Early female barristers in the UK and creative writing

Dear Diary,

Despite the fact that I seem to have a flair for the study of law (although this has yet to be tested thoroughly...), I am becoming less and less inclined to study it as a subject, formally, and more and more inclined to use it, as a tool for creative writing. Stumbling across illustrious historical persons in the legal profession, namely Helena Normanton Q.C. (a 'silk' id est of the élite) and Ivy Williams, during the course of my reading, gives me food for thought about a fictitious character that is an early female barrister. Perhaps the most curious person is Jane Archer M.B.E. (known as 'Jane Sissmore' elsewhere). This person's life is so secret, that she does not even make it into the Oxford National Dictionary of Biography, not because she was a lady (for there are many illustrious female scholars, adventurers and pioneers in the ONDB), but because of her connections to SIS. Wikipedia, however, is for once at least, more reliable than the Oxford Dictionary. I confess, I am fascinated by these important female pioneers. I should like very much for my protagonist to be a barrister (I refer to my female detective stories which I have been working on for the past six years or so - on and off). The time line matches, more or less. I will have to evolve the characters somewhat in order to do this. My main character, for example, has the same academic specialism as I do (for what else can I write about except for a subject which I have been studying for twelve years now?...). Yet, I would make a barrister of her yet. Being of good family, means her character doesn't need to scrape around for pennies in the gutter, but studies and undertakes (freelance) detective work simply because it occupies her mind, which, like her father's is over-active and requires exercise. She studies simply because she likes studying. She solves mysteries simply because she loves getting to the bottom of the matter and unravelling its core. She is discreet, extremely so, and just as polite. She - like her father - has her 'demons' (foibles), but this is perfectly proper, and in fact, makes the character more human, not being such a paragon of excellence, but more like a woman with an iron will, utterly fearless, but deep down, beneath her mask, she is as gentle as a dove and has tender feelings which she rarely - if ever - shows. Strictly professional. It's an interesting muse, indeed, she is an interesting muse. I shall tell you more about it once the first collection of stories is published.

This brings me to my second point. I should like the early days to be a kind of courtship between her and her side-kick, a certain other student at their alma mater. While undergraduates, they meet, and - eventually - fall in love (though this is only ever hinted at, and certainly never explicitly stated). Then, later on, he becomes a doctor, and her: a barrister (after she realises that her passion for antiquities are just that: ancient history, and that the law is where it's at). This, however, breaks a number of cardinal rules: firstly, her absolute discretion. How can she prosecute one of the suspects in the story, if (a) she is not even supposed to mention their existence to the authorities? and (b) she is not even supposed to mention the victim to the authorities? (but instead remain absolutely discreet). Well, this is not the case in every case. There will undoubtably be cases where there are trials. Yet, what about the clerk of the court? How can she be assigned a case, when it is evident that she has a vested interest in the case, has been party to it, and was instrumental in bringing the culprit to justice? Well, for a start, this is fiction, so there are no hard and fast rules. Yet this isn't good enough, so, I feel that the character's ability to tread extremely carefully, and operate in the shadows, with absolute discretion, will ensure that she seems to have no connection to the said case. Moreover, she is a woman, and an extremely beautiful and indeed persuasive woman at that (when needs be). So it would be quite possible for her to, say... be assigned a particular case, should she wish to be, through the gentle female art of persuasion, tactfully, discreetly, of course - much like my ex-fiancée has and still does, moving in such high circles ('the great and the good' as she calls them) for example. For a woman, anything is possible, especially when men can be so very fickle and easily manipulated.

As for Hades, I am becoming less and less enthralled about that place. Even on a relatively 'quiet' Saturday night, with minimal fuss, it is still very evident that this place is run by a most unreasonable loud mouthed dictator. Although Bligh outranks the oompa loompa, this particular person is extremely distasteful. Nobody moves! (She commanded imperiously this evening). Nobody, that is, except her. Nobody speaks! (She commanded, as though jelous Juno, imbued with arbitrary decrees). Nobody, that is, except her and the Lilliputian (her sister). I remember once being told to stay completely still, even though a fire had broken out. This is completely beyond the bounds of reason. It is a dictatorship.

Potential new opportunities, a breakthrough and a review of objectives (goals)

Dear Diary,

Denzel Washington once said in a motivational speech at a university in the States, that you should set yourself goals, daily goals, weekly goals, monthly goals. The goals I had set myself, I feel, were unrealistic. How is it that I have earned two degrees and am still only working doing unskilled labour for minimum wage beneath a bunch of Eastern European thugs and young teenaged tyrants? Furthermore, my illusions and rose-tinted view of the criminal justice system have also been rapidly shattered due to reading the Secret Barrister's works. The theory is far detached from the reality, and although it is easy to poke holes and critique a system which otherwise works well in many cases, the under-funding of the CPS and the police have left quite a mark on the UK's criminal justice system, and it is not - I feel - a place where I may be welcomed with open arms and become 'one of the family'. I'm a commoner. I was educated at a regular school. Barristers are ‘anxious to give the impression of legal pedigree’ and ‘snobbery is ingrained’ (Anonymous, 2022, pp.35-36 cf. pp.41-42 [Nothing But the Truth]). My education since then has led nowhere. Moreover, Hades has become increasingly frustrating lately, so much so that I've been applying for new jobs (again unskilled labour for minimum wage - but what else are you going to do with your master's degree in classical Latin in Dark Age Britain? Not a lot, is the true answer). I am living proof of this very real fact.

However, there is something which I am extremely good at, and that's writing. Prosaic nonsense (novels, short stories, whatever) or indeed the much more heavenly and divine writing style (and indeed more challenging to write): elegant poetic forms, I'm really rather gifted at writing, by the grace of God, and indeed well trained.

In any case, I truly hope that I get this kitchen job I applied for, because I've had it with the simpleton from the village, the voiciferous and vitriolic oompa loompa and the foul mouthed Lilliputian and Wild One. There is, however, the fact that one of my colleagues holds a degree in web design from the University of Bath (he is a nice chap, having attended an excellent school - and I mean extremely good, outmatched by only one other around here: Malborough, which is very nobby indeed). Having attended the very finest schools, holding a degree in a useful subject from one of the better universities, naturally he does unskilled labour for minimum wage: because this is Dark Age Britain: there’s absolutely no doubt about that. The gentleman-scholar has agreed to help me with my eBook and book formatting, for a fee of course (which I offered), and this only after much gentle persuasion. So, instead of hammering away at yet another four years of being poor, fronting £1,614 per module (plus interest!), I've decided, after much deliberation, to put the brakes on this degree idea. I can always pick it up another time. There are other - much more important - things I could be doing, like learning how to drive and getting a car, for a start. (It should be noted that this other gentleman-scholar drives, and so of course, he does unskilled labour for minimum wage, naturally).

I can use what I've learnt on the law course (much of which I have decided to research happens to fall just before the time in which my female detective series is set) to finish my female detective stories, and publish some of those. (They are the greatest pieces of prose work I have ever written). A keen knowledge of the law during this period is useful for a writer of detective stories. Moreover, I already have many books which are either complete or very nearly complete: translations, and indeed my magnum opus the national epic: Boadicea: Queen of the Iceni. I can become a writer, it's possible, if only thanks to my colleague at work that writes well written well optimised code. What's more, I have already bought a book on HTML5 and CSS3 (thinking I was going to have to do it all from scratch myself), so can edit and the code at will, and learn a lot in doing so. I am quite content to be a writer and translator. I even found another colleague at work (who's since quit to do freelancing accounting on the side, in addition to becoming a chartered accountant). This person used one word, in the description of her work, which I prize most highly: honesty. Yes, I have found an honest accountant. She described my business as precisely what it is, in quantative methods' terms: 'a micro-entity'. Therefore the accounts for my firm, at least to begin with, will be easily done, perhaps even in a day for a whole year. I need to have my finances in order, and the tax return all done well in order to be able to survive. I will need to register the business, and begin trading.

