liadnan: (Default)

Working at home today for a variety of reasons: mainly because my back appears to be buggered again. Eleanor-the-bike* also seems slightly unhappy at the moment, so I've spent a fair amount of time already fiddling around with her. (Hmm.) I'm now faffing around tidying the flat and doing unimaginably tedious administrivia with occasional breaks to check K's PhD data (simply checking numbers add up properly, nothing more complex) and procrastinate about going to Georgia. Also faffing about on the Barbican website: I think I may go to this tomorrow, definitely this next month, and this looks vaguely intriguing...

I'm feeling slightly unsettled and angsty at the moment, nothing special, simply a vague level of discontent, probably largely down to post-holiday tristesse, but there are some other bits and pieces playing on my mind. Trying to finish something I was writing back in the spring, but it simply isn't happening. As a result of this I don't feel I have anything remotely interesting to say about Interesting Stuff at the moment, so I'm not.

*After Eleanor of Aquitaine. This is a private joke that would be unintelligible to all but a few even after explanation and unfunny even to them.

Oh Great

Jul. 27th, 2006 05:49 pm
liadnan: (Default)

So the storm hits now, just as I'm about to cycle to South Ken.

liadnan: (Default)

There's no better way to start a new year than with a dose of unpleasant -for all observers and participants- gastric flu, that's what I always say. Well, no, it isn't what I always say, obvs, but it will be a frequent mantra of mine in years to come, you mark my words. I thought I'd recovered by Tuesday, but dragging myself into work proved to be a horrific mistake by the time of my journey home. Half the rest of the department -hell, half the firm- is ill or away for some other more or less defensible reason anyway.

Since one of the deciding factors in my decision to come in today was the ability of free interweb I'm slightly peeved to discover that (a) forsooth I have forgot my password to HMRC Online Tax Returns, and have been through all the usual variations on the usual themes; and (b) I have also forgot my passcode for online banking. Not the most successful organisation in the world.

I am, as my brother informed me (while rather kindly, given it was before 9AM and he wasn't even up when I rang, driving me back from the airport the Thursday before Christmas) going to be an uncle again. That makes 9 and counting. My siblings are trying to bankrupt me. It's a plot I tell you.

You'll find life jackets under your seats. In the event of a water landing, they will keep you afloat, unless you are seized by a giant squid, and dragged screaming beneath the waves.

Forwhy...?

Dec. 2nd, 2005 07:44 pm
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It is a quarter to 8 on a Friday evening and I have a party to go to. Instead I am sitting in my office waiting for signatures of seven parties to some fourteen documents to be sent through on a Very Large Transaction.

This is only one of many reasons why I am a Proper Lawyer litigator in my real life.

liadnan: (Default)

Quarter past midnight and I'm considering affidavits......

Sounds like the start of a rather dull and poorly scanned blues song. I have several of those at present.

Ho Hum

May. 5th, 2005 10:51 pm
liadnan: (Default)

Well, on early showings Labour are set to take 100% of the seats. Admittedly that's based on 1 return, but I think it's indicative.

Actually, if the BBC exit poll is right I should have followed my inclinations and punted on a majority under 80. Christ knows I could do with the money. So broke I'm walking to and from my office every day rather than renewing my travel card, The rest of my life is at similar level.

liadnan: (Default)

It's that bank statement time of the month again and my dead reckoning has gone horribly wrong. If I hadn't been paid a significant fee early (a week after it was incurred instead of the usual 3-6 months) I'd be absolutely buggered. At the worst time possible. I think some fee-chasing is in order.

I'm also absolutely freezing. It may well be entirely in the mind, but I'm convinced Primrose Hill is noticeably colder than the rest of London at any given time.

Grumbling

Oct. 31st, 2004 11:32 pm
liadnan: (Default)

I hate having to work on Sundays.

In particular I hate having to research recent developments in s.459 petitions and trying to draft some reasons why certain offshore jurisdictions should follow our bad habits.

In particular particular I hate doing so, and preparing for a posession on Monday morning, and preparing for an administration action before the Chancery Masters on Monday afternoon, and preparing a skeleton for Friday next that really ought to be filed already, and doing so when I'm already feeling blue about Stuff.

Where'd all the fun go? Not to mention all the time for reading and writing things about something other than the law. Mind you, at least there really is offshore work in the offing,,,

Ho hum. I'd forgotten how good U2's Staring at the Sun actually is.

Completely forgot about the clocks this morning, which did at least mean I started work ridiculously early.

Oh, and someone's heart's in the right place but they have far too much time on their hands: The Bushiad and the Idyossey

Bugger

Oct. 25th, 2004 01:34 pm
liadnan: (Default)

I bent down in the shower this morning and promptly regretted it as I seem to have done more damage to my back than on any previous occasion (and there have been many) since whatever it was I did at Glastonbury 1995. Since on that occasion I was in my year of resting after my undergraduate degree, and it was the start of the second week of Wimbledon, a week of lying on the sofa doing nothing actually caused no interference with my plans whatsoever. This time it's slightly more important. Can hardly move.

