liadnan

I was going to post, indeed I had started writing, a long entry in what I had been up to, but I rapidly came to the conclusion that a description of a day training expert witnesses to deal with far more unpleasant cross-examination than I would, myself, generally employ (I did learn that I can oversleep, wake up in Primose Hill at 6:30, and be on a train from Euston at 7:10 with no more than a few loud shouts of BOLLOCKS), followed by a description of a long morning in the winding up court, would be of little interest, though the latter can be fairly funny from time to time. (This morning it was mainly just hot and slow, a situation not helped by having to wear wig and gown, though there were one or two spots of the black humour that typifies the place.) This is the problem with this here journal you see: I have no real desire or energy to write long, properly thought out posts on the various subjects I know a little about, be they law, medieval history, or the books, art and music I like; I can't write anything of real substance about my professional life if I want to avoid a serious disciplinary hearing; and my normal life is, as you can all see, fairly dull. Ptui.
The pub I was vaguely thinking about having birthday drinks in is already booked, so I'm rethinking. I may scarp the whole idea: I don't want to be 31.
Oh, and it seems we've finally admitted we were aware of, and effectively complicit in covering up, the Katyn massacre of Poles by the Soviets in WWII (no link, but it was on Today on Radio 4 this morning. There's a thing.