I have heard from other writers that don't sell very many books indeed, that they simply write more books and more books, until they have enough passive income streams to be able to write for a living. I don't intend to do that with sub-standard novels (as they do), but only with extremely well written, re-drafted, well-structured, well-planned, well-researched works. For example, one of my translations was the subject of my final dissertation at university on the master's degree, therefore, shall we say, "I know a little bit about it" (to use British understatement...). If one searches for this work at the university's library, one only has one result returned. That's it. I had to go the extra mile to research this work, asking fellow colleagues and friends that are academics to get hold of some of the rarer papers on the topic. Moreover, I have invested much time and money in acquiring books on the work, so I have a large pool of rich information from which to draw on. This edition of this work will also be comparatively cheap (the only two other translations - barring one other, done over two hundred years ago - retail for £25 or £170!). I will, of course, undercut the competition considerably, just like Denzel Washington's character in American Gangster, "I'm a Renaissance man." I sell the highest quality product (far outweighing anything the competition has to offer) at a cut down price. Why? Because I can. Self-publishing earns the author many more royalties than traditional publishing. "I'm a Renaissance man." Remember also, that this is just one book I have already translated. There are numerous ones completed already.

So what's the goal for 2023? I'm looking at gaps in the market, books that there are no other translations available anywhere else (in physical form at least). I'll corner the market on those. There is also another book, on the syllabus, of which there is only one other translation available, done over fifty years ago and a pretty inaccurate one at that (in places at least). I can make it out of Hades, claw my way back up to the Light, like Orpheus and Eurydice. I have to just have one thing: faith. Keep pushing, keep working, keep on keeping on. The law was a nice little hobby and everything (which would have cost a mere £15,000, what a bargain, eh?) but mmmmmmm.... no. I think not, somehow. For what? For example, the junior criminal barristers were lately on strike for working for less than minimum wage, effectively (this is also mentioned in the Secret Barrister's works - so this has been the case for years now), one all the overheads of doing the job are factored in (not least of which a £500 wig!). Moreover, many university lecturers went on strike just the other day over pay (there have been many strikes over the past half a dozen years by university lecturers, I might add), so that job is out of the window. Yesterday I noticed a work opportunity on the university's law website. It was becoming a prison guard working for free! This is slavery, which ever way you cut it. Yet this is the way things have been for a very long time. For example, read Pliny the Youngers letters to the Emperor Trajan (10.19-20), writing perhaps at the beginning of the second century of the Christian Era, to which Trajan replied, nihil opus sit, mi Secunde carissime, ad continendas custodias plures commilitones converti. perseveremus in ea consuetudine, quae isti provinciae est, ut per publicos servos custodiantur. ("There should be no work [of this kind], my dearest [Gaius Plinius] Secundus [minor], to have switched many [slave-]prison guards for soldiers. We should persevere in the custom which is at that province of yours (Bithynia), that they [the prisoners] should be guarded by public slaves" [10.20.1 - my translation]). Therefore, this tradition which the university advertises and the state endorses, is a very ancient one. Why not use slave labour to take care of prisoners?

A day off, the law course and Euclio's new/old job

Dear Diary,

My day off was relatively mundane, except for the fact that I happened to stroll into town and in the course of my studying (for as Plutarch said of Scipio: he was never so busy as when he had nothing to do) at a local tavern (the 'battery farm drinkers' - normally I opt for a higher brow establishment, but being a law student and working full time means I am poor, naturally. This is Britain 2022, not Elizabethan England) Divine Providence ensured that I happened to cross paths with the luthier. It was nice to see him, for I haven't seen him in a while. We shared a drink (I, the finest Belgian ale, him, a lager of another kind, but certainly not the cheapest, as the man has good taste, if not excellent) and caught up. He welcomed me to his home where we played music together, and I thanked him for his hospitality.

The evening was uneventful.

The next day, I had to return to Hades, but enough of that for now. In my 'down' time (while not reading law), I am reading Stories of the Law (etc.) by the "Secret Barrister". Aside from learning some interesting and useful facts about being a barrister (the reality of which is far removed from mere theoretical works on the subject), I am becoming less and less enthused about becoming a barrister. It's not just the poor pay, the heavy work load, the extremely long hours, but it is the state of the UK's criminal justice system which concerns me. There is something good in all of this studying, though: inspiration for writing prose fiction (this being the literary Dark Ages means that prosaic fiction is rated far more highly than epic plays, magnificent poetry, or the works of Hesiod, Homer, Virgil or Ovid: this isn't the time of Lorenzo d'Medici in Florence: it's Dark Age Britain). Becoming a junior criminal barrister is for poor people (hence why they, like university lecturers and train drivers) are all on strike at the moment. I even read that they earn less than minimum wage, once expenses are factored in (this is written in the Secret Barrister's works). So what's the incentive? Well, there is none, almost. There is the fact that becoming a barrister (much like becoming a doctor) is a great honour. There is also a like similie that junior doctors, just like junior criminal barristers (in this country at least...) get shafted, financially.

Hades was... annoying. The simpleton from the village insists on doing his preposterous yardy pseudo-Jamaican accent the entire time. Some of what he says comes in the form of veiled threats. This has been going on for four... whole... days... now. According to the luthier (who used to live among ex-Jamaicans in London), it is unwise to put on such an accent. Not only is it very disrespectful, but it is also most impolite. One could very well land in hot water, so to speak, having used such an accent among ethnic minorities. It is incorrect. Yet more than that, the Londoner luthier told me why people do it: to (try and) make others fear them. The little boy doesn't scare me, and he certainly never addresses me in that accent (at least, when we are alone). It is always best to be one's self. I suspect that this young man's mind is beginning to unravel, and not in a good way.

Euclio has a new job. Well, his old job back, clothed in fresh garments, working under his old boss. I am happy for the man, sincerely.

A (potential) new job possibility and the law course

Dear Diary,

No shop talk. Hades was... Tartarus. On a brighter and much less dreary note, there appears to be a new start-up hiring translators at the moment. I applied straight away, despite having no formal qualification in French. Having lived there for years and holding two degrees in classical Latin should help. I would like to think I get the job, God willing, because it will mean getting out of Hades, at least for a while (the position was listed as 'casual' - therefore it is doubtful whether there will be regular work). It would be enough to get through this course, being able to pay my university fees on time, buy the required books (and then there are silly things like rent and food to worry about, of secondary importance I suppose). It would be enough to know that I do a job which is at least loosely related to something I spent twelve years studying at university towards (even if it is a completely different language, several thousands of years removed from the language I spent twelve years studying. Surely this is not 1463 in Florence under Cosimo d'Medici: it's Dark Age Britain).

The law course is going quite well. I can't sleep for some reason, and there appears to be a mosquito in my room (this species of insect has only relatively recently migrated to the UK, thanks to global warming - previously they could not make it across the Channel. The only reason I know it's a mosquito is from its distinctive sound just before it injects you, having lived abroad for years). So, alongside reading the relevant official literature and bona fides law books, I am reading the Secret Barrister's works alongside, as a little 'light' reading. I have begun Stories of the Law and How it's Broken today, and I am pleased to say that the (anonymous) author does not employ anywhere near as many profanities in this work as he or she did in Nothing But the Truth. It is actually quite informative for a would-be barrister, as much as it is soul destroying, painting a picture of this country's legal system in stark colours. It makes me pity people like caseworkers for the CPS, police officers and all the other people in the legal profession, at the amount of stripping away and cuts to this nation's once proud legal system. To cite just a couple of examples, he or she writes that:

"Sitting at the long bench in front of me is Megan, the Crown Prosecution Service['s] caseworker, who is the court['s] representative of the prosecuting agency instructing me as their advocate to take down Mr [Defendant]. Once upon a time this would have been a CPS lawyer, but repeated budget cuts mean that there is now usually a single adminstrative caseworker covering multiple courtrooms, and rushing around to tend the demands of multiple barristers and multiple judges." (Anonymous, 2018, p.34).

