Verbal Diarrhea

Blimey - I have a lot of things I want to talk about. Nothing changes then. I shall confine myself to snippets. A trusted source tells me there are quite a few people reading this blog. This comes as a suprise to me - i shall endeavour to write more. In exchange, dear reader, I would ask that perhaps you might encourage me with occassional comments.

Today, after a very nervous weekend (apologies to those who I frantically texted requesting prayer - this is a habit of mine. I am not sure whether it really annoys people), I finally began my job. I got up at 5.30am, and caught a train all the way down to Grantham County Court. Perhaps it is just because it was raining, but it seemed to me that Grantham is a slightly grimy sort of place. I trapsed along through the suburbs to a large concrete court complex where I staked out an interview room with plastic chairs and a table that would not be out of place in a school dinner hall. There being no usher (the judge just yelled through a loudspeaker when he wanted the next case on), I had to emerge intermittently from my hole and shout for the defendants. One of them, in a possession claim, didnt turn up. This made my application, when I finally got before the judge, rather simple. The other case was another kettle of fish entirely and demanded some persistence on my part. Still, I dont want to talk about the hearings on the internet really, so I shall move on. Upon emerging from the court, I engaged upon a complicated journey home, upon which light was cast by the station announcer at Grantham informing the assembled masses of the number of shopping days left before Christmas. I also discovered that if you put Lemon and Ginger teabags into a Thermos flask and leave it for a few hours, the result is a stew of great potency which would not be out of place in rougher parts of Moscow methinks. Later today I did my regular trip to the local post office to send my files back to London. The local post office in York is most entertaining. A delightful lady of a certain age engages one in the most relaxing conversation, entirely ambivilant to the crumbling concrete safe behind her with a two inch thick steel door lying ajar within reach of her customers. Readers take note: This is why one moves to the north. That and the opportunity to walk out in the moors where silence rules and one finds oneself sucked into the kind of deep, rambling conversation that is remembered for months afterwards. I simply adore such exchanges.

Finally, listen to Radio 4 at about 5.45am - Nothing beats the 'Rule Brittania' themed medley which forms the bridge between the World Service and Farming Today.

Credits: Jean Ross is presently keeping me alive through an informal meal exchange system without which I would most likely have got so passionate about recent conversations (as above) or so desperate about my next case that I would have forgotten what food is.

You must all come and visit.