Well, see there's some new work coming down the pipes (maybe) so I thought the ol' site needed some snazzing up.

Also I was getting sick of my overgrown vine on the left side there. In fact, speaking of vines, I have a s++tload of houseplants that are growing like gangbusters over here, and if anyone would like a cactus or an aloe plant to take home and love please let me know.

What else?

I was working on my thesis proposal or as I refer to it lately, "the albatross" at a cafe yesterday and a guy next to me started clipping his nails. In the cafe. I don't think I am overly picky about things like neatness and decorum, but listening to someone's nails falling onto a table surface in a public venue. Not to mention that the noise of nail cutting is in itself, disgusting. I had to leave.

Oh I am reading "Life with Jeeves" by P.G Wodehouse and it could well be the funniest thing since the Adrian Mole books. For example;

Sometimes when Jeeves has brought in my morning tea and shoved it on the table beside my bed, he drifts silently from the room and leaves me to go to it; at other times he sort of shimmies respectfully in the middle of the carpet and then I know he wants a word or two."

Or this, on the occasion that Bertie is forced to take a girl and her brother on an unpleasant date

They peered at me for a while as if I were something in a glass case, and I goggled back and had a good look at the girl. There's no doubt about it she was different from what Aunt Agatha had called the bold girls one mets in London nowadays. No bobbed hair and gaspers about her! I don't know when I've met anybody who looksed do - respectable is the only word. She had on a kind of plain dress, and her hair was plain, and her face was sort of mild and saint-like. I don't pretend to be Sherlocke Holmes or anything of that order, but the moment I looked at her, I said to myself,"The girl plays organ in a village church!"

Well, we gazed at one another for a bit, and there was a certain amount of chit-chat, and then I tore myself away. But before I went I had been booked up to take brother and the girl for a nice drive that afternoon. And the thought of it depressed me to such an extent that I felt there was only one thing to be done. I went straight back to my room, dug out the cummerbund and draped it round the old tum. I turned round and Jeeves shied like startled mustang.

"I beg your pardon sir," he said in a sort of hushed voice. "You are surely not proposing to appear in public in that thing?"

Or this disagreement over the merits of a vase.

I rang again. But it must have been 5 minutes before the man showed up with the steaming.
'I beg your pardon sir,' he said when I reproached him. 'I did not hear the bell. I was in the sitting room, sir.'
'Ah? I said, sucking down a spot of the mixture. 'Doing this and that, no doubt?'
'Dusting your new vase sir.'
My heart warmed to the fellow. If there's one person I like, it's the chap who is not too proud to admit when he's in the wrong. No actual statement to that effect had passed his lips, of course, but we Woosters can read between the lines. I could see that he was learning to love the vase.
"How does it look?"
"Yes, sir."
A bit cryptic that, but I let it go.

Last one, just read this afternoon;

The treatment worked like magic. What they had put into the stuff besides vitriol, I could not have said; but it completely altered my outlook on life. That curious gulpy feeling passed. I was no longer conscious of the sagging sensation at the knees. The limbs ceased to quiver gently, the tongue became loosened in its socket, and the backbone stiffened. Pausing merely to order and swallow another of the same, I bade the barmaid a cheery goodnight, nodded affably to one or two fellows in the bar whose faces I liked, and came prancing back to the hall, ready for anything.