On pp.180-184 he or she goes into some detail regarding these cuts and austerity measures, which have nearly crippled the courts in being able to dispense justice properly, meaning that many criminals each year get away with crimes, even when there is no reason for them to be able to escape being brought to justice. The author also highlights the parliamentary report beginning with the words 'the criminal justice system is close to breaking point' (p.14) published in 2016, in light of the legislation introduced which slashed legal aid to ribbons, thus denying justice to many of the poor.

On the up side, the author discusses very many crucial elements to the evolution and history of our justice system (many of which are being eroded as I speak) which are invaluable to a keen student of the law. For example, on p.41 the author writes:

"In 1791, in a trial at the Old Bailey, celebrity barrister [of the day] William Garrow sternly told the judge that 'every man is presumed to be innocent until proven guilty'. This was the first formal articulation of what would, in 1935, be described by the Court of Appeal as 'the golden thread' running through the web of English criminal law - the presumption of innocence, and the burden of proof. Its application in practice - that the prosecution must prove its case beyond reasonable doubt."

Of the many law texts I have read so far, I do not recall this being mentioned in even one, whereas it should really be in all of them, in truth. It is anecdotes like these, and indeed insights into the criminal justice system, that make these books extremely valuable to the keen student of the law in the UK. (I make notes as I read them). I will not cite them in an assignment of course, but the author does provide end-notes in many cases, and cites statutes or (less often) landmark cases, each of which can be followed up and cited in an assignment. Good night Diary.

A little morning drama

Dear Diary,

There is a friend of Euclio ('Stalin') and I that lives near here. She is a kind person, but sadly was diagnosed with cancer some years ago. She just called the house and I dashed to the phone (I usually simply ignore it, but something inside me told me to run downstairs and answer it). I accidentally pressed 'speaker phone' when answering. It was said lady, and she didn't seem herself, her voice was really quite different, not herself at all. After passing Euclio the phone, in a rare moment of succor, Euclio jumped on his bike and rode off. I dashed outside and inquired whether the lady was alright. He said that he wasn't sure whether to call an ambulance. Therefore, I called an ambulance, giving them her phone number. (What was Euclio going to do? Comfort her as she dies? Get her a pillow? This situation requires trained paramedics, with equipment and the means to get the lady to a hospital). I should imagine that the person on the end of the phone (999) once he hears what the lady sounds like, will probably ensure that an ambulance is sent, for it is an emergency. I should hope so anyway. It's just another day, but not like usual. I hope she's alright. Evidently she's not alright, she's dying of cancer. In any case, I hope she's okay.

I applied for another job yesterday. Naturally it has nothing to do with what I spent 12 years studying at university, but that's okay: this isn't Elizabethan England or Renaissance Italy: it's Dark Age Britain. The job basically involves watching popular culture movies (Marvel/DC) then writing short favourable reviews of them. I am starting to think that I should have bought comic books rather than ancient primary sources, infused with wisdom and abounding in knowledge (for had I large comic book collection, I would certainly be more well-placed in a job like this). Yet this isn't the Abbasid Caliphate, where knowledge and wisdom are actually worth something: we live in the Dark Ages, where comic books mean more than university degrees.

How was my day? Well, let me see. Firstly, I had to ensure that the lady was alright. She was rushed to hospital, with Euclio in tow, helping out as best he could (will wonders never cease?). It is nice to know that the authorities have it in hand, that she is safe, and recovering.

There was a video call today between certain members and colleagues of our law course. It is always nice to speak with other intellectuals, and especially nice when I am the only gentleman among a bevvy of swans: fair maidens. Sadly most are spoken for, but still, it was nice to peacock plume a little. They seemed to think I was somehow intelligent. We have to remember that many of my colleagues are also extremely well educated people, so it's important to be humble, sincerely. I wasn't as humble as could have been, of course: I was my usual bright self. I am no genius. My I.Q. is only 139, one point below genius. The late savant Didier Deman said, when I mentioned this, that, "the test must be wrong." In any case, it was nice to meet some other intellectuals, each from their own scholastic background. One scholar, took the precise same approach as I have to the current assignment: working backwards. Some students simply go through the paces, without a second thought to what's coming. I've studied with this institution enough to know that reading ahead works. On (the now obsolete) A200 module [Medieval and Modern History], for example, if one reads ahead, one gains an advantage on one's current assignment. The university is very smart: for example, each module tied seamlessly into the next. Many of these modules are now long gone, which is a shame, but by the grace of God, I have been extremely blessed by having benefitted from a certain amount of 'old school' education (especially Latin), but also been able to study many modules in which I have been a part of the first cohort: the guinea pigs. This means I have had the privilege of studying both the good old-fashioned style of studying, blended with the very latest research and methods. Similarly, the module I am currently studying is brand new, which is great. It was a sincere pleasure to meet fellow intellectuals, bright damsels, like elegant blue butterflies, flitting from flower to flower, each sporting beneath the sun as its rays pierce the verdant branches of old England's trees and green shoots, like warm beams of pure benevolence, calming the soul, in stillness and tranquility.

Then came Hades. The simpleton from the village has become especially annoying. Instead of making the sound of a duck or a moor hen, he has now taken to doing a very poor and most distateful impression of a Jamaican rastafarian. He's no Dan Acroyd (Trading Places), he was more like Gene Wilder in Silver Streak, for hours, and hours, and hours. He's been doing this absurd and really quite offensive impression since yesterday, and keeps on doing it. (Remember, this is the boy that falsely accused me of being a racist! And was soon admonished when the truth came to light, I might add. I still have a permenant burn on my arm when I happened to catch some hot pans on it, a perpetual reminder of that ill-omened evening). This is a simpleton from the village. He's never lived in Chapeltown in Leeds or Moss Side in Manchester, or Brixton, London. One day he's going to do that impression - and God help him if he does - in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he'll get more than a sharp word, not from some honkey like me, but by someone that doesn't find it funny. Needless to say, he didn't dare address me in that ridiculous tone. Maturity doesn't come over night, and around me - for some strange reason - he feels obliged to be mature, peering at my grey beard, knowing well that while he was in daipers, I was already 30 something. This, is my "superior", my better, my boss. This, is Dark Age Britain, where age, experience, being a decent human being, being well educated, polite, mindful, considerate, compassionate, kind, all mean absolutely nothing. It is a nation of savages.

The essay: a change in light of a rather curious book

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I was really quite sure that I had my heart set on citing Loughlin's book review as my chosen article. Today, however, the book arrived (I speak of Mark D. Walters' A.V. Dicey and the Common Law Constitutional Tradition - A Legal Turn of Mind published by Cambridge University Press). It is a remarkable work, sincerely. More than simply outlining a biography (yet another biography) of Dicey's really quite curious life and works, it also highlights a number of other important works on the subject of constitutional law. I am only part way through the work, but from the first page I find it compelling, interesting and eminently readable. I shall most certainly be choosing that as my chosen academic source, rather than a mere book review. Among the works cited there is a certain book entitled Constitutional Justice by Trevor Allen (2001) which may yet prove to be informative reading.

