Corporate Blawg UK

Blawg Review #116

Always one to cut the mustard, Corporate Blawg has gone against the grain and spiced up the Blawg Review #116 with a shake of poetic sauce.  The inspiration for this perspiration was found between a sesame bun on July 4th, that most celebrated day in U.S. culture.  Corporate Blawg had failed his driving test for the seventh time (for driving too slowly in a built-up area), and went to console himself with a very fast built-up burger.  Whilst watching cars go by and chewing on cows' lips and nails Corporate Blawg realised that Thomas Jefferson was a poet, and "The Declaration of Independence" is an iambic pentameter.  This was a very smart move by Tom, since the iambic pentameter is a rhythm that has resonance and impact, like a heartbeat.  Inawed by this wise fellow's nous, Corporate Blawg attempted writing a Shakespearian sonnet about the law, using the iambic pentameter and variations of it. 

Sonnet #1 - I Am An Iambic

As lawyers we swim through a sea of words
But most faced with a poem are set adrift
To fly through language like a flock of birds
Needs appreciation of Shakespeare's gift -
The iambic pentameter is no iamb itself
But central to inclusion in every great sonnet
It's the "dum-di-dum" of poetic health
That beats like your heart and keeps you on it!
With ceisures and breaks and cool rules and stuff
I wonder should poems be more oft in law?
I guess that lawyers don't decorate with fluff
But use highlighters, ribbons and typex galore.
This English Sonnet has worked better than most
And is the first flurry of this poetic post.

Naturally, Corporate Blawg must review this week's blogs in rhyming couplets... naturally.

Review of Blawgs - I Am Doggrel

The English Blawg is quite a peculiar fish
Each day is served a slightly different dish
Some Blawgs are steady and others more ready
To flow where they please in wake of an eddy.
You see, an English blawg will never bring clients
Even to the best Blawgosphere's blogging giants.
So why be anonymous for there's no fortune or fame
Is it an obsession with a linguistic game,
Or simply to be heard as a voice in the ether
A whip on society a crack of the leather?
This is where the English Blawg is its own,
A little subversive, and cynical prone.
Please sit back and enjoy the best of the bunch
Some are more sober but most out to lunch...

So first and most fitting is Lord Charon QC
Whose news reviews I read compulsively
Charon's a man who doesn't mince his words
But feasts on his subjects like lemon curd.
Geeklawyer is teamed-up with another fiesty chick
As ever he'll be on the end of her stick.
Nearly Legal is also a great favourite of mine
Whose sophistication is often sublime.
A brit with wit with a fairly new site
Is the Thousand Patterns who is "pliable and bright".
The Magistrate's Blog is always on key
And begs one to question "who can he be?"
Square Mile Law has a thoughtful tome
As he ponders the issues in amending a loan
With tenancy woes Pupilblogger goes on
But he's clearly so smart he'll soon be the don
And the LandlordBlog (of which I'm a fan)
Contemplates the effect of the smoking ban
And Head of Legal is definitely worth a mention
As he describes another constitutional tension
Diaries of UK Law Students well done!
I'm sure amongst study you also had fun!
And what UK review would be complete
Without Babybarrista from the broadsheets.
This is not exhaustive of the great and the good
Of bloggers that blawg like English blogs should
Apologies to those that aren't mentioned above
But it's there baby, it's there, feel the love.

And now 'cross the pond for other Blawgers out there
It's time to rhyme for you to get your share
Let's start with Trusted Advisor and his interesting post
Would you allow lie detectors to tell you the most
About what you need is it a foolpoof test?
Or is robust inquisition always the best?
Above The Law notes some lawyers want to quit
And tells them to stop "whining" - a bit harsh isn't it?
In every profession some will be sad and moan
But lawyers as a profession should look after their own.
And the Balanced Life Spa Blog would agree
That stressed lawyers have lower life expectancy.
Concurring Opinions pierces the blogger's veil
And debates anonymity and what that entails
Susan Crawford Blog looks at lawyers' visual identity
And the role of the internet in bringing serenity
The Editor of Blawg Review hits on July the fourth
With a useful round-up of blogs that go forth
And discusses the most momental time of the States
When the UK and US agreed to be mates.
Of these What About Clients makes a jovial stab
At the East London accent you hear in a black cab
And Simple Justice looks to the American dream
And hopes that it hasn't run out of steam 
Quizlaw laughs at lawyers who represent themselves
And suggests they should get back to stacking shelves
Robert Ambrogi talks of Incisive Media's recent buy
Of U.S. legal journals for an expansion drive
Patent Baristas is academic at dizzying heights
And delves in deeply to "Prior User Rights"
Brett Trout on Patents is an interesting start
For those who confuse IP law with terms of art
Adam's Drafting takes a position that's clearly the best
Of what is the "reasonable endeavours' test".
Then Sox First reviews a paper on securities
And how growth and decay weans law of impurities
Simple Justice takes a very amusing look
At lawyers' dresscodes that rewrite the book.
Building a solo practice shares more wise advice
On being a solo practice and on being nice.

