A very different young lady greets you this morning. I use the word greet, when the words 'snarls at' are probably more apt. Cabin fever has set in. There's just one more promise of a one-way ticket out of here between me axing my way through my sister's front door, sticking my head through it, and screaming: "Heeeeeere's Lizzy!"

Right now I had delusions I'd be soaring through the clouds, and landing at Heathrow, before jumping on ye olde tube, getting home and becoming one with the sofa just in time for the next leader's debate. Alas – 'twas not to be.

My second flight was cancelled (again) and I was offered a new flight (again) and then a volcano erupted (again). And I'm back to square one (again). It does seem the only way back to Britain is through Calais, where back-to-back ferries are running around the clock. But how to get to Calais?

Nevertheless, through the clouds of volcanic ash, there is the odd ray of joy. Residents living near Frankfurt's International Airport have put up signs thanking Eyjafjallajokull, the erupting Icelandic volcano that triggered the ash flight crisis, for giving them an unprecedented stille nacht and good night's sleep.

And an American living in Frankfurt has contacted me to offer his spare room to stranded families who cannot afford to stay at a hotel. Any takers? Email epears@london.newsquest.co.uk. So it's not all doom and gloom.

As for me, I continue to press on in my makeshift newsroom, comprised of BBC World Service, Skype, and a plate of salami. Does it matter that I'm wearing plaid pyjamas? Not a jot. I'm going nowhere fast, so I may as well make myself at home.