Right, well… er… then. Here we are then… aren’t we on this… this… well – to be honest - rather mediocre day. I don’t know about you – apart from what I’ve read in your file, of course – but today I’m not entirely sure I can be arsed.
We had rather a busy day yesterday, a number of the hairstylists had been surreptitiously sniffing the styling mousse, and thus emboldened had begun tearing down the fence in the Upper Lower field in attempt to escape into the woods and then on to the nearest town centre and its copious late-night drinking establishments and clubs.
Luckily, though, one of the semi-domesticated lawyers we use for hairstylist herding noticed what was afoot and set legal proceedings in motion almost immediately*. Both I, and Old Feebletrousers, alerted by the smell of litigation in the air, were on the scene less than a tea-break, or two, later, just in time to prevent a mass breakout by the hairstylists.
*In real time, not lawyer time. One of the hardest things in attempting to (semi) domesticate a lawyer is weaning it away from lawyer time (which is 1/700th the speed of normal human time) and getting the beast to function at a speed something approaching normal.