I like Dicey, very much. Evidently, his work(s) - for better or worse - have left an indelible mark upon the history of the UK constitution, and shall almost certainly remain so (even if there are a number of scalding and partisan critiques of his life's works). Does Dicey still remain relevant? To me he does, though I am well aware that there are many others that do not believe so. Perhaps one of the most interesting things about this book, is that the author - Mark Walters - has taken the time and trouble to eagerly seek out very many personal letters written to and from Dicey, upon which he draws during the course of its pages. It is rather like an overview of Pliny the Younger's works, or perhaps even Cicero's. Even as someone that has become disillusioned with politics, someone that no longer votes, and comes from a... background of tending towards the edges of the political horseshoe, I find Dicey really quite a fascinating character. He is liberal, almost scientific in his treatment of the UK (well, English) constitution. A 'Mid-Victorian' as he described himself, he was eccentric, brilliant, far underrated in his own time, and underachiever (in his own eyes at least). Dicey never attained his goals: wishing a successful political career as an orator, or indeed as a judge, and he even refused a knighthood! Dicey strikes me as a kind of 'all or nothing' type of chap, and I like that, very much.

Today I searched in vain in the supermarket for that fair flower whose attentions gravitated towards me yesterday. I should think nothing of this, but I do. I thought, perhaps, that this charming thirty-something might have finished work at the same time as she did yesterday, and be there again, but alas no. It is of no consequence. Should it be the will of Divine Providence, our paths may yet cross again.

Work (Hades) was as it always is, a boring chore. Though there were moments of levity, this is merely the calm before the storm, for weekends are always the toughest. I cannot help but feel in the back of my mind that all this reading, all the study I have done, amounts to nothing, nay, less than nothing (to the tune of £25,000, minus the hundreds and hundreds of pounds spent on books). Still, I press on, undettered. I should imagine that even if I am of no value here, in my once beloved homeland, that there are places in the world where holding a master's degree actually means something. It is quite certain that were I in any country in the world other than this one, I would be held in much higher regard than I am here, and that I would certainly not be doing unskilled labour for the barest minimum remuneration.

The first assignment (that, and a chance meeting with a beautiful stranger).

Dear Diary,

I've been racking my brains for how on earth I'm going to plan, research, write, re-write, re-write again, then sumbit this first law assignment. My tutor's advice (which I believe is sound) is "not to overthink it". It 'ain't my first rodeo, not by a long shot, and this should be like shootin' fish, a walk in the park, easy meat. However, I have several concerns and reservations. Firstly: every mark counts. I have to get a first (which means getting 86% or more on each essay [at very many other universities you only need 70%]). My marks have been steadily improving, but I will not settle for less than a first. The chances are I probably won't get a first (though I might...). I have to. Why? It's a book I read by Peter Hennessey (not one of his more notable works on law or politics, interestingly, this one's about nuclear war: The Secret State). Hennessey discusses the infamous "Cambridge Five" and in his discussion of them, it is quite plain that in this country, you don't get anywhere unless you get a first. I'll be back in McDonald's before I know it. A degree in classical Latin? A master's? Now a law degree? All they mean, in this country, is that you work in McDonald's. That's it. It is not a civilised country (though it pretends - and pretends very well - to be). There is no point in becoming university educated, here, now, in Dark Age Britain, unless you get a first. That's the reality. People may tell you otherwise, but they don't know what they're talking about.

I remember seeing one hard-nosed industrialist (himself not university educated) from up north somewhere, and he says to his interviewees: "Why didn't you get a first? You should have got a first, you're lazy." This is evidence that there is absolutely no point in becoming university educated, unless you get a first. Sure, elsewhere in the world you can do something other than unskilled labour with three degrees, but not in Dark Age Britain. In fact, I know, personally, several people with multiple degrees, distinction students, and they all do unskilled labour for minimum wage, here, now, in Dark Age Britain. That's the reality, not f-ing Rainbowland. (It makes me think I should have studied English Lit', Documentary Photography [cop out subjects] or Music [something I already know a great deal about, having been a professional musician for more than twenty years]). Now, if you're some nobby prick that never did a day's work in your life (such as our former Prime Minister, for example - the one which was booted out for sleaze), you don't need a first, but for the rest of us, you do.

So, I've been over thinking this essay, and over thinking it, and overthinking it. However, in overthinking it, I've read a lot, and made notes. I haven't read as much as I should have (mainly because I'm six episodes away from finishing watching all five seasons of Breaking Bad - which is a great show by the way, in case you haven't seen it [though it's still nowhere as good as House of Cards - British or American]). Anyhow, I've ordered a bunch of books, and am drilling my way through them steadily. Here are a list of the following titles I have invested in recently:

Public Law (Elliott and Thomas, OUP, 2nd ed.) [Public Law 3rd ed. is the set text for this course]
Complete Public Law (Webley and Samuels, OUP, 4th ed.)
Blackstone's statutes: Public Law and Human Rights (only the 2019 ed.)
Plato: The Statesman (trans. Skemp [for old time's sake])
Aristotle: Politics (only Jowett's trans.)
Introduction to the Study of the Law of the Constitution Albert Venn Dicey (8th ed. [1915 - his last edition before he died])
The Spirit of the Laws Charles Montesquieu (trans. Nugent) [I also invested in a commentary, in French]
Nothing But the Truth (The Secret Barrister)
Stories of the Law and How it's Broken (The Secret Barrister)
Fake Law (The Secret Barrister) [these last three are purely for practical purposes]
A.V. Dicey and the Common Law Constitutional Tradition: A Legal Turn of Mind (by Mark Walters Cambridge University Press)

That last one is (probably) going to be the subject of my essay (well, a scalding book review of it, and only because that is more recent 2022, as opposed to 2020). By extension, it will be about Dicey's Study of the Law of the Constitution (someone I am particularly interested in). We have to choose a case study for one part of the assignment, so I have chosen Jackson v Attorney General (2006). This is because it relates to parliamentary sovereignty (one of the five choices for the rubric). I almost went for the rule of law, but I feel that parliamentary sovereignty is more topical (basically because the Lord Advocate Dorothy Bains mentioned Dicey very recently in the context of parliamentary sovereignty, in her first session before the Supreme Court on the 11th of October: Reference by the Lord Advocate of devolution issues under paragraph 34 of Schedule 6 to the Scotland Act 1998 (UKSC 2022/0098)). I did notice, that she also mentioned the Jackson case, so this all ties in nicely (well, almost, because in truth her case was about a referendum, and when she cited Dicey, she did not cite his Study of the Law of the Constitution but another article he had written). In any case, I'm overthinking things, as per usual.

Hades is not worth mentioning. However, while in the supermarket today I happened to be browsing the bakery section when a rather comely looking lady and I met. We locked eyes and smiled. I was somewhat timid, so went to another aisle. Suddenly, she appeared next to me, stopped where I stopped. Then, when I went to the checkout, she chose the one immediately next to me, and began singing (at low volume). I don't know if this was merely coincidence, but I sometimes play music in this town, sometimes the piano, sometimes the guitar, and I always sing. It may be nothing. She was perhaps in her early thirties, and works among nature. It is, at least, nice to know that I appear attractive to a member of the opposite sex, her age (and she was really quite beautiful).

A surprisingly pleasant evening, and one's career prospects

Dear Diary,

At that... place (Hades), it was relatively quiet this evening. As a result, the oompa loompa was not yelling and throwing things (as usual), Bligh was on shore leave, again searching for his elusive bread-fruit, even the Lilliputian was comparatively pleasant (though her usual explitives [which are really quite unnecessary] virtually every other word were, as always in attendance). Naturally, as I went about my most servile and base duties (being the basest slave that ever subsisted in this once mighty nation) I listened to Handel's Messiah. This merely became a source of ridicule, but one has developed a rhinocerine skin, being among the very lowest dregs of society: brutes without reason, barbarians, savages with absolutely no taste (save garish baubles and trinkets, and not a book read between them). Yet, enough of Hades. Let us think on more elevated and notable matters.

