I have discovered James Blunt's back to bedlam (site includes sample snippets), and love it. I even shelled out money for it. (Well, gift certificates. But that still counts.)
The heat has calmed down (sort of) since the sudden spring flare-up a week or so ago. Sadly, the damage has already been done: the dwarf rabbit, nice and woolly from winter, is spontaneously moulting. Only moulting seems so passive, when this is clearly an aggressive attempt to drown the world in rabbit fluff. My hayfever has responded by clogging up eyes, ears, nose and throat. Lucky me. Remember how I thought the antibiotics were making me sleepy? Well, they're finished and I'm still sleepy. Now it's due to a lack of oxygen.
In photo-browsing fun, Cat now has photos up of her recent birthday party. Proof that I do, in fact, occassionally leave the house and even interact with people. Strange, I know. (If you get confused by the number of Debs, I'm the Deb in the dark singlet top, without a fringe. I have no idea what t'other Deb was saying to make me pull a face like that, but perhaps it was partly the result of the sugar-loaded caramel mudcake we were scoffing.) You know, the problem with photos of me is that, well, they contain me. You have been warned.