The only moral I can see in this story is "never bend down in the shower".

liadnan: (Default)

Bah.

It's hot, and for once I'm wearing a suit in the office, having had a depressing and unsuccessful application for an injunction first thing this morning. It's a good, and indeed rather expensive suit. Wool. Dark.

Fucking hot.

I think I shall go home to work for the rest of the day. Where I shall make a point of loafing around in cut off jeans.

liadnan: (Default)

I haven't written for a couple of days because I seem to have a foul case of the blues this week and would only either whine or snap at little things that irritate me. And oh there are so many of those. Starting with people who Won't Move Down The Tube Carriage In Rush Hour The Fuckers and proceeding all the way up to the drafters of the Insolvency Act 1986, who really ought to have been wrapped up in a sack and thrown in the fucking Thames. In front of a speeding launch.

Ahem. You see?

Pay no attention to me, I'm mainly fed up with myself for not getting on with any of my grandiose projects. Or, indeed, doing much of anything at all. Beethoven's Mass in C is currently going full blast, which is probably annoying the neighbours but is doing me no end of good.

The notorious Lincoln's Inn Fountain had, I learn, only just been cured of its leaking when it became the centrepiece of a landlord and tenant dispute. Some people find the noise distracting, apparently. For fuck's sake. God knows I think it's an ugly waste of money but it's there now, and being limited to having it on for only 10 minutes in every hour is somewhat ridiculous.

Oh, and this list of potential vice-presidential candidates from Timothy McSweeney (via The Defective Yeti) at least made me laugh. Particularly candidates numbered 8, 9, 10, and 14. Well, it's not my problem.

liadnan: (Default)

... very depressed...

I just saw the top of my head in the offlicence's CCTV.

Bah. I shall never pull again and might as well put in my application to become a monk now.

Afternoon of drinking with Rob, Steph, Adele and David, followed by a reasonably good Greek dinner. Sadly they all buggered off home, and Anna is probably dancing to bleepy music in a field outside Winchester, so I'm morosely drinking on my own. Such is life.

I'm not sure whether Clanwilliam will be amused or irritated to know that Christopher Fildes in The Spectator has picked up on the slightly odd choice of new name Wentworth Rose went for in their rebranding exercise: Origen, and wondered whether the FSA will expect them to follow his sacrifice (bung it into google if you aren't following).

Oh, and via the self-same Speccie but originally from Waterstones Book Quarterly, a rather good exchange with Philip Pullman:

"What do you want a teenage readership to think and feel after reading His Dark Materials?"

"What I want people to feel most fervently after reading one of my books is "I must go out at once and buy his next one."

I find him an irritating man, if a brilliant writer, nonetheless I think he gets points for that.

Rather atypical racing note.... I don't usually weary you with this rubbish, but I'd like to note that in my view, when a major figure at Ladbrokes comes out with comments about "one race every day being fixed" and blames it on the internet betting exchanges, I find myself wondering just how much business said betting exchanges are taking from the high street bookies.

On the other hand... I still want to know what the fuck Kieran Fallon was up to.

New Lindsey Davis, looking pretty good so far, enough already.

blah

Apr. 29th, 2004 05:25 pm
liadnan: (Default)

Too tired to think... a day of cross-examining witnesses will do that to you. And we lost, though that came as no great surprise. And now I have to read into a case for an application in a slightly unusual bit of the High Court tomorrow blah.

So.. I shall go and read the internetwebtypething instead. All of it. All the way until I reach the End.

Ah well. Eurotrash reports that in Manhattan even the sidewalks are out to get you now. At least we don't have that problem. Do we?

***

Possibly going to see a film with S. and L. tonight. I have absolutely no idea what I want to see though. My vote is for mindless rubbish.

liadnan: (Default)

I've pulled a muscle in my shoulder, which at least makes a change from putting my back out. Only myself to blame, I suppose, for persisting in carrying huge bags up and down the country, and then continuing to carry only slightly smaller bags containing laptops and those instruments of torture I call "my new shoes" up and down the Northern Line every day; and hanging the lot off one shoulder.

I've been fairly busy this week, the more so because I'm off to sunny Bath this weekend.... and oh, it's springlike, and a semi-holiday week, and I don't feel like work. I console myself every morning by having coffee in the mad Polish café (as opposed to the mad Russian café) in Primrose Hill before sauntering into work around 10, but the upshot is I then have to bang on with the stuff into the evening. I need a personal time-manager.

Still, at least one of my cases has a black humour all of its own. Legal cases often do, though you have to have a certain cast of mind to see it (and, of course, some have no redeeming features whatsoever: a case I had a while back recommending approval of a settlement on behalf of a child almost had me in tears and feeling I was far too soft-hearted for this game).

I remember in a negligence lecture being taught about Baker v. Willoughby [1970] AC 467:

"The plaintiff was crossing a main highway when he was struck by the defendant's car, as a result of which he sustained injuries to his left leg. Both the plaintiff and the defendant had a full view of each other for at least 200 yards prior to the collision and yet neither took any evasive action. The plaintiff sued the defendant for damages in respect of his injuries, but shortly before the hearing of his action he was shot in the left leg during an armed robbery, and his left leg had to be amputated immediately...."

a major authority on concurrent tortfeasors causing related losses, because the Court of Appeal said, essentially, that he could only have damages for the road accident up to the time he in fact lost his leg anyway.

