I limited myself to just over two hundred quid on books this month. There are so many more volumes I wish I could buy, but one particular tome merits special attention. It is A.E. Douglas' critical edition of Cicero's Brutus. Long since out of print, this gorgeous little Oxford 'Red' weighed in at a £100 (and even that's a bargain). Which means there are comparatively few Oxford Critical editions that I do not yet own. Of all the books I own, these take pride of place upon my shelf (with the exception of Cambridge University's Greek and Latin Classics - again critical editions and commentaries). None of these books are less than an arm's reach upon my not inconsiderable shelves. Each book is placed in order of its importance to my current workload. So, at the moment, I have (almost) everything on law within reach. There are some books which are a shelf or two away, but most of the important ones are to hand (namely Cicero, Demosthenes, Lysias, Isocrates, and as from today: Isaeus - not forgetting the frivolous modern law books, which are, in truth, more important). However, I am firmly a classicist, not a lawyer. I am still in two minds about 'investing' (throwing money down the drain?) in my education.
Can one justify spending so much on yet another degree, when the first two have led me absolutely nowhere but in debt? I remember the words of Albert Pike (quoted by Manly Hall), when he refused an honourary degree from a University. "When I came in need of an education, you could not provide one. Now I am no longer in need of an education, I respectfully decline."
Today, I had fully intended to rant about my workplace, how the brutes from foreign climes keep the food in bags, going cold for half an hour, more, then the customer rings up complaining it's cold. (This is due to impatience, and wanting to save an extra 30 seconds on delivery time, Captain Bligh loses the customer because the food is already cold before it's been sent out - such is Dark Age Britain, when uneducated thugs, scarcely out of the trees, rule the roost, where education, intellect, compassion mean nothing). Instead, I thought I would talk about books (my favourite subject).
Oh, and there was the frivolous and trifling matter of my day off. As surely as Helios traversed his nadir, led by the chariot which orbits Nerthus, the World, we were bang on it, ready to rock. I could have perhaps been more moderate, and have maybe should have been, but it was my day off: I intended to have a jolly good time. The luthier was there, and I appreciated him defending me when some unkempt fellow railed against me (who is not necessarily a bad man, just a tad to harsh). Then came the whisky and the rum and the Belgian ale (and the rest...). Before long I had trouble getting to the gig. The luthier even refused me entrance into his house, because I was so inebriated. Still I staggered on, like Leonardo di Caprio's character in The Wolf of Wall Street, "Yes, I can crawl, like Skyler". In any case, I was sufficiently cognisant to make it to the gig (just), motor functions notwithstanding. Fortunately, I had enough sense to only order halfs at the bar, and only light ale. It was a good night. I met some interesting musicians, some of whom I had met earlier in the day. Just before I went into work today I happened to pass another guy that was there. He really liked the music I played. It's a good feeling.
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