Archive for October, 2007


Eid Mubarak! Where?!

Asking Timothy Weeble about the sensation of losing balance will inevitably bring an instinctive smile of knowing to his flawlessed face. He knows because he is either in a perpetual state of losing balance or because it is something he has never experienced at all. The latter sources his electrically curious ponderment on the subject, and the resultantly by-produced knowledge which could be scraped from the surface of his bubbling pool of fantastically colourful thoughts and, when applied to a slice of hole in this wisdom, would very well supersede that of one who had lost balance from fault line time to time and only considered the subject twice.

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Ramadan had just entered the room and no sooner had the formally unnecessary formalities of meeting and greeting and congratulating been signed and completed than I was vehemently being poked in the back and the rug was pulled right out from beneath me.

Boo! It’s over! Eid Mubarak!

I do beg your pardon? But I was just marching up these stairs right here and suddenly there were no more steps and my foot came down204689_organizer-copy.jpg hard and I was very surprised. As I stood swaying, somewhat stubbornly unconvinced and somewhat bewildered at the factual and seemingly evasive nature of the boo, I felt the skullabite virus creeping along my pained sinus, clutching and climbing diligently, with clear malice aforethought, from the back of my unassuming, blameless nose to what geographically feels like right there inside my head. Within the scrooge sized space of thirty seconds, sellotaped tightly as fate to the thread of time, it declared that it didn’t have to fake it if it could make it and that it had indeed made it.


In the feverish fit of fever, Eid observed me and then left just in time not to catch me when the earth rose up and hit me twice. TooReFo, my in-house research department, has rolled out the Google filing cabinet and, after a hasty perusal, informed me that it is conventional to faint with your eyes open.

‘A couple shots of alcohol should set you right.’ Paramedic George prescribed.

‘Well, I don’t drink. Anything else I could try?’

‘Nah, don’t do anything.’

Technically, in such a collapse, one does not experience the delightful, quasi-outer-body phenomenon of physical detachment [losing balance]- only that of one moment being stood with an intention to gargle and the next minute feeling the floor wrap itself around you and the radiator trying to intervene. Then you find your way up but the floor insists once again.

Gravity, gravity, gravity. It holds down my journals as I fill them with spells and theories that do everything but abide by Newton’s laws. In His praise, my feet are always ten feet off the ground.

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LOST

If you already know what I’m talking about, the chances are that you have my lost item.

LOST:

3 USB Keys (1xBPP + 1x256MB + 1x1GB) all attached to a chain with a BELL (so I WILL hear you if you jingle around campus with my USB’s- you’re not smart enough to hand them in so you’re probably not smart enough to remove the bell AND/OR you’re just evil and/or forgetful- I don’t really like to judge) and a kogepan of great sentimental value is also attached to the chain.

This is a kogepan*:

 

My 3 USB keys were last seen in the ground floor reception computer room. They contain personal documents of immense importance, blog notes (how you found your way here), photographs and my work. BOOOOO!

The BPP USB will make MY journey to being a lawyer much easier and this is of particular relevance to YOU as I will probably get to defend you for someTHING one day. Wooooo.

There is a MASSIVE REWARD for finding it and handing it in to reception.

Don’t be mean!

Sob!

What will I lose next? My house keys? Am I going to step out in front of a bus? Fall down the stairs? Fall into the gap that I’m constantly told I should be minding? Am I going to lose my mind? Where was my mind- where was I when my USBs were jingling out to me, with the voice that I dressed them with, asking me to stop and pick them up? Am I going to fail my exams? Fail everything? Such brainskip behaviour is profoundly unacceptable. And JUST as I was beginning to be inspired….

* Kogepan is a ‘burnt bread [boy]’ and is a character creation of Sanrio. His story is rather poignant and his ethic is encouraging. He was a small ball of dough, just like all the others. But when he was being removed from the oven after becoming a joyous roll of bread, he fell from the back end of the tray and was burnt in the heat of the flames and now nobody wants to buy him. He is unblissfully unaware that, were he to be bought, he would be eaten. In his sourness, he sits around drinking milk all day and feeling divorced from the world. But this does not detract from my own feeling of loss so give me back my USBs.

Obiter Dictum

And thus, it does commence: Law School for the diligently flavoured Arabist. 0900 hours until 1800 hours a day. And then a whole lot more. And yes, I [the Arabist] am now required to stop using my poetic licence by starting sentences with ‘and’ and ‘but’ and to employ plain English and Latin phrases which, my Noddies, are not just translations- oh no. They are regal embodiments of entire philosophically decided doctrines and precisely travelled histories in themselves. And let us not forget the double negation, the triple negation, the nonsensical brain freezing negation. Even the canteen is persistent in trying the oaths we made to ourselves when committing to offer up our nesses [nesses] for the sake of the sitting sweet court structure concepts.

HOT WATER ONLY IS NOT AVAILABLE FROM THESE MACHINES

If Boro Pat saw this sign at the tea machine in his cafe, there would be words- angular and punchy Northern words. Spuggeh. Harry II did warn me about the plain English demands as he neeeooowed through the foreign lands, carrying his bursting acting career (aaakh thu) in his backpack.

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I shan’t defend badger killers. I shall defend my right to bloj ultra vires exhaustion. I shall employ the Latin, be it erroneous or not. I shall be the scribe of my land using the ink of my eye and maintain my right to be perfectly articulate in the bounds of my externally abstracted picket fence.

My resolution stands wisely, tall and powerful with mud grimed over the bottom of its legs in a heroic and admirable manner. It is, after all, the aftermath of an over hyped test. Holland and Webb and the Induction Manual, both concreted believers in their opposing take on the ‘fact’, faced one another in stalemate. But which to take as my advisory ally? And which to tear up insanely? I visualise glowing diagrams and revise with catatonic gestures, re-mapping the images, voodooed in the air and leaving it out in the atmosphere for later reference.

Noor, on the other hand, had consolidated detailed knowledge of the workings of the entire English Legal System into four succinct digits. But then, he saw the sign in the canteen which knocked the four numbers clean out of his head and he had to write them in thickly spreading ink on the panicked palm of his hand in order to remember them.

But this, right here, is my space. And, here, I can start with ‘and’ and ‘but’ [but never without a capital letter] and not cross them out when two negatives don’t make a positive and stop grinding my teeth at The Protection of Badgers Act 1992.

“S. 2 (1) A person is guilty of an offence if-

[…]

(d) he uses for the purpose of killing or taking a badger any firearm other than a smooth bore weapon of not less than 20 bore or a rifle using ammunition having a muzzle energy of not less than 160 foot-pounds and a bullet weighing not less than 38 grains.”

Mike kills a badger using a smooth bore weapon of 18 bore. Has an offence been committed?

Jane kills a badger with a rifle using ammunition with muzzle energy of 170 foot-pounds and a bullet weighing 45 grains. Has an offence been committed?

They do! They wibble and wobble when your baby nephew comes and pokes the little unoffending green froggy but, of course, despite exhausting itself from trying, it can find no way of falling down. Child. Proof. Just like every single one of us, yes, yes? Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down. Like a seed of an apple that dances out of its hollow and into your mouth when you bite that close, this axiom, too, speaks only the truth of the matter. For the sake of authoritative ness I must know how to say this in Latin and then cite it often. And that really is all this one is about.

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