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I was in our local paper this week. A big article too. Quoting me saying semi-noblet things, and associating me with a woman who's pet mastiff snapped this little terrier's spine in two places, but nonetheless describing me as a defence lawyer. I really like my name in print. And suddenly I have so much work...I'm not flying under my bosses wings as much. It's exhausting and terrifying and fun.

I was at this meeting last night, something i do to compensate for the lack of social life i have up here, i work, go to the gym, read a lot and belong to nerdy clubs. Anyway, i was with my club visiting another club, and there was this old fulla there doing the time keeping, and i honestly looked at him all hunched over and shrivelled, and thought, what, are you like a hundred or something. But I was suitably chastised later in the night when he was presented with a birthday card for his upcoming 92nd birthday! There was a standing ovation, which he met by standing, beady eyes twinkling in his glazed head, little sweater vest hanging off his bony frame, barely reaching up to my knee caps, and he announced:

Aren't you all a little premature? My birthday isn't until Friday. What makes you so sure I'm going to last until then.

I fell in love with him on the spot.