Bloody good bookshop it is

I have been thinking about England incessantly to the point that I am fanatically reading Marian Keyes just to feel like I am in London again. The fact that her stories are based in Dublin means nothing to me. And yesterday I bought a DVD of Keeping Mum and during the 5-second preview, I actually gave heartfelt sigh at the sight of a bramble bush. There are no bramble bushes in KL. No kidding.

It has been more than 5 years since I breathed British smog and naturally I still harbour an obsession for the place.

I suppose I will always have fond memories of the UK. They represent halcyon days of glorious Christmas vacations, pork pies, Richard and Judy, bored sheep and owners of garden centres with striking blue eyes. (ehem, I digress)

Those were The Best Times of my life when all I had to worry was how to pass exams without dying. I miss my Sainsbury's with as much passion as the next pensioner. OF course there were prats and sneaks and racist bigots but they have no place in my syrupy daydreams.

It a place where people lines up for their cab, says thank you to bus drivers, calls me love after a purchase of mushrooms, and make walking home from a pub akin to a night safari.

What a day

Defending big conglomerates against small individuals has as much appeal as a dry dog biscuits. And I was beginning to hate my firm as vehemently as I hate the bankruptcy division yet today, something different happened.

One of our clients of our got bashed up by her husband and when the poor dear came in her eyes were bruised and hands criss-crossed with scratches. Her brute of her husband knocked her about when he was drunk and when he woke up after a while, he hit her again. An educated 60 year old man not withstanding.

Suddenly bank statements and letters of demands went -poof- and I threw myself into a frenzy trying to find out the best way to get a interim protective order/restraining order to stop her husband from touching her.

Chicken chop, pork chop and now...

Just a minute

I have been monstrous.
Negative vibes have been emanating from this blog like putrid stench from a cheese factory.

So wrong I know, but so much to rant yet so few people picking up my phone calls. So I launch my troubles to the wide wide world in hope that it will finally give me peace.
All it did was reduce my regular audience of 5 bored people to 2. Misery is so unappreciated.

Well I have geared myself into self discovery mode again. You know the good ole

"what do i want to do with my life"
"do I want to be happy or be able to afford to eat"
"what is the purpose of my existance" and
"when will they invent a fat free peanut butter donut"

.. you know, life changing questions.

I guess what I really lack is the courage of taking chances, to say to heck with 6 years of education and just go ahead to sell flowers/bake bread/make balloon animals/be a wedding planner/start a business.

In that sense I admire my brother immensely (although I rather shoot myself than admit it to him as his head is the size of a barn already). He has appeared in a TV commercial, competed on TV, performed at gigs in Singapore, and lately just quit his job at the ad agency. He is true to himself and knows what he wants.

I have noticed that as his star rises, the awe that he used to have of his older sister is starting to fade too. And that is cool-not easy to swallow but its ok. My baby brother is growing up into a determined young man.

But back to my earlier conundrums, I do believe I am not alone and many people in my age group of the late 20s to early 30s, are in the same boat questioning their purpose and course. But blessed are we who have that luxury of choice.

Calling short

Only 6 blasted months to go. I guess you already know, I hate this. So that there be no confusion, let me make it clear that I don't merely hate it, I despise it with everything my now choked up liver can muster.

Let's just say it is not my thing, this chambering. My dad wants me to at least go through with it and he is PAYING me to soldier on. But it STINGSS..

I got my short call last Tuesday. A short call involved me turning up in the High Court where my Master addressed the court to seek it's permission that I, her student be given restricted audience to appear before the Judges, Magistrates and Registrars in chambers ( a fancy name that basically means office.) What that really means is that I finally am forced to do some leg work.

And that was precisely why I was sent to Shah Alam the next day and Seremban the following Thursday- to appear before the Assistant Registrar on two bankruptcy matters which I knew absolutely nothing about. Charming.

The first one went swimmingly. I said what I needed to say (after memorizing it to death) and was out of there in 5 minutes. That gave me false confidence that the next one would be a breeze.

After all in that case, it was the court's mistake that they returned us the wrong document. I was just supposed to saunter into the AR's room, explain the delay due to the wrong document and get a new date. What I got instead was a severe tongue lashing as to why I did not call the court and get the right document instead of turning up in her office to give excuses.

