Diary of a Dublin Landlady

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

The facts of the matter are, er, em...



The Hallowe'en Kids 1994, sob
It was the born again moment, when in a slow dawning the class realised that all our random, roaming, tangential thinking patterns would have to be erased; we were now being trained as 'legal minds'

The tallest man in the class put his head in his hands and cried 'I want to leave this course.'

Sitting at four tables, facing into little groups, some well experienced, skilled people kept coming up with the wrong answers, 'but, but, but, what if?' we cried.

'No, no, no.' She in the black regalia repeated.

'Don't get seduced by the facts, what do you have to remember?'

Blank faces all round.

'La, la, la,' she hinted.
Somebody hesitantly suggested, 'Law'.
'Cor-rect,' she hissed.

Terrible thing, I am now dreaming in law-speak and find myself starting sentences with 'the facts of the case are'. 

Bewilderment is a great bond, this mixed bag of a class are going to the local pub for a Hallowe'en fancy dress party on Friday, enthusiastically. And you should see the local pub. Scary even when it's not Hallowe'en.

And in a happily accidental change in reading pleasure, I'm enjoying American legal theory. My prodigal lodger came back from a long odyssey and is already gone on another one. He was here long enough to introduce me to Jack Reacher. I told him my head was numb from law books and he reckoned if his classics-oriented wife liked 'One Shot' then I would too.

So, I have Jack Reacher in bed, as have millions of women before me, yet he's still refreshing. The only thing about Kindle, I can't even stroke the page, safe text guaranteed.

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