That was so TwentyThirteen

Farewell Thirteen

When I started this blog 365 days ago I didn’t think I’d survive until today with the new lodging arrangements. 
Sadly, my first man, Adam, is leaving me after a year of harmonious absence and the applications are rolling in for his room. 

Once again, I have to think about people in a way one never wants to, picking at personality traits that might set your teeth on edge or wondering at their bathroom usage. 

I can’t put it in the ad, but it’s only open to males, as they have to share a bathroom with my sons, who keep it surprisingly tidy. But still, I could be sued if I advertised for men only. Or could I? In contract law, is it an offer or an invitation to treat? Will their consideration be considerate or considered? In land law, will I be licensing the use of a room or providing a benefit – this was much easier when I was legally ignorant. 

In January '13 I certainly didn’t think I’d have covered first year Law by now, seeing as I only applied online after a few drinks with some barristers and decided I could do that job. Driving to lectures every night was the least appealing prospect, but that’s turned out to be a great way to dissect the day. Only problem is food havoc, not only eating before and after lectures, but snacking on jellybabies during them. 

Some male friends were perplexed at my decision; they thought it was absolutely bonkers ‘at my age’ and ‘what was the point?’ Lectures are a great pleasure, law touches every part of our lives and it's fulfilling to learn something new. Yet brushing with the law is what most of us avoid, while others live by litigation. 

That's all great, but then the first exam day came, and I knew what those men meant. The fear of the blank page, the trick questions, the memory failure, the fact that I might have studied all the wrong stuff. The big hall, the rules, the silence, the scarified looks. Then it was all over, and I had a cramp from writing for two hours, having done all the things we were warned not to, putting down anything that came into my head.

Is it any wonder I haven’t blogged in two months? That, and a defamation suit if I write about my student colleagues or, worse the lecturers. I even did a mooting competition, a mock trial, giving full expression to someting I only practiced on my children before, arguing that I am in the right...

The one thing about the legal world is it isn’t ageist, as such. People practice well into their seventies (I'm being very optimistic). The revered, former Supreme Court judge, Catherine McGuinness, qualified as a barrister at 42, that’s still young as far as I’m concerned. 

So when it came to the King’s Inns Christmas Ball I thought a good cross section of the class would go, not so. And being prevailed upon to go by the younger socialites, I just had to dust off the ball gown and tiara and step back into the 19^th century ballroom.  Then it was the vengabus to a nightclub til the early hours, gosh it’s fun being out with 20-50 year olds in tuxedos and gowns with one thing in common, exam anxiety.

So, once more into the breach we go, after a year that started in trepidation, living with strangers, coming 'out' about D v. Ireland, getting book reviews and opinion published, becoming a legal student, I know 2014 will be another hard slog for all of us, but we’ll get there yet. Please let it be soooooonnnnnn!!

Pest Control

There just had to be a drama between the time the Dail *rose* and the Supreme Court *sits* otherwise what else would I have to write about? The #royalbabyboy ‘GAL’ is so over. Collapse of trial for corruption in rezoning is so soul destroying and worst of all the Revenue trousering several hundred in property tax out of my bank account is sending me into a melancholic spiral, so much so, I’m doing two weeks Bean an Ti duty with an Italian student to cover it. I can’t remember the last time I served dinner seven nights in a row, never mind FOURTEEN.

Before the Rat Attack

When Cost Centre #2 sauntered in from his internship last night starving (they send him home in a taxi, but he doesn’t get time to eat all day, bless) he threw a withering look at the war zone that is now the garden.

‘Did you catch him?’

‘Not, yet.’

‘Everybody knows rats are the most evolved species, they’re smarter than humans, they outlived dinosaurs,' he proclaims.

At that moment the creature appears and struts around the garden sniffing for food, starting to climb up a table. It’s jaw-droppingly arrogant, to think I’ve been sitting out there for the last few weeks, thinking it was a leaf falling every time I heard a swoosh sound, it was the bastard scuttering down the wall.

‘He’s outsmarted you,’ CC#2 guffaws, ‘Rat 1 Mom Nil.’

Thanks David Attenborough.

He looks up the internet, most hits are for peanut butter, all the experts say that’s the thing they can’t resist. Cost Centre #1 is out, but at least he has set the traps with bacon so now it only fairly befalls the other one to improve the strategy. Fairness is something my sons have no concept of. Nor do I think they ever will have. Perhaps some wife along the way will beat it into them.

I donate my rubber gloves to the operation and we sacrifice a knife that will have to be thrown out. Attenborough ventures out with the bowl of peanut butter and complains bitterly about the placing of the traps. Everything anybody else does in landladyhouse is *shit* according to him. Indeed there was a book published a few years ago, just for boys like him I'm sure, called ‘Is Everything Shit, or is it just me?’ Sorry, I digress, this is painful to write.

The War Zone

Attenborough says he refuses to deal with any deck-kill as he expertly smears the peanut butter over the raw bacon.

McGyver (CC#1) returns and checks his traps, commenting Attenborough is a wimp and anyway he saw the rat first and did all the work, you get the picture.

We turn out the lights and wait for action. A Random Cat arrives to balance nature, this is when I’d normally bang the window to get rid of unwelcome feline. Oh, for my sheepdog now (she’s on her annual slimming holiday in Glandore with my neighbours).

Attenborough and I stand on seats inside and crane out the window, as if it's going to run up our legs. He points out the cats ears curving and turning as its sonar stealthily detects the position of the rat beneath the deck. The rat's sonar being more advanced it must be deflecting or disguising itself. Note I am trying to convince myself it’s in the singular, contrary to hardware man who says ‘if you see one, there’s more’.

The varmint seems to have outwitted the cat as well, the floor show ends without incident and Attenborough decamps to Playstation.

‘I told you they were smarter than humans, only them and sharks have outlived dinosaurs, you don't expect to win do you?’

It's always his parting shot.

So, this morning I survey the battlefield after the deluge, the apocalyptic thunder and lightning of last night. The rain set off one trap, the magpies and pigeons have been cheekily nipping at the others. No casualties yet. Would that they were just drowned in a sewer somewhere far away. In the meantime I’m trapped indoors.

And this should be a lovely morning when I’m sending two chapters of my novel to a charming-sounding agent. Only, guess what, the printer ink ran out on last two pages. It’s not the end of the world obviously, but I can’t print the cover letter either. This has never happened in the entire time I’ve worked at writing voluminous reports. Never did I run out of ink before. Well, Copy Graphics in Clonskeagh to the rescue.

Maybe it's a sign.

I'm fed up with signs. This life is full of them and we all know Ireland is the worst small country in the world in which to follow road signs (as opposed to the TBSCITWIWTDB*).

I'm not good on garage maps, too awkward to hold while driving, but I’m great on googlemaps. There should be a Destiny App, a Fate App, you could just go to their list of FAQs as every effing service *provider* suggests you do when there's a lack of er, service, and not just get the favourite options but the preferred answer based on your Facebook/Linkedin Family Album/horoscope menstrual cycle data.

Now there's a thought, anyone know a neighbourhood nerd I could call?

At least Pest control arrive tomorrow, they'll be taking the kids away first.

Speaking of whom, they both fell over when I told them the Italian student was 44, can't wait till I hear them try and pronounce her name, Tiziana. Tee hee.

*You'll just have to Google it, clue: Enda