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We came home on September 8th - taking the train up to Brightlingsea, contemplating a long hot motor on a calm sea down the Essex coast and a bright, swirling Thames. We had left Nereid there in a howling wind and gone back to work for a week. Extending the trip was a good idea. We were ready to go home but it would not be a shock.

The Thames was as familiar as an Old Father should: Southend and Gravesend, Tilbury and Thurrock; under the bridge at Dartford to Erith; past Barking Creek and into the metropolis - Woolwich, where the ferries dance across the water in pairs - through the barrier, this time with rowboats alongside - Greenwich, and zero degrees on the GPS - the Dome, the cable car across the water new for the Olympic summer - Canary Wharf, like Gotham City, but empty on a Saturday - and the always choppy corner at Limehouse. The Border Agency pulled us up and then the Harbour Master. Others would have to turn out their pockets, but not us this time.

St Katherine's was in festive summer mood, with flags and visiting river boats, and what seemed like thousands watching us creep carefully across the tide and into the lock. 650 miles we've been; ten weeks. That's us for now. Down have come the sails to be washed. On will go the covers soon. The list of repairs is as long as ever. But that's OK. Mucking about in boats is what we like. In the spring we will get out again.

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