a welcome taste of home. I can't wait to get back now.

Jacqui and I bid farewells to Duff, wishing him luck with his journey home and go through a strangely deserted security. There's an hour to kill before our flight so we find a bar and have a glass of fizz to celebrate. I knew I should be concerned when they told me that champagne was cheaper than wine. The champagne they serve is a Californian sweet wine which is vile, yet boldly states Champagne on the bottle. I thought that the name was protected by law. Oh well, a toast to everything going smoothly...

After we finish our drink we get in the queue to board and all of a sudden Duff appears. At the last minute they've sent him to the gate in case anyone fails to get there in time. He's lucky as his bag is just small enough for them to wave it through as hand luggage - helped by a little bribe to the guy on the desk of the corkscrew he took as a souvenir from Sunset Marquis, and has to discard to get through security. It's a tense wait as they start boarding the plane. Duff literally will be the last passenger to board if there's a seat unexpectedly free.

We wave goodbye for a second time as Duff sits down to watch us disappear through the gate, but as we present our boarding passes Jacqui and I are pulled aside. Fantastic, this usually means we've been upgraded. They've spotted we're frequent fliers and are bumping us up. Hurrah.

The grim-faced woman informs us, however, that American Airlines have screwed up and not entered our baggage on the system properly to be checked all the way thru to London so it's not made the flight. We're going home but our bags are not. All that dirty laundry and Cher memorabilia is going to have to make its way back to London by itself.

Frustrated, but unable to do anything about it, Jacqui and I take our seats and make ourselves comfortable. Just as I'm about to switch off the blackberry I get a message: "I'm on!!!!!!". Duff's been added to the flight with seconds to spare, ironically in possession of all his bags. If only we'd insisted on collecting them from the carousel too.

We've no idea where he's sat and I half fancy they've shoved him at the front of the plane so he's quaffing French champagne while we're waiting for a glass of water but at least we're all going home. Team Volcano, as Duff has christened us, all together until the end. We get airborne and then a stewardess pages Mr Luff and Ms Swift. The pilot has requested our bag tags so he can quote the numbers to the ground staff and hopefully our bags will be on the next scheduled plane which leaves LAX an hour after us. Fingers crossed we'll just have a short wait at Heathrow and be able to travel home with all our belongings. I'll never speak ill of BA again.

During the flight Duff walks back to find us and sure enough, he's in World Traveller Plus, so a little more leg room which is useful for him being a big fella. After a brief chat I decide to get some sleep. Having got a job-lot of valium in India a couple of months ago I pop a pill and drift off into a soft doze that lasts five hours. Not exactly full sleep but enough for the journey to have passed relatively painlessly.

At Heathrow sadly we're told our bags seem to still be in LA, although there's a possibility they're already in the air on the final flight to leave LA last night. Rather than wait for hours in baggage reclaim we're recommended to return home and wait for them to be delivered. Ah well, at least it saves me dragging a huge bag across London on the tube.

Finally, Heathrow Express, a tube and a minicab sees me walk through my front door just in time for a late lunch, almost two weeks after I left the UK. And God bless Coman, he's there to welcome me in, having stayed at home today. Sadly because he's not well, rather than to hang out the bunting. But at least we are together at last.

It's good to go away. But it's even better to return. Until the next time...