The Bog Standard

Now that my time in London, at least this iteration, is winding down I thought there was no better opportunity to make some enumerative reflections. Here's the first.

Strange things about my flatmates:

• They do not rinse their dishes. Perhaps I've mentioned this before? If so, please know that it still bothers me, and still perplexes me, despite the research I've done suggesting that this is not an oddity particular to these six people. W. T. F.
• At least a few of them have no notion of how to logically put away the 'clean' dishes from the drying rack. The two stacks of big plates -- one set of white, one set of yellow and blue -- perhaps appear to them to be circumstantial and not a template. Similarly, the three different sizes of bowls seem to have no bearing on where they stack the clean bowls in the cupboard.
• They don't talk to me. Some do, more than others, but by and large we exchange a bare minimum of speech.
• Sometimes I come home at 22.00 and find the flat completely deserted. Yet all of them are in bed normally by 22.30, even on weekends.
• Last night I was washing some dishes at 23.15 and one of my flatmates, who lives down the hall from the kitchen, came in in just his pants and shut the kitchen door, as though I was making too much noise, despite my being almost silent. He didn't say anything, nor did he really even look at me.
• The girl who now lives in the room next to mine moved in while I was away in France over a long weekend. Although I met her just before I left, I don't recall her name and have almost no way of finding it out, apart from directly asking her. That would be awkward.

* The nasty little buggers at the top live to inspire terror in the Regent's Park. I took their photograph yesterday. I know they look innocent enough, but they were making mischief of one kind and another throughout the afternoon. Still, it's a charming spring image, innit?