I like the law, very much, just as I like fine Belgian craft ale, but I love classical studies, just as I love the very finest full-bodied Italian red vintage. Yes, there is the slimmest chance that Almighty God may yet permit me to become one of the elect (what I term the 'Diceyean orthodoxy', not one of the 'silks' [King's Counsels], but at the very least, a competent would-be barrister in the back-woods provinces: at the discretion of the judiciary, of course). It is not impossible, though, like some rich man that had no sense of humanity or kindness being able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, there is perhaps more chance of a camel making it through the eye of a needle. Two things happened today, one for, one against, my maintaining morale at a high, a persevering towards such a goal as this.

There is a man there, not particularly well read (none of them are), simple, but kind hearted. He is a rough diamond, but is venerable and kind, and almost always in good humour. He talked to me about the common noun focus. I immediately replied that the noun stems from the Latin, but did not tell him what it means. Upon his return (for he had duties to attend) we explored it further. I imparted my knowledge, which is that focus is a Latin word, meaning the hearth of the family home: the place where one's ancestral gods were placed (idols), the central fireplace which the family sat around, the focus (cf. Horace, Letters 1.5.7: "The fireplace burns for a long while now, and the furniture is clean for you" iamdudum splendet focus et tibi munda supellex [my translation]). This chap's idea of focus was grammatically and etymologically incorrect, yet sometimes a source of wisdom comes not in the form of a well educated, polite, kind, pious and moral philosopher, but sometimes in the form of an uneducated bumpkin from the provinces. His take on focus was as an acronym: Follow One Course Until Successful. I thought about his meaning, not merely in terms of focusing (to use the word as a present participle, in the King's English) on the job in hand, but also what I am to do about the law. I ought to abandon it. It's twelve years now I've been studying Latin (and ancient Greek), so it would be foolish to abandon such studies now, just because this is a nation of slaves, beggars and savage wild-men, with absolutely no respect for people with a classical education. It's a big wide world out there, and this is just one... little... island.

On the other hand, on my way home, a fellow that lives in the same village as me, encouraged me to become a barrister, in spite of its 'nobby' culture. According to the Secret Barrister ‘snobbery is ingrained’ ([Anonymous Author], 2022, pp.41-42 [Nothing But the Truth]). It's possible, maybe. I have the day off tomorrow, so for now, I am reading Montesquieu (De l'esprit des lois), that, and trying not to indulge in watching Breaking Bad.

No shop talk (the law and my future)

Dear Diary,

I won't talk about Hades (work), as it probably bores you as much as it does me.

I had only listened to a podcast of The Secret Barrister's Nothing But The Truth (an abridged narration, very abridged). However, yesterday, the book arrived. Aside from highlighting some very important points, mistakes she (or he?...) made and indeed well laid traps would be (potential) barristers may fall into, it is quite evident that this is an extremely 'nobby' occupation. I am again having second thoughts about the whole affair.

The thing is, I already had a good job in France: resident piano player at the Grand Hotel in Gerardmer (a ski resort in the mountains). The only reason I began studying in the first place was to prove to the late savant Didier Deman that the British won the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. I thought, perhaps, I could lecture in classical studies. But this isn't France: it's Dark Age Britain. Only nobby types that never did a day's work in their sorry ass lives get to study classics nowadays. (The government struck both classics and archaeology off the syllabus in 2016: the same year I graduated). Classical studies was the veritable cornerstone of university education ever since the late 13th century and the first great flowering of Higher Education (in places like Ravenna, Paris, Oxford and Cambridge). Everyone from Karl Marx, to Adam Smith, Carl Jung, John Stuart Mill, Charles Montesquieu and even Albert Venn Dicey all had a sound grounding in the classics (to name but a few...). In a single stroke, just one generation of austerity and public service cuts, the people that presume to rule over us destroyed a literary tradition harking back over 700 years, and even further than that (almost two thousand years) before universities became well established. This, is why it is the Dark Age, here, in Britain, today. Imagine a world without Adam Smith? It would not be the world which we know today.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the reason I became a classicist (because Didier died in 2016, the same time I graduated) was to become a classicist. Not be bullied and pushed around by 18 year old tyrants for minimum wage in some dive of a fast food place (it cannot be called a 'restaurant' because legally, it is not a restaurant. There is no cutlery, no toilet, even: the people in this country are savages, and would do most anything to save a quick buck, even if it means eating with their bare hands and not having any sanitation, just like animals, or the brute beasts that are in charge there). I certainly didn't study classics to become a lawyer. If I study law, it is with the objective of becoming a lawyer. There is no other reason. Seeing as (in light of The Secret Barrister's works) that outcome is reduced to an extremely low order of probability, I have decided to not pursue yet a third degree, keeping me poor for yet another four years (the course fees are in excess of £1,600, and that's just for one module, never mind the many which are to follow). I cannot justify sinking yet more money (paid up front, I might add) into some qualification which will just leave me worse off than I already am. I already did that, I hold two degrees, and am still far worse off, now, than I was before I began studying. You see, I already had a good job, but then again, I wasn't in this country, which is fit only for beggars, slaves and animals (unless, of course, you happen to be a crook, most especially a crook in the City of London: a banker [Sorry, I didn't spell that correctly, it ought to be spelled prefixed with a 'w']).

A little set to in Hades: hot-air, juvenile brutes and conflict resolution

Dear Diary,

Although my arm seems to be healing rather well, it still causes me a little pain. I believe I may have also fractured my left elbow some time ago, having hit my 'funny' bone, which normally heals comparatively quickly, but causes me a shooting pain each time I lift anything such as a large book. It is more a mild irritant than a serious injury. In any case, speaking of which...

This evening at that... place, across the dolorous Acheron, came the simpleton from the village. As I said before, he's been having a rough time recently, so one ought to be kind, compassionate, empathetic, considerate, mindful, which I most certainly am. I understand he's been through the mill a bit (his self-harming is clearly evident of this) and it is best in such a situation to be as nice and as understanding as possible. Yet these are not reasonable people (if 'people' they can be called...). They are not ruled by reason, but rather at the whim of their emotions, like a candle in the wind, passive receivers, not active agents. Everything was going swell at work. People were laughing and joking. All was well. Then, from out of nowhere, this... mild irritation came straight up to me and told me that should I ask for assistance this evening, that he was going to smack me in the face. I do not take kindly to threats, and my compassion, while virtually boundless, nevertheless has its limits. I let it slide, attributing it to his evident psychological defects. Yet as I mulled over the consequences of his threat, I began to wonder what would likely happen if I did ask for help (Saturday nights are the busiest in Hades, so it is necessary that I would have to ask for help, at some point). So, this is how it went (remember, this person is my boss, my superior, though he is scarcely past 18 years of age and is most certainly not university educated, still only being in college).

Maximus: I'll have you know, that the last person that threatened to do that to me ended up in jail for four years.

Simpleton from the village: So what? A four year stretch, that's nothing. (He has never spent any time in jail).

Maximus: You might threaten the little kids at school, boy, but you don't... scare... me.

Simpleton: (just glares at me, trying to look tough).

Maximus: Moreover, I study (criminal) law.

Simpleton: (continues glaring)

Maximus: What's more, I have no (criminal) record.

Simpleton: That is surprising.

Maximus: You haven't even moved out of your parents' place, so don't try and bully me, boy.

Some times passes, and eventually I extend the olive branch by extending my hand, offering to shake his. He did not shake it, but said it was nothing. We smoothed things over. This is what happens when you study Latin at university to master's degree level in Dark Age Britain: it is a nation of savages, brutes, void of all reason, ruled over by juvenile bullies and foreign gangsters.

The law degree is still on course. I am determind to finish it, and attain a first. Besides, how else can I be of service to France?...

