Sometimes you go to Malta for the weekend and it's the best escape from London ever. And it's sunny and beautiful and you don't see any Libyan refugees (although you'd be really nice to them if you did) and you eat lots of gelato and risotto because it's kind of like Italy. And you get a sun burn which might turn into a tan or it might turn into melanoma. Who can say for sure. But you're happy.
And then some days you get in a fight with your roommate over the appropriate number of guests to have squatting during reading period (do I live in a hostel?) and the best thing going is the beet juice that the very nice, non-British cash register man gave you at the organic grocery store.
I mean it was good juice.