The mouse thing is getting out of hand. There's one who openly mocks me as I walk down the stairs. There it is running, devil-may-care, up the stairs into the bathroom.  Perhaps it should know that not that long ago I beat one of it's kind to death with a claw hammer (oh the karma!). I am bigger 'n you! Fear me! Perhaps it's my early 21st century male impotence manifesting itself. Kim DuToit would be proud, or at least understand.

We started the house thing. One room which has been a junk room (the messy room, Paddy calls it) since we moved here, is now slightly less messy. Of course most of the stuff has just been moved into the hall, but progress has been made as some stuff is in the skip outside. Another advance was made on the pictures front in that after I'd wailed and moaned about the state of our photos, I went downstairs and put some into an album and set some aside for scanning. I scanned them in work and will make them available someday soon,  Hah. Got your hopes up there, didn't I?

Oh all right.

I've been catching myself looking in the mirror lately. It's not somthing I feel I normally do, but there I am. Looking at myself. There are a lot of mirrors in this house, so maybe it's just I can't help it, but for a man who grew up in a house where looking in the mirror was the height of vanity, I'm a bit, well, non-plussed.

When considering clothes, I've never really thought about how they looked. Take trousers. Fit around the waist? Yup. Hide the ankles? Yup. Sale made. It's only recently that it's occurred to me that there might be other criteria to consider. Colour isn't one, becase if it ain't black or blue, then it's not right. But strange, girly things like style, or cut, actually seem to mean something. It's still a mystery what it is exactly, but there does seem to be a dawning realisation going on.

I'll let you know how it turns out.