Precognition

“Yes, it’s those bloody scientists again. If they can’t even predict such a simple thing as an unpredictable natural disaster, of course they should be held responsible for all the destruction! I mean, what are we supposed to do? We don’t have magical powers or see visions, do we? Look, just look at the state of that altar! Awful.”

Catch

Plavé Vozokany was a little village in Slovakia, with around 800 inhabitants it was unremarkable in every aspect. Except for one: there were allegedly more than 20 people claiming incapacity benefit on grounds of mental retardation.

Unfortunately for them, this unusually high rate of self-confessed imbeciles seems to have raised the suspicion of the local police authorities, who are set to launch an investigation into the matter. According to newspaper reports, this may prompt some claimants to discontinue their claim to avoid the lengthy jail sentences they have to face if the allegations were to be proven.

Now.

I don’t condone benefit cheating in any shape or form. However, there is a slight possibility that they were doing it for a noble cause and it is in fact a post-modern celebration of the 50th anniversary of Catch-22.

Urmaş

Ever since dating a lump of rancid but exquisitely sculpted butter by accident, Kleinbahn has been cautious about relationships. His acute Geordie accent notwithstanding he was handsome in his own ways, in which he was also set, being the tambourmajor of the fire brigade brass band, and as such, a respected Bürger of his hometown.

His first encounter with the magical kingdom of law came early in his childhood when he was accused of indecent exposure by a photographer, who turned out to be of ill repute and such an unreliable witness that he himself was fined for contempt of court. Upon seeing this glorious triumph of Truth at the altar of Justitia he fell to his knees and would still be kneeling there, had the usher not yelled “Kortreiß!” (local dialect for court rise) in his left ear.

He rose then, and continued rising throughout adolescence and here he is now, in front of our very eyes, the burden of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, for by and with the advice of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal he became a cleaner at the Privy Council.

‘Most Honourable they may be’, he grumbled, ‘but not one of them knows how to correctly dispose of food packaging. No-one should be allowed to rise to such high office without knowing the basic rules of snacking in public.’

‘Eduskunnan päätöksen mukaisesti säädetään’, replied his assistant, who liked to be cheeky but wasn’t brave enough to do it in a language anyone in the room can understand.

‘Right, that’s enough for me today’, said Kleinbach, ‘I’m off to the doctor, my memory foam mattress has amnesia.’

And so he went.

Drinking

As per usual, the Bench and Bar (licensed to sell all intoxicating liquors for consumption on and off the premises and occasionally in the doorway)(just across the road from the old magistrates’ court) was slow to fill up.

First in, early afternoon, were the freshly acquitted, quaffing a quick quart of relief and leaving in a hurry. Or not.

Then came the triumphant claimants for damages, dutifully damaging their livers with multicoloured spirits.

At six of the clock dead the court clerks arrived, they went about their drinking meticulously. (The basic routine is as follows: always open with two pints. Idem. Ibidem gin, cf. vodka. Most orders are pro se but on a payday you might get a round ex parte. Repeat until non sum qualis eram.)

The clerks were followed by The Man Who Had Nothing To Say. ‘Good evening to you all’, would The Man Who Had Nothing To Say say with clockwork precision

The judges only popped in to say hello and grab a packet of pork scratchings for the journey home.

The barristers always came late, after they were thrown out of their inns. ‘Gentlemen, we’ve been called to the bar’, quips inevitably the one leading the procession, to which the polite answer is ‘Ah, that joke never gets old, doesn’t it?’, but the crowd just murmurs to themselves instead. (Except for The Man Who Had Nothing To Say, who was well-known for talking through the night without repetition, interruption or deviation from the subject of nothing in particular.)

They sat around a table and sung heartily until closing time. The others didn’t like the barristers very much.

Nobody really does.