A bit late today, sorry. Only one of the semi-domesticated lawyers, we use for herding the hairstylists, left a great steaming pile of litigation on the kitchen floor this morning, and I had to clean it up. It is hardly the most welcome task to have to face first thing in the morning. However, it is part of the price we have to pay in order to keep the hairstylist herd manageable, for there is nothing like the whispered threat of legal action into a hairstylist’s ear, by a semi-domesticated lawyer, for getting them to behave in the manner you wish.
There is, though, the very real danger that if the lawyer gets into the habit of leaving piles of litigation about it may very well mutate into a politician. Then, of course, we would have to face the heart-rending task of sending it away, either to a local council chamber, or – if the worst comes to the worst – to the Houses of Parliament; the National sanctuary for those infected with the dreaded political disease.
Sometimes, I think it would be better if, rather than watching them become immersed in the hollow travesty of living that becoming a politician inevitably entails, we did - to my mind – the more honourable thing, and have them put down. We may feel it is being kind to them to allow them to live out the rest of their unfortunate lives in these sanctuaries. However, when you have – as I have too many times – seen one of these poor unfortunates terminally-infected with incurable politics then you will agree that this is not living, merely a travesty of living and by far the kindest thing would be to end their suffering, and – let’s face it – our suffering too.