Okay, you're right. I take that back. It's nothing like real life.
But at least it provides a useful microcosm to help explain the way the world really works. On some days -- like today, when the weather is unspeakably delicious -- all is right with the world, your flatmates and colleagues from around the world are beautiful people and it's like a miniature United Nations, you can't help but marvel at how we're basically all the same, we have similar dreams and aspirations, hopes and fears, and we all want to be loved for who we are, and why can't we all just get along? (This most often occurs after a few pints down the pub.)
Then on some days you wonder why those same flatmates and colleagues wake you up with their drinking and vomiting binges and think they own the world so they leave dishes, the communal flat dishes, not their own bloody dishes, to rot and congeal in the sink so no one else can use them without first sandblasting them clean or using an oxyacetylene torch and all you want to do is punch them in the throat until the lint that passes for brains starts popping out their ears.
I now understand the world's fucked-upness much better. I don't excuse it; I just understand it.
* * *
Forgot to mention something important regarding the photos. In case you haven't already discovered this on your own, you can click on the photos and they'll expand, making it much easier to do things like read Byron's words at St. Mary's. One I didn't post, by the way (mainly because the 1-megapixel camera in the phone just wasn't up to the job) was quite funny in a sort of Walt Disneyish sort of way. It was a ladybug -- in mid-November! -- crawling along a relief map at the top of the Harrow hill. She was following one of the roads down to Harrow... literally. Guess you had to be there.
Correction: Reg Dwight/Elton John lived in Pinner, not in the Watford Road. Obviously. But the way to Pinner is via the Watford Road. Er, you know what I mean.
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