I was like, Lady, it is really not my fault that the lawyer responsible did not check it earlier and I am only the sacrificial lamb here. But I had suck it up and take in all her wrath.
Oh the injustice!
The irony.

So hard lesson learnt, never take clerks/other lawyer's/anyone's word when work is passed to you. My good friend also learnt it the hard way when conducting a case she inherited from her boss. Her office file clearly said that the relevent documents were filed in court and what da ya know, on the day of the trial, during the examination of a witness, the Judge rebuked her as the documents she relied on weren't in the court file. Shock shock horror horror.

If I was in her place, I think I would have shrivelled up into a raisin and just die. But that brilliant girl went ahead. She lost the case but, she did not lose her head. Way to go, girl.

Kangar-ooo

Returning from Kangar, I must say that I was a little surprise to find the town bustling. I had expected a sleepy hallow where I could walk across the main street blindfolded without so much at getting knocked down.

You would be pleased to note that that I quickly abandoned that notion upon arriving.

As the state of Perlis does not have its own airport, From KL I flew into the aiport at Kepala Batas, Kedah and took a cab to Kangar - a pleasant 45 minute drive through amber paddy fields and cosy villages. My cabbie used the old trunk roads where there was neither sign nor milestone to tell me my location. Honestly I would hardly have noticed if I was kidnapped to be sold off across the border.

I put up at the 11-story Putra Palace, one of the more popular hotels in Kangar. Discovering the happy combination of Room Service and in-house entertainment, I was indeed a happy camper with my glorious nasi goreng kampong and chicken satay laid out over my bed spread as I savoured my Hindi drama, English comedy and a reality show.

Simple bliss really but those who know me (and had the misfortune of having me pour out my miseries) would be able to tell you that I live in rented accommodation which allows neither TV, cooking, air-conditioning or even a Dunlop mattress.

Hence I was most absorbed in enjoying the creature comforts within the four walls of my hotel room than to really explore what lay outside.

Putra Palace provides excellent value for money. At RM130 I got a large room with two beds, cool air-conditioning, a mini fridge, a TV, hot water plus breakfast for two in the morning. Showering space is a bit of a squeeze and enemies of shower curtains - bewarned. Nevertheless I was very pleased to find an actual hand held hairdryer (as oppose to the leaf blowers most hotels bolt unto the bathroom wall), an iron and a ironing board all tucked inside the wardrobe. Naturally these essentials are truly appreciated by women.

And although I was given a room on the floor for smokers, I am so glad the sheets did not smell of Marlboros and the walls not infused with the stench. (Inside tip: Always get a non-smoking room if you ever find yourself at Cititel KL. Otherwise you will face a sick inducing nightmare.)

But the one thing that got my goat was the lack of a remote control which I found exceedingly tiresome in view of my sloth.

I checked out at 8am this morning and after I finished a tad of unpleasant court business I walked a round a bit and bumped into this.

Law and order

They begin so silently.
A momentary surprise in the smooth expanse, like an accidental ripple. Then one by one the ripples come a bit more urgent, a little less gentle and as wake upon wake slowly come together, a ferocity is awaken that engulfs and washes me away.

It is very unnerving as the stress and strain of the daily toil begin to stake their claim on the body and mind, with every intention of drowning the spirit. Like a tide that creeps up on the unsuspecting, you won’t realise until you are in a little too deep

Nothing was more evident to me during this past week. When I found myself unable to even eat, sleep and even focus, alarm bells went off like a tsunami warning. With headaches the size of the Atlantic, I was indeed a wreck.

I have invested about 6 years of my life and not to mention a great sum of money as a student of the law and now I am beginning to loath it. Not the subject, but the very people that are apart of this industry. Law on its own is a subject that is interesting and beguiling as any.

Yet, I cannot reconcile the nobility of the profession with the jarring snobbery of its members. The utter ease that rudeness is dispensed and the way junior members of the profession are bullied, it is shameful. Senior members of the bar treat me like I am invisible and and when they do the holier-than-thou attitudes get put on pompous display.

It was a good thing that I managed to meet Jo for a good ranting session. It is good to let off steam once in a while.