The House of Lords eventually held that:

"(2) That the plaintiff's disability could be regarded as having two causes and where, as here, the later injuries merely became a concurrent cause of the disabilities caused by the injury inflicted by the defendant they could not diminish the amount of damages payable by him, and that, accordingly, the plaintiff was entitled to the sum of £1,200 originally awarded by way of general damages."

Quite right too, logically as well as by gut feeling, but the point is that we decided to find the story highly amusing and a welcome spot of light relief (the lecturer did tell it very well).

Ho hum. Huge congrats; fingers crossed and best of luck; and my sympathy; to the various people who need those things right now.

liadnan: (Default)

It was sunny when I woke up, and I was full of the joys of Spring. Now hail sweeps across central London, and my mood.

But enough of that.

KenMcLeod of the Clan Mcleod (you did that yesterday: Ed) writes, as so many others have, on the appalling general knowledge test results coming, for once, from England rather than the Transatlantic Colonies:

Blame is being divided between the Left in the education system (downgrading 'kings and battles' history for social history) and Hollywood (making shit up). This seems fair and balanced.

...

I can think of ways in which the method of the survey could bias the results. If, for instance, people were presented with a list of names of battles, and asked to indicate which were real and which were not, wouldn't Endor and Helm's Deep sound more historical than the Little Big Horn and the Bulge? Still, I like the idea that some of my compatriots believe Harold Wilson flanked by Xena and Conan led an army of cyborgs to victory over the apes in the Battle of Woking during the Martian invasion ...

There's a novel in there somewhere.

Plus a later post on smoking bans:

In the smoking culture war, of course, 48.03% of statistics are made up, so I prefer to stick with arguments from liberty and common sense. If it turns out to 'work' in Ireland, I won't take that as a reason to oppose it less in Scotland. I'll just take it as bad news about the Irish.

Glad to know the hard left are on my side.

Anyway, having made it look as though I've made a substantial post by quoting someone else at length, and having spent the day on a fairly complicated Thing (raising the interesting question of whether long-established subtle differences that may -or may not- exist between equitable presumptions about gifts made by husbands to wives and those about gifts made by wives to husbands, usually operating to the benefit of the wife, should be revisited by the courts or left to Parliament to resolve), and having run out of breath on that last parenthesis, I shall now go forth from this place and wend my way slowly and via a cafe to Soho House, apparently, at the kind invitation of Simon. Went out with K. last night, so this idea of living quietly while I recuperate seems to have gone for a Burton. What is a Burton? Can I be bothered to google? Tune in tomorrow for the next thrilling installment...

Flights

Mar. 24th, 2004 05:36 pm
liadnan: (Default)

And there I was thinking I might be able to score a cheap flight to New York next month for The Thing after all. Apparently not: all of a sudden even Kuwait Air flights to NYC are overbooked.

This, and a variety of other minor irritations both personal and professional, has left me in a grumpy mood, which, I'm sure you'll agree, is highly unusual.

You don't agree?

Bah, humbug.

Bollocks

Mar. 18th, 2004 03:10 pm
liadnan: (Default)

I'm fucking furious: I've lost my pencilcase. Which doesn't sound like much, but (a) I've had it for years, it was leather, and I'm fond of it; and (b) it contained an antique Parker Duofold I was given by my mother when I was 18, a yardoled silver propelling pencil I was given by my godmother when I was 21 (and have you any idea how much those things cost) and the tiny brass Athenian owl I've carried around as a mascot for more than 20 years.

I suspect it's a result of being extremely drunk in the Bierodrome last night and having a crap bag that things fall out of. But I've retraced most of my steps last night, so far as I remember them, and no one seems to have it in their lost property.

***

Heigh ho. The vague muffled memories of last night are good ones. I have a suspicion I passed up an Opportunity because I thought they were too drunk to know what they wanted though. More fool me. Don't even have a phone number, though I think she has mine, for what that's worth.

***

I'm keeping an eye on I am Belle De Jour, because some of the responses are quite funny and there seem to be more by the minute, though unsurprisingly a fair proportion are a bit unoriginal. Interestingly, more than one person has suggested that BdJ is actually Lisa Hilton, which wouldn't entirely shock me, having read some of her work. Frankie, red11: either of you remember her?

Meanwhile, yesterday's Private Eye had a piece "copyright all newspapers" on "Who Is BelledeJour (cont. p94)"

And also a long, and fascinating, report by Paul Foot on the lunacy that is the PFI. Loony even in the opinion of many of Thatcher and Major's minions, it would seem. But that has nothing to do with this.

***

Off Away until next Tues.

(Edited to Add: Apparently, there is a god and I owe the charity of their choice thirty quid. Was in the Bierodrome after all, contents intact, just hadn't reached the lost property office.)

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