Considerably harder than, say, breaking up, no matter what Neil Sedaka has to say about it.

 

This has nothing to do with writing, insects, fantasy or blogs, save in that it accounts for the somewhat scattershot nature of entries at this end. Second post and already subject drift has set in. Never mind. It’s spleen-venting time. 

 

Moving house is more stressful than having your teeth removed by leopards, frankly. Most especially, moving house is a bitch when you find that the flat-owner downstairs, with whom you share certain parts of the property (ie. The freehold, for the legally-minded) has decided not to sign any documents whatsoever because he’s narked at the people in the flat in between you, which disagreement is nothing whatsoever to do with me, thanks. So, dealing with the constitutionally insane, lesson 1.

 

But wait, you cry, this is a legal matter, surely you have people to do this for me. Well yes, yes I do, and being as I am legally qualified, and having the letters F.Inst.L.Ex after my name (1), those people are me. Doctor, heal thyself (2). 

 

So, it’s done, however. The house is moved. The endearingly eccentric neighbour is not quite sued, because he came to his senses on the very day I was heading to court with a form N1 with his name on it (3). Ok. Spleen vented. On with the show.

 

 

(1):  Fellow of the Institute of Legal Executives. Yes, not “F.I.L.Ex”, which for example one can pronounce, but “F.Inst.L.Ex”. Finstlex. It sounds like some peculiar pharmaceuticals company based in the Channel Islands. 

 

(2): The phrase “Lawyer, sue yourself”, whilst satisfactory in many ways, doesn’t cover it.

 

(3): Ah yes, the excitement of the law. It was under section 14 of the Trusts of Land and Appointment of Trustees Act 1996 as well. There's fancy for you.