The Secret Barrister (and other musings)

Dear Diary,

Yesterday Bligh called me in only to have me do the worst job: scraping a year's worth of gunk out of the pans. My shoulder is almost dislocated from repetitive strain injury (because I do the same motion on the conveyor belt every day). This has now reached critical mass. I have decided to cut short my law degree (because my arm is about to fall off), and emigrate a lot sooner than expected. I already have two degrees, so a third is unnecessary. Besides, there are no opportunities here: education is meaningless.

Moreover, after ordering The Secret Barrister's works (I have only heard the podcast so far) it will be quite plain that there is just no way I can make headway in this profession. It is for nobby types that never did a day's work in their lives, looking condescendingly down their nostrils at "mere mortals", helping their corrupt rich friends get even richer while getting the guilty acquitted. That's okay too: crime is Britain's "virtue".

I will leave you with a few lines from Boadicea: Queen of the Iceni

Decianus Catus:
The Britons will offer the earth, but truth
ousts their false promises. They’re hollow,
as a rotten oak tree with looks of youth,
but by closely looking if you follow
their empty promises, their oaths sworn
before the immortal gods, proves Britain
does not keep its word, which is why it’s called
perfidious Albion. Give your all
for this so-called country and see how far
it gets you! Rome is true, an honest friend,
a faithful companion in times of need
or plenty, a true friend, that’s far beyond
anything this small island of wild-men
could possibly offer. Britain’s untrue,
changeable as Caledonian hues.
It is a nation of slaves and beggars.
They talk a good fight, but don’t deliver.
They don’t put their money where their mouth is,
but believe, Rome honours its promises.
A man’s only as good as his word,
Britain’s word is not worth a single thing.
There’s no future, no opportunity,
no hope, no joy, nothing which is worthy.

The worth of education in Britain (and moving house: not).

Dear Diary,

It seems to me, that I ought to have learnt Hungarian, rather than Latin or ancient Greek, at university. Why? Because learning Latin and ancient Greek, in Britain 2022 is a complete and utter waste of time. Didier warned me about it. He said, "Max, if you become a scholar, you will be extremely marginalised." This is absolutely true. Tonight, for example, at Hades, the oompa loompa happened to mention dragons. I explained that the regular noun dragon stems from the ancient Greek noun drakon and that, depending on how it is translated, means either a snake, or a large snake, or a mythical beast. I cited Apollonius of Rhodes (one which I thought they might be familiar with, being unlettered, untutored and completely ignorant of bookish learning, their only access to classical culture being through popular culture). Alas, this was met with derision and scorn, because, well, that's what you do with a master's degree in classical studies in Dark Age Britain: get the piss taken out of you while you slave away under Eastern European bullies, gangsters and tyrants. This is not a civilised country, even if it pretends (and pretends very well) to be. The British have no stomach for a fight. They have no balls, which is precisely why everyone's on strike retrospectively, because they haven't stood up for their rights, until it's too late already. The French, however, do have balls, cajones, guts. Moreover, when the French say they'll offer you a job, they actually mean it (which is completely unlike the British: having no honour, but merely deception and base intimidation, no different to the brainless thugs I work under).

In any case, I very much doubt that studying law here, in Dark Age Britain, will lead anywhere. Why? How? Because I've been studying for twelve years already, and I am far worse off, here, now, than ever I was before I began studying. That's okay too. I am the meanest most basest slave that ever subsisted in this once, formerly great nation. But it's alright. Why? Because there is nothing the French like more than a rebel Briton. The French take any opportunity to poke holes in Britain, to inflame and exaggerate any of Britain's flaws. Do you think, that with three degrees, one with an intimate familiarity in UK law, I would be mopping floors, cleaning the gunk out of pans, and at the behest of Eastern European thugs if I lived in France? Absolutely not. Even without three pieces of paper (which are no better than toilet roll, here, now, in Dark Age Britain, having no significance whatsoever except as a form of ridicule and inverted snobbery by my 'learned' colleagues) I do well in France. Why? Because I've been there, and done it, degrees or no degrees. Moreover, I'm polite, hard working, talented, good with languages, compassionate, kind, mindful, respectful: all these traits mean less than nothing here, in Dark Age Britain, for it is a nation of beggars, paupers and slaves. For evidence of this, we need look only to one of the keystone authors of legality, Charles de Montesquieu. In his Esprit des lois he writes, "As education in monarchies tends to raise and ennoble the mind, in despotic governments its only aim is to debase it. Here it must necessarily be servile... Every tyrant is... a slave." (trans. Thomas Nugent, 2020 [1748], p.60 [The Spirit of the Laws]).

In the illustrious history of mankind, there are very few instances when a well educated slave is worth less than an uneducated slave. Yet this is Dark Age Britain. The natural order here is inverted, the exact opposite of what it should be. If you don't believe me, I would urge you to read The Secret Barrister's works. This is clear cut evidence, that Britain is run by crooks, for crooks. In one book I own, there was a very famous gangster. He killed a lot of people for money. On the day of the trial in which he was acquitted he said, "British justice? Best in the world: if you can afford it."

There is another issue, at Hades. There's this guy who has split up with his missus relatively recently. He wants back in. He says he's from Burma (Mayanmar) but according to the testimony of others, he's a Chinaman. It doesn't actually matter (much) to me where he's from: that's for the Home Office to decide. Anyway. The bigger thug (Captain Bligh's older sibling) tried to 'push' me to move in with him. I said no, offering my best friend a place instead (the lady from Carthage). She said no. The upshot is that I have been homeless for a very long time. Moreover, this older thug will turf anyone out at the drop of a hat. I have seen him fire a guy that's worked for the company for five years in an instant, over something trivial. In addition, another employee, that has worked there for the best part of two decades was fired just the other day, again over something most trivial. These people do not have the capacity to reason. They are more brutish beasts than human beings, scarcely out of the trees. Would I trust my home, my life, little Ronulus and all, to him, that would simply let go of a person that had given twenty whole years to the company, over something which irritated him at that particular moment (such as a word spoken in haste or the failure to apologise for being merely ten minutes' late? [Which were the causes of these people being fired]). No no no no no no. In my world, I rely on reasonable lines of argument, unbias, compassionate, considerate, like a judge, but never some brutish gangster (his dog is actually named 'gangster' by the way, which gives you an idea of what he is like as a person) that would drop you over something so very frivolous, merely because he is impatient and unwilling to listen to the voice of reason.

Different levels of knowing and understanding

Dear Diary,

Didier, an inspiration, and a great friend of mine (before he died in an alleged car 'accident': the safest driver in France died from speeding, apparently) once said, "There are those that know (savoir) and those that do not know." There are many layers to society, and we are not just talking about the educated and the uneducated (to greater and lesser degrees), but many more spheres (literally spheres). There are other worlds, of which very few people are even aware of (except perhaps in dreams, and even then, often only dismissed as mere phantasms and chimeras). This knowledge is sacred. It is, in fact, more than just knowledge, but wisdom, divine wisdom.

I met such a fellow today. He is not an unlikable person, but in fact, quite amicable. Even so, like so many, he (often) takes the easy route, rather than the difficult and more rewarding route to such knowledge (I speak of using intoxicants to fast track out of body experiences: which are actually unneccessary to the serious practitioner). Even so, he was amicable, and we got on well. Most importantly of all, he told me of a lawyer he worked for (well, for the lady's mother, as a gardner). Of all the cases she is proud of (according to this gentleman's testimony, and I have no reason to doubt the veracity of this account, though it is, in truth, merely anecdotal and unsubstantiated) it is one to do with magic which she is most proud of. The client had recently visited Africa, returned to Britain and committed a serious act of fraud. Why might this case be important? Well, because there are different levels of knowing. She got the client off, surprisingly. How she did this, I do not know, but you can bet your bottom dollar that the judge must have been an insider, someone in the know. There are those that know, and those that do not, as Didier once said. Seemingly, the client had been put under a hex or spell of voodoo magic. We're not just talking about pulling rabbits out of hats, or the defamatory term in modern psychology ('magical thinking') which attempts to rationalise or explain away wrong headedness by labelling it with the pejorative term 'magic'. Of course, many of the scientific community dismiss this as superstition and mere foolishness. Yet it is those that do not believe, those with no faith, that are forever barred from the higher spheres where the real knowledge is contained. "Be still, and know that I am God." says the Good Book (Psalm 46:10 cf. Corpus Hermeticum 8.5 [my translation]).

