I have been summonsed to appear before a judge.
I suppose that you are waiting for some sort of lightly witty explanation for that opening sentence leading into a digressive foray among foreign mores.
But it is actually and strictly true.
This afternoon an official notification on a folded and stapled piece of A4 with my name and street and no house number on it was (worryingly and accurately) deposited in my mail box. This informed me that I would have to present myself in the offices of the Justice Department in connection with a case.
It would have been fair to say that I was somewhat bemused and eager to experience another facet of the rich life of Catalonia.
Toni could elucidate little from the fairly brief communication and merely asked me if I had committed a murder of which he was unaware. Hastening to assure him that my homicidal tendencies had been kept well within check for the past few months or so, I decided to visit the offices indicated on the headed notepaper and try and discover more.
Consumed as I was with the usual middle class ‘guilt-acceptance syndrome’ which is the typical response to any official communication from legal authorities, I worried my way through a convincing and instantly generated list of possible ‘crimes’ of which I could be guilty. And worried more about the ones that I couldn’t think of but of which I was undoubtedly guilty.
The ownership of a car is incompatible with a guilt free life. Even the most law abiding of citizens cannot drive for more than a few minutes without breaking more than a couple of the regulations which define motoring. Let alone taxes local and national and insurance.
The visit to the legal offices offered the information that my presence in the courts was necessary for me to receive information in connection with my denunciation of The Owner of The School That Sacked Me when she refused to divulge the total amount of money collected for the Readathon for Burma and what had happened to the money raised.
The arrogant, ignorant and deeply unprofessional (if you can be unprofessional with a complete lack of professional qualifications) woman has allowed a simple request for information to develop into this court case! No parent, child or teacher in the school has been informed of what has happened to the money. Her paranoia is such a deeply ingrained part of her dysfunctional ‘personality’ that even positive information that any other school would be proud to publicize cannot be released because it would obviously be a sign of weakness! Sad, bad woman!
It would be an absolute delight if she was present, but I fear that her usual attitude to courts and legal action is that they are slight irritations like the occasional blackhead and she feels that she can well afford to ignore them. If I have anything to do with it (and I do) this blackhead is going to turn into a very nasty suppurating boil, possibly turning gangrenous and with the involvement of the Atlanta Infectious Disease Center leading to quarantine, amputation and eventual . . .
I think I rather let that image run away with me, but surely taking a simile and treating it like a metaphor and giving it its head is one of the joys of writing.
And I believe in sympathetic magic!
I suppose that you are waiting for some sort of lightly witty explanation for that opening sentence leading into a digressive foray among foreign mores.
But it is actually and strictly true.
This afternoon an official notification on a folded and stapled piece of A4 with my name and street and no house number on it was (worryingly and accurately) deposited in my mail box. This informed me that I would have to present myself in the offices of the Justice Department in connection with a case.
It would have been fair to say that I was somewhat bemused and eager to experience another facet of the rich life of Catalonia.
Toni could elucidate little from the fairly brief communication and merely asked me if I had committed a murder of which he was unaware. Hastening to assure him that my homicidal tendencies had been kept well within check for the past few months or so, I decided to visit the offices indicated on the headed notepaper and try and discover more.
Consumed as I was with the usual middle class ‘guilt-acceptance syndrome’ which is the typical response to any official communication from legal authorities, I worried my way through a convincing and instantly generated list of possible ‘crimes’ of which I could be guilty. And worried more about the ones that I couldn’t think of but of which I was undoubtedly guilty.
The ownership of a car is incompatible with a guilt free life. Even the most law abiding of citizens cannot drive for more than a few minutes without breaking more than a couple of the regulations which define motoring. Let alone taxes local and national and insurance.
The visit to the legal offices offered the information that my presence in the courts was necessary for me to receive information in connection with my denunciation of The Owner of The School That Sacked Me when she refused to divulge the total amount of money collected for the Readathon for Burma and what had happened to the money raised.
The arrogant, ignorant and deeply unprofessional (if you can be unprofessional with a complete lack of professional qualifications) woman has allowed a simple request for information to develop into this court case! No parent, child or teacher in the school has been informed of what has happened to the money. Her paranoia is such a deeply ingrained part of her dysfunctional ‘personality’ that even positive information that any other school would be proud to publicize cannot be released because it would obviously be a sign of weakness! Sad, bad woman!
It would be an absolute delight if she was present, but I fear that her usual attitude to courts and legal action is that they are slight irritations like the occasional blackhead and she feels that she can well afford to ignore them. If I have anything to do with it (and I do) this blackhead is going to turn into a very nasty suppurating boil, possibly turning gangrenous and with the involvement of the Atlanta Infectious Disease Center leading to quarantine, amputation and eventual . . .
I think I rather let that image run away with me, but surely taking a simile and treating it like a metaphor and giving it its head is one of the joys of writing.
And I believe in sympathetic magic!
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