Triumphant: logs, entries, media.

You little chickens in London flock out of doors when the sun is shining, desperate to drink it all in before another cloud finds you. It's really rather cute. If it were sunny for a week straight, though, would you find it off-putting?

Would you eventually complain that it were fine? And instead you wanted to chase a gray cloud?

Probably.

[DMLE]

Gird your loins. Lovelace is coming for you next.

On the outside chance that I ever become a British citizen, let it be known that were it my taxes being paid toward the likes of Monitor Horace (yes, that's his name) Lovelace, I'd mount something. Something.