The riot at the WhatsApp group: doing what's best, moving on

Dear Diary,

Facebook, WhatsApp, whatever, it's all just a distraction from what law students should be doing, which is studying, hard. Yesterday, the gibbous moon, Luna, Selene, Diana's bow waxing from crescent to in her full power, with her faerie train (so long as the modern and ancient hermetic traditions to be followed, which, I believe down to my very bones to be true, because they are. Even at the first line of the Emerald Tablet, comes the words, "This is the truth, really, and nothing but the unvarnished truth.") had arrived at an impasse. Yet the whole group was shut down, and a new group started, for better or worse: polite, considerate, mindful, in good faith.

Never mind that s-. Let's talk about Hades, the Infernal Regions. (Meanwhile, the guy with the law degree, been workin' there since 2016, longer than the store's boss even, doesn't even get a look in). So anyway, the simpleton from the village rocks up. But this time it's different. He's started smoking. More than that, what appeared to be some kind of chicken pox or measles on his [left] arm, turn out, upon closer inspection to be evidence of self-harming. (He is right handed. In addition, another member of staff has visible signs of self harming done in almost exactly the same manner, only many years ago. This may or may not be related to the case: association is not (necessarily) evidence of causation [beyond reasonable doubt]). Moreover, instead of making the sound of a chicken or moor hen, the guy is all down and s-. This tells me something. Something is going on. Me, as an outsider, doesn't hear much. All I hear are whispers, spirits on the wind. Yet, as James Oliver Rigney once wrote (WoT): the servant hears everything, sees everything. One is ever watchful, ever vigilant, ears and eyes open. From what I can discern, there is some kind of domestic issue involving the simpleton from the village's sister. It involves a baby. Anyway. It's none of my business, but instead of being cold and offish, I decided (as is only right and proper) to take a concern about the boy's well being. I empathise, as best I can, sincerely, amicably. He doesn't want to know, and, moreover, appears to confide in anyone and everyone besides me. That's okay. This is the guy that once having the mere prospect of base coitus with the Lilliputian, concocted a fabricated story, contrived by her, imparted to him, that I am a racist. My daughter is Jewish for heaven's sake. My best friend is from Tunisia (Carthage, Roman North Africa). That put pay to all that, in the past (because Captain Bligh took my word over his, because I am honest, upright. I don't f- about, but only tell it how it is, straight up. Anyhow. The simpleton from the village has gone off the rails. Even after his two weeks off, he still can't keep it together. Therefore, what had one ought to do? Be as supportive, and as kind, and as sincere and friendly as we possibly can. This man is my enemy, and my boss (of only 18 years of age), therefore I ought to be just as the Good Samaritan. I should be as nice and as pleasant and as good a person I can be to him. This is the way of loving kindness, compassion, and treating one's neighbour as good as one's self.

I did find it curious though, that although the Lilliputian and the simpleton from the village have done (and still do, along with the oompa loompa) unspeakable things in futile attempts to tarnish one's good reputation, there is one thing that remains: work. If you work hard. If you do good work, then that is noticed. It is said in the Good Book, to let one's work speak for oneself. I was raised on the principle that one does a job to the very best of one's ability. That's how I was brought up. We all were, in our family, no exceptions.

Never mind Hades, the Infernal Regions (and there's a lot more going on there than bears thinking about, by the way), let's get back to cases. The translations can go hang (for the moment). I've been thinking a lot about my law degree. The first assignment is due in only three weeks. Yet you're looking at a guy with an M.A. in classical Latin for pity's sake. This is a goddamn walk in the park compared to learning ancient Greek. A piece of piss. Easy meat. Sincerely. The very few parts of Dicey which are written in French or Latin (and there are quite a few, scattered here and wide) I read at sight, because I have studied. I've already put the work in. It's like just tying up a few loose ends. The dregs and dribs and drabs of what I have already known already (because I take a keen interest in current affairs, politics, the financial markets, these things interest me). However, there are a number of important, fundamental points which I most certainly was unaware of, which is where this new set text comes in. It's such a great book (the set text for W211), but already out of date since it was published (2022). Even today, in just a few hours, the Supreme Court will pass judgment on a ruling regarding the Scottish referendum. These will be two most historic days in the illustrious past of the (formerly) great nation. What will the outcome be? (I already know, being a keen student of the law). Will I tell you? Absolutely not.

The first cohort (guinea pigs) on the post-graduate law degree: an old friend

Dear Diary,

I get it. This whole exercise (my first assignment) on the law degree is about proving that you've searched on the web (an appropriate law database, or good old Google or even Google Scholar) for some article or so. Yet, therein lies the problem. I love books too much. I have lately fallen in love with two dear friends: (1) A.V. Dicey's Study of the Law (as it's [apparently] known for short: Introduction to the Study of the Law of the Constitution - first published in 1885). (2) Turpin and Tomkins' British Government and the Constitution. The set text is also excellent.

Whom do I choose? The question comes in two forms, so I've set myself the task of evaluating the PROMPT (which I dub ROMP: Relevance, Objectivity, Method[ology] and Provenance/[biography]) criteria for these two sources, and the prognosis is not looking good. Yes Dicey is still read and indeed still relevant in some quarters, but not in others. Like Arnold van Gennep in anthropology, Dicey remains to be an influential author, still on the syllabus today.

But he's over a hundred years ago for heaven's sake, and in an England which was at its zenith. Then there is Turpin and Tomkins. Tomkins is a problem, well, he's not a problem, but holds a different view to that of the set text. Moreover, this work is older (2008) so before Brexit, Covid and the War. Do I go with the set text? My instinct tells me not to, my gut. On the other hand, never-mind intuition, we require marks. Magna Carta, the Bill of Rights, whatever. The 'T' in PROMPT stands for 'timliness' (id est contemporary). I prefer to think it means timelessness, like Dicey, or van Gennep, or even Homer himself.

Negotiations - methods which (sometimes) work, those which (sometimes) fail

Dear Diary,

So I just had to sit around reading waiting for like three hours until the company which has hired me to eventually come to the negotiating table and negotiate a deal. They did so facelessly, but it was amicable, I suppose. There was a study conducted by the University of California which identified twelve words which people respond positively to. I wrote them out and put them just beyond the laptop, and used them in the last stage of negotiations. This took the negotiator from "continue working on it" to "I'll get back to you", so that was an epic-fail. I don't know how or why, only that using too many of them in one single sentence may have the opposite effect: in that it is too good to be true. In any case, I also listened to some of Chris Voss' lectures on how to negotiate. This was more helpful, but ultimately I wasn't able to strike a deal. In all honesty, I'm relieved. The company will do precisely what they did last time. They will scour the internet, unsuccessfully for someone that can do it quicker and cheaper, then they will eventually come back to me and ask me to perform miracles. Who the hell else do you know that has spent the last twelve years mastering Latin and learning Latin palaeography? Nobody, that's who (well, nobody that isn't already employed in a decent job). I now have to go in and be under the orders of Bligh, the Lilliputian and the oompa loompa (Bligh is back from his search for breadfruit). Education? Meaningless, well, in Dark Age Britain at least.

