This Week Was Supposed to be a Holiday

Well, since I know you've all been left rudderless, crying in the wilderness, by the absence of any posts from me, I thought I should try.

I've been busy. So sue me.

I was supposed to be on holiday this week. I had it marked in the diary and everything. Not that it was to be straightforward, oh no: Sunday to Greenwich for wedding number 1, then off to New York for H's wedding, then back in time for Jen and Gideon's next weekend. All I needed was Simon Callow to fall down dead (he drinks in my local, you know) and I'd be sorted.

But t'was not to be, for even Kuwait Air demanded far too much of my hard-earned to fly to NYC in Easter week (actually, since then I've begun to come to the realisation I may in any event have done Something Horrible to my finances.. again, but that's another story). Then someone asked me if I could do just one application....

Eventually I ended up with three hearings in the four days of this week, plus the contents of five large cardboard boxes containing material on a case ongoing since 1996 (which probably means I'm also going to have to research the old, pre-1999, Rules of the Supreme Court too, oh joy). Plus I decided it was time for my filial duty, so I went down to Hampshire on the last train on Sunday and came back this morning, cursing over-running track repairs just outside Clapham that meant what should have been the last six minutes of the journey took 20 minutes and forced me to take a cab straight to court... moan moan.

I did make Sunday's wedding though, and very good it was too, in Greenwich, right by the museum and by the river. Met lots of people, had much to drink, hope didn't make too much of fool out of self, particularly to specific person as a result...

Ho hum. So that was that. Currently reading The Testament of Yves Gudron, by Emily Barton. Am sceptical: the setting is a society somehow cut off from the rest of civilisation and left in the middle ages, which is visited by a Harvard anthropologist. The main narrative is by an inhabitant of the society, with an explnatory narrative winding itself around in the footnotes purportedly by the anthropologist. And that in itself is an indicator of self-conscious "literary" wank... Plus her "medieval" society just doesn't hang together. Still, it may turn out better than it seems so far. Otherwise still re-reading the Big Technical Book on Hagia Sophia. With any luck after the seventh re-read I might understand more of it than not.

Conversation on my way out of chambers...
Me: "I see the [half-million bequest, brand-new] fountain is off again"
Colleague: "Yes. They're waiting for it to dry out."
Me: "But. It's. A. Fountain."
Colleague: "Yes. They forgot to waterproof the electrics properly."
Me: "But. It's. A. Fountain."

People who know Joff say hello. Those who don't, do as you please. You will anyway.

Edited to add: Incidentally, I trust you're all still reading the Fafblog. More fool you if not: one day the world will bow to the triumvirate that is Giblets, Fafnir, and the Medium Lobster.