Today is a very special event - it is the first anniversary of the day that I escaped from London, ending the time in which I could say that I permanently lived somewhere in Britain. The entire account of the worst weekend I've ever lived through is documented starting in Bayswater. Any useful information starts and ends in that entry - the rest of the next few days just chronicle my rapid descent into insanity. Hell exists as a virtual entity encompassing all points between Whitney's great-aunt's flat and the American Embassy. (And I never did get around to answering jenny0's question.) I did get a photo of the apocalyptic hotel room that I stayed in the night before I flew out, too, but it came out very grainy from passing through so many X-ray machines along the way and having deteriorated for a year).

Unfortunately that wasn't the end of my having to deal with the bureaucracy's incompetence, but it was certainly the highlight of it (if such a word can be used). I can't believe that it's gone past so quickly - and it's only half a month now until our first wedding anniversary.