I guess it is not unlike the hyper-popular yet also paradoxically hyper-unpopular former American President and instigator of a rebellion Donald Trump said, "Sometimes, you just have to waalk away." And that, is probably what I'll end up doing. Why? Because I've already invalidated the terms of my contract, and throwing myself at the mercy of the Pharisees and Saducees, historically, has not always been a wise idea (the company is based in Tel-Aviv). Got to go, duty calls: that is, my duties taking out the trash, mopping floors, cleaning the gunk out of pans and serving fast food, because, well, that's what you do with a master's degree in classical Latin in Dark Age Britain. This is not Renaissance Italy, evidently.

Learning from one's mistakes

Dear Diary,

I have to be honest. As an under-grad' I was a complete tool. I handled this... particular situation with a colleague particularly badly. I jumped to conclusions, didn't look before I leapt, and ended up with a call by Her Majesty's Constabulary to my house (at the time a Mexican opera singer was visiting). Although, perhaps unconnected, and quite possibly coincidence, I have been unsubscribed from the university's fora email list. At the same time, the same surname, given by the officer that visited me at my home to issue a warning, appears on the fora. This is just coincidence. There is no evidence that this particular colleague is the very same person. However, it may not be. Either way, it is best to learn from one's mistakes. Morihei Ueshiba said in his Art of Peace (as translated by John Stevens) that, "Each mistake teaches us something." It is best to be courteous, kind, respectful, polite and on good terms (as far as is possible) with all men (and indeed women).

It could also be a sign. The fora are unimportant, relatively speaking. Okay, so one or two of the assignments are actually assessed (graded) on our performance on the fora. That notwithstanding, I figure that reading the course materials, absorbing the likes of Alberty Venn Dicey, Charles Montesquieu, John Stuart Mill and also John Locke, are more important than 'peacock pluming' on the fora. There is also primary legislation and case law, constitutional conventions and academic literature, all of which are especially important.

Do I regret having spoken to a fellow colleague (who only wished to be a good friend to me, and I mishandled the situation grossly, even if my phone was being interfered with on a daily basis which drove me up the wall - at the time)? Yes, very much. Have I learnt from that mistake? Absolutely. I remember one person being particularly unkind to me in a dead-end job I was in. This man was nasty (I mean, utterly heartless). Another boss I had at the time (at a gig I used to play, a residency) gave me what was the best piece of advice I ever received: "Be as kind, and polite, and as nice to him as possible." It worked. Therefore, I suppose it is best to skirt round the fora, and instead focus on study. Despite the long arm of the law getting involved in our little... misunderstanding, there is still a channel of communication open, which I can explore, through an alias, discreetly. This person is an extremely good example of what it is to be a human being: understanding, empathetic, well read (brilliant even, a great intellectual, and a good person). Whether it is or is not them on the fora, I should not really give consideration, but treat all my fellow colleagues with equal respect and kindness. Yet, if it is them, then I ought to be especially careful and considerate. We'll see.

Like I said: there's no evidence. For example, on my last course there was someone named 'Steve Pearson' which was precisely the same name as a most excellent guitarist I once travelled with for many years. It was not him, yet he had the same name. Therefore, just because someone has the same name, does not mean it is necessarily the same person. Coincidence, right?

Some academic work (and another weekend over)

Dear Diary,

I spent this morning reading law, then after a brief siesta (as I get older, I tend to take more naps now) I attended a virtual ice-breaker, a kind of informal tutorial. Meeting our tutor was nice. She seems like a good tutor (I have never been assigned a bad one by the university). Reading law is heavy duty, I'll be honest, but I am - more or less - enjoying it. The historical and political elements I find fascinating, but they are of considerably less importance when compared to understanding to the law as it stands today (black-letter law, case law, statutes, torts, that kind of thing). This particular course is all about constitutional law. Even if I didn't study any more law modules (a distinct possibility, considering their price and the risk-versus-reward element) it is nice to more fully understand things like Brexit, the general principles of law (in the U.K.) and also learning about the constitution in places like Namibia and the Ukraine (the latter being a hot topic).

After a shift at that... place (ᾍδης), I had a tight deadline to make on editing a computer studies assignment. I made it with 56 minutes to spare. It's not bad, being an academic editor, and I wish I had more academic work. Whereas many Dons are really very knowledeagble, their respective academic specialisms means that they often have expert knowledge in one particular field. Being an editor for numerous universities (by extension, through a firm in the private sector) means I get exposure to a wide variety of different subjects, and become party to the culture in each one. It is not always classical studies (rarely, in fact).

Even so, I'm glad to have found a few little niches in the translation business. Niches are very important, crucial, in fact. Having a monopoly on certain translations is going to be quite lucrative, and I have had quite enough scrabbling around for pennies doing unskilled labour in the same job I did when I was 14, now I am 44 (holding a master's degree makes absolutely no difference in Dark Age Britain, whatsoever). But that's okay: everybody knows that the British don't keep their word, well, almost everybody (that is, except the British).

A new translation job - and potentially, much more than that...

Dear Diary,

Hades was a pain in the backside, but enough about that... place.

I returned to my humble scriptorium to a message. This is yet another offer of work (translation work). Seemingly, after speaking to the curator of a museum (not just any museum, but quite an illustrious one in New York City), there are many kinds of works similar to this which have not been translated yet. This is great news. Not just about the gig (I had to be a little bit Machiavellian to knock out any potential competition - ways and means - but it's just business, nothing personal), but more about forging a career for myself, and more importantly a sound reputation as a Latin translator.

It's actually fantastic, fabulous, this little work. It's the stuff that P&P RPG nuts go crazy for, medievalists too. I use the term "medievalist" in the broadest sense: id est sine Latina, sine qua non. I remember being an undergraduate and hearing (some) "classicists" bleat about not having to bother learning Latin and ancient Greek. This is complete nonsense. Without Latin (and indeed Greek) one cannot even come close to calling oneself a classicist. We're not just talking about reading texts, either, but there is reading inscriptions accurately and indeed scribal abbreviation. Reading texts in translation is a pleasure, but it's not serious. It's a walk in the park. Each word has more than one meaning in Latin (sometimes dozens...), and the same applies to ancient Greek. Anyway, I am content that more work is coming in. I thank the good Lord (sincerely) for being so blessed.

Another day at the 'office' (and my current cause: the Elizabethan manuscript)

Dear Diary,

Getting over what it was like being at that... place (Hades), this week making the sound of a samian, an ape, a monkey or baboon is in vogue. Last week was the moor-hen, before that the duck, the bleating sheep and sounds of horses. Here the chimps run the tea party. This is Dark Age Britain, not Renaissance Italy. Anyway, as I was saying.

Getting over all that... stuff, the commission is really rather taxing. I'm like some wind up toy, or some feather at the behest of the winds, grasping at straws, hanging on by a thread. I have absolutely no idea, what I'm doing, at all. Yet, nevertheless, the training kicks in, university. It's basic stuff. Nothing we haven't done before. The whole thing: it's a tightrope, a Faustian dichotomy, always has been, even before I attended to my studies (in my mid thirties). Alas, I find myself in a world of dreary regulations, petty soap operas, farces, on a legal scale. I read common law cases, the philosophy of law (so to speak: Dicey, Montesquieu etc.) and the set text. It is so mind numbingly boring like you would not believe. You would have to really want to be a lawyer to read this material. Thankfully, I am, and I find it thoroughly interesting (for the most part). It's a great subject, petty, yes, pedantic, very much so, but still worthwhile learning.

Back to the darn assignment (the Latin commission), oh my giddy aunt. It's an absolute nightmare trying to make sense of this whole thang. Seriously. Even so, I remember this old car advert' on the telly, for ATS or something. There was a dodgy old mechanic, a Yorkshireman, dressed in dark blue overalls standing over an engine in a garage (here the word 'engine' is replaced with 'translation'), and he said, "They don't know what goes in 't translation, aye lad. I tell thee what goes in t' translation." They've not studied. Lazy buggers. Oh aye. Latin. Know all about that, aye.