Wednesday 11th August, 1667
Up and to ye Starbuckke house for a Latte, the very vapours of which do help dispel a lingering hangover, for I did make too merry last eve with my good friend Mr. Hardestuffe.
‘Twas the headline from ye Sun which did start it. ‘Man dies in sex stunt with tree’. The very thought did have us convulsed. The ladies being in the next room, Hardestuffe did question what need the unfortunate victim had of a tree, there being many a man whose wife might pass for wood in conjugal relations. I have heard it said before, yet so women do complain their husbands be brutish and brief in the marital bed. There is much in the old adage that every story hath two sides.
This morrow comes another headline, this time in ye Telegraph, which makes much of a ‘Cult of Apple’. I first think they have just heard of Sir Isaac Newton’s interesting new theory, prompted by an apple’s fall, which asserts that the same force which governs the moon does drag the fruit to earth. It is a wondrous concept and much debated, but not the thing which prompts this ejaculation. Noe, the article asks if iPods, iPads and a great swathe of other iStuffe be addictive. I do confess I am myself much taken with such slinky gadgets but it stretches credulity to the limit to say that buying music online is the ‘digital equivalent of a sexual encounter in which both parties conceal the fact that money has changed hands.’ What nonsense! The man has plainly never frequented ye Olde Slapper’s Arms on Bankside, much less His Majesty’s Court, where a rustle of petticoats and the vaguest scent of Musk may win whole estates.
I to the office where very quiet and dull. Yet here to my inboxe comes news from my Lady Lindy that the F3 conference be fixed for November. I mighty glad, for I could do with a laugh. So, dispatching my booking post haste, I down to the Dog and Dongle for an early lunch and a start on getting ye liver into training in anticipation.
These slow times do breed some strange practices. Such is the desperation of our Northern neighbours that they now do try to gain business by appearing to have City offices. My colleague, Widget, says that only last month he did see a fine piece of theatre whereby the name of one such country firm did suddenly appear on a meeting room door at the heart of Covent Garden. What wit did think that out, should take himself a percentage of the proceeds ! Barely an hour of the clock goes by and the meeting is over. Off comes the name from the door as fast as it went on, to be replaced just as quickly by another. It was, of course, nothing but a sham but from this showe, and likely the additional purchase of an 020 number, do the clients seem content to believe our yokels have prestigious London premises. Good luck to them, say I, but do wonder at the clients’ credulous nature. Did they not find it odd to be surrounded by nothing but Northern accents in a city so famous for its ethnic diversity?
Now comes my champion pigeon, Pye, bearing new instructions.I see from the LSC grant papers that we did win the worke despite cheaper quotes, which gives me a moment’s triumph. It seems some other ‘experts’ do promise a mobile phone examination, to include deleted data, for less than 200 l. I wonder at their audacity as much as their prices for, without advice of the make and model of the equipment, it be impossible to know what may be got therefrom.
This type of sharp practice, which takes advantage of the lawyers’ being ill informed on matters forensick, does make me mighty crosse. The publick purse be picked by these people, for they will make full charge whether they succeed or not, knowing none will be the wiser. All pity, too, to the man whose freedom may be lost because those he relies upon to prove his defence be indifferent or incompetent money grabbers.