I have been consulted by my client, Sheona, as to the distinction that can be made between the terms ‘concubine’ and ‘mistress’ with particular reference to the blog by my learned co-blogger, Janus, entitled ‘Ignoramus though I am, on this day……..’ – op.cit.
The law of Scotland is unclear on this point – that’s what Counsel always used to write in any opinion we ever got from them. Shorthand for ‘ This is going to cost your client an arm’. I have made extensive researches throughout the relevant authorities – I was out on the piss last night, slept it off in the Advocates’ Library and cobbled together this load of rubbish (which is going to cost said client a leg as well) at the last possible minute.
Just trying it out really, but I thought I’d alter my gravitar and see if it works more promptly this time.
I just love this snow sculpture and the fact it was made and snapped at night, ready for everyone to wake up to.I really will post a ‘proper blog’ soon, but am completely overtired… too much work and no play makes Pseu a sad girl. here’s to the weekend!
I wonder what would happen if we could not? You too can become an expert in anyone else’s field. I think the availability of information is overwhelming and occasionally useful. The problem is, how do you test its validity?
Most of the real, authoritative stuff is not available without subscription, or membership of a professional body, and if you know little about the subject then you can become a little overwhelmed by the sheer contradictory nature of the opinions expressed. There is an awful lot of rubbish out there!
Books perhaps, or is this just a Luddite tendency?
Tally sticks were a medieval accounting device: a peg of wood (usually Hazlewood) was notched with cuts of varying sizes for each denomination of money. It was then split lengthways down the middle into two pieces of unequal length so that each piece had the same notches.
Hello All! (And thanks again for the invite, Bearsy)
I intend to make a net-fasting for a while. But can’t ignore Bearsy’s kind invitation.
This might be of interest of some of you.
The most outstanding symbol of the Ottoman sultan’s authority was his imperial tuğra (cipher), which was affixed to all official documents, indicating fermans, vakfiyes and correspondence; it was also carved on his seals and stamped on coins minted during his reign. Each sultan chose his personal tuğra immediately after his accession and used the same format throughout his life.
On the 4th of February 1194 Richard I paid Henry IV, the Holy Roman Emperor, a ransom of 150,000 marks (£100,000) and was released from what was, by the standards of the time, illegal imprisonment.
Richard was born on the 8th of September 1157, he was the third son of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. It was never intended that the lands that Henry and Eleanor held between them would be left to one single heir, and Eleanor gave Richard Aquitaine when he was eleven and ensured that he was formally installed as the Duke in 1172 when he was sixteen. However, despite having autonomy in Aquitaine, Richard, with the aid of his father’s enemy the King of France, was more or less in constant rebellion against Henry until the latter’s death in 1189. Continue reading “This Day – 4th February 1194”
I wish to report myself for electoral fraud. At work today, I logged in to MyT (official lunch break) to start reporting the usual Samanta et alii spammers in the hope of clearing them out of the ‘Latest Blog Posts’ as soon as possible. As we all know, that is the only way to find new blogs as the Front Page is useless in the extreme.
Anyhoo, while online, I nipped over to DNMyT to see which particular member of my nation Boa had topped or tried to blow up in in her latest blog. I was relieved to see that, while her blogs were still all about Jocks, her latest victim only got marooned on a desert island and was eventually allowed to die of fairly natural causes. I suppose it’s a step in the right direction.
Today I was going to write about my Democratic values and what they means to me. Fortunately you have been given a reprieve. Instead, I will relate a nasty incident that happened to me not more than a couple of hours ago and ask your opinion on a moral dilemma.
Lunchtime today I was minding my own business, having lunch in a fast food restaurant when a man came in. A rough sort with a skin-head and workman’s clothing. He sat down at the adjacent table and started to hurl abuse at the person sitting opposite me. When that person got up and left the restaurant, he rounded on me throwing verbal abuse (which I shall not repeat here) and then bits of his food at me and then asking me to apologise for it.
There are many of us who have moved “abroad” – Cymbeline to the Caribbean, Bravo to Russia, Nobby to China, Bearsy and Boadicea (assuming you’re not a native Sheila :-)) and CH Luke to Australia, Bubbles and Dickie Doo-Dah to France, Janus to Denmark and yours truly to Portugal, to name but a few. In the other direction there are brave souls such as Shermeen and the sadly missed Petite Marie who moved to Blighty and who in their own way are also living “abroad”.
In Portuguese culture there is a concept of saudades, which roughly translates as an exile’s longing for the mother country. In Germany they talk of heimat – the homeland, but I know of no such cloying sentiment about England’s green and pleasant land, except that certain expats still refer to the tender ministrations of a bucket-shop airline as “going home”, which to me shows entirely the wrong mindset. For me, going home now is always, instinctively and without fail, a black cab to the airport and a one-way flight back to The Cave and the wide hillsides of deepest Portugal. Don’t get me wrong – I shall always be a proud Englishman and at some point in the future there will be a little bit of a Portuguese mountain that will be forever England, but I have no desire ever to return and, quite frankly, feel little affinity with the land I left.
So, how’s it going for you? Have you settled well into your adopted country, learned the language, made friends and adapted to your new circumstances? More importantly. do you ever even think about the profound step you took (for make no mistake it was a very profound step), or do you still retain saudades for your home country, a stranger in a strange land?