It occurred to me while translating a little Latin recently (just some frivolous and really quite unimportant orator and historian from the first and second centuries of the Christian Era - no-one much cares about such triflingly insignificant things in Dark Age Britain) that I have put an awful lot of time into learning Latin. Twelve years, in fact. It's a little too late to change course now. I do, however, like studying the law, very much so. However, as much as the wiles and distractions of Dicey, Wade, Coke, Blackstone, Austin and Bentham make for a jolly fine little muse or hobby (for the law is nothing more than that in Dark Age Britain, well, certainly in terms of criminal law - the only branch I am interested in studying), Latin was my first love. Although I had a brief love affair - so to speak - with ancient Greek (and heaven only knows how much I see this mistress of sorts, from time to time, when impulse takes me), it is Latin to whom I am married, in scholarly terms, and it is Latin that has ravished me more times than I can remember - intellectually speaking. So, I began translating, and it dawned on me, very rapidly, that these dozen years essaying to fathom what was known on A397 (Continuing Classical Latin) as what seems to be "a thankless task" (namely, translating Latin), but that in translating such an author as this, perhaps it can be rewarding. I am only too aware that a true philosopher cares not for money, but knowledge, wisdom, kindness, goodness, and is ever mindful, honest, upright, tolerant, and does the right thing. However, this particular Latin scholar (that is by the day becoming ever more acquainted with reading actual manuscripts and deciphering scribal abbreviation - a talent not well understood by very many Latin scholars) does, in fact, have to pay rent, and must find from somewhere the rather high fees for his university course. Therefore, it is unwise to change course, so late in the game. Far better to apply what one's learnt to something practical and useful, rather than chase rainbows in the hope of finding some mythical leprechaun with a pot of gold at the end of it. A good grounding in public law, parliamentary sovereignty, the rule of law, human rights, devolution and the separation of powers, is beneficial only for poor people, namely, junior criminal barristers. However, a great grounding in one's chosen academic specialism is worth something. I remember, as I translated this little text, that the Magister Artium had come in rather useful. Therefore, my education has not been a complete and utter waste of time, even if the British have no honour, do not know how to conduct business properly and fairly, and offer - at best - merely volunteer "work" (slavery, however you dress it up). They (the University) make a lot of transferrable skills. I call this, "transferrable bullshit". The reason I call it such a profane and nonsensical name, is because rather than applying what one has learnt, over these past twelve years, in a job which is actually directly relevant (namely, Latin, Roman history, archaeology, classics) to what one has learnt, they seem to fondly imagine that these skills are somehow useful in some other capacity, completely and utterly irrelevant to having studied classical Latin for over a decade. A proof reader. Now that is one transferrable skill (BS) which I have done. Yet that could easily be done by someone that had merely studied English Lit', or not even any subject at all, but was well educated at school and tended to read a lot. It is, in short, beneath me.
Therefore, I am inclined to spend more and more time attempting to claw my way out of the gutter by precision targeted translations (niches: gaps in the market) and that is all. I have done my patriotic duty already (such things are worthless in Dark Age Britain) by translating Nennius' Historia Brittonum and penning my best and finest play: Boadicea: Queen of the Iceni. Now, is the time to actually go against my mother's maiden name, our family motto: quod iustum non quod utile ('[Do] what [is] right, not what [is] profitable'). I shall instead, do what is profitable. This may seem unwise to the would-be guru that lives in a cave or the monk that subsists on rainwater and scavenging for food by begging, but philosophy is the path of the pauper. That much has been perfectly evident since the days of Socrates or even Diogenes of Sinope. The latter, when offered anything in the world by Alexander the Great, was reputed to ask only for sunlight (for Alexander to stand out of his shade). Diogenes had a lot of sunlight, and not much else. According to one chronicler, someone pointed out that he had a begging bowl, and Diogenes cast it away exclaiming that he had not realised just how useless an object he had been carrying around. He lived in a barrel. This life, as much as it is quaint and antiquated, is not the life for me. I do not intend to live in a barrel, begging, without even a bowl. I intend to work, and work hard. As my rather vehement biker friend once said (and indeed my equally vehement ex-fiancée also posited): the only two people that make any money in this world are (a) the government [of which I have no truck with], and (b) the owners of businesses. Why be a slave to the system, when you can become a masterful player within it?
Today was rather splendid. I found a nice little Latin book. Met my philosopher friend, and the luthier. We are getting the band back together, which is jolly nice. Moreover, Bligh was not in at Hades, only the 'elder' thug (several years my junior, I might at) and the puerile oompa loompa, and her little domestic disaster of a foul mouthed curmudgeon of a sister: the Lilliputian. Therefore, it was relatively peaceful, what with the festivities being over now. Here's to 'propping one's self up, not being propped up' as Marcus Aurelius Antoninus once wrote.
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