So that's the end of the reviews for this week
Hope you liked the poem - it was sleek
And though not sensitive or delicate or meek
It has a twist of mirth and a touch of cheek
And though some of the rhymes are quite oblique
Of Corporate Blawg's blogging it's at the peak.

Corporate Blawg is now thinking of changing his career to be a rap star along the same lines as Eminem, except as a bright and bushy lawyer he will be "Smar-Tee" (use the links to get the pun)... sign up here.

Austin Defense is next week's reviewer, and Blawg Review has information about next week's host, and instructions how to get your blawg posts reviewed in upcoming issues.

No work no pay puts pay to play

Jeepers.

Corporate Blawg is looking like he's about to enter his 3rd week in a row of 50+ hours in the office.  In May 2005:  "The European Parliament has voted to scrap Britain's opt-out from the Working Time Directive and to limit workers to a 48-hour week." But it never happened.

"Just as some people exercise their right to flexi-time, downsizing and self-employment, shouldn't others be able to work 90-hour weeks in the City if they want to?"  Yikes!  No no no.

Oh well, enough welcome distraction.

p.s. Corporate Blawg is hosting the Blawg Review next week in a phenomonal post that has been under construction for two weeks already.  Be prepared.  This swan might start singing.

Call it mid-life crises, call it what you will

Love makes you fat. Corporate Blawg loves his wife, but not his chub, so Corporate Blawg is trying to lose a little of his extra girth before it appears like he's about to give birth. 

This new momentim was prompted by Corporate Blawg registering with his local GP surgery last week, not because anything is wrong, but in case he has an uncontrollable burst of shits or giggles.  Part of the process/problem with registering with your GP is that your blood pressure, weight and height must all be measured.  Corporate Blawg was told by the pretty asian nurse that he was 99kg, and the ideal for his height was 80kg, hence he was, ahem, overweight.

Corporate Blawg was thrown by this (but not very far because he is too heavy).  The realisation of being 1kg away from a tenth of a ton, or a 30th of an average sized elephant, was enough to make him start counting the calories.  Corporate Blawg doesn't look overweight because he is 188cm tall and has well-made shirts.  However, for piece of mind, and to avoid an overbearing overhang, Corporate Blawg is now all over healthy food and exercise.

Accordingly, most of Saturday was spent in York Hall swimming pool.  One of the deepest, bluest, most Art Deco swimming pools in East London.  There he swam back and forth like a horizontal yo-yo until he was almost sick.  Conscious of the faux pas of throwing up in a swimming pool, Corporate Blawg exited and went to buy dinner at a fatty supermarket.

In the cornicopia to capaciousness, Corporate Blawg began reading the fat content of his favourite foods.  Falaffel was 28% fat! But Lamb Kofte was only 16%!  The apparently healthy alternative to a kebab was a lie!  For dinner that evening, as his wife was away and he had 2 action films to get through and a playstation game, Corporate Blawg purchased a healthy-eating ready-made Chicken Tikka Masala meal (and a healthy-eating ready-made Shepherds Pie in case he got peckish later on).

Sunday followed Saturday, as is usual, and Corporate Blawg went to extraordinary lengths to do press ups whilst playing poker on the playstation.  This was followed by a sprint to Dixons, and the realisation that he would have to sprint back as he did not want to stop in Whitechapel with a bag full of expensive electrical goods.

Since meat tends to be more fatty than vegetables, on Sunday evening Corporate Blawg treated his wife to his famous Chilli Con Quorny.  Corporate Blawg's wife was most impressed and has been gassing off about how good it was for the last two days.  Corporate Blawg long ago got wind of how good his Chilli Con Quorny was.

Having two "Completions" in the next two weeks has meant that Corporate Blawg has had to work late, but this evening, Corporate Blawg did the unthinkable.  He ran home from work, kind off.  He ran for 200 yards then walked 50 yards, wheezing like a broken kettle.  Then he would run 180 yards, and walk for 60, panting like a dog with asthma.  Then he would run 160 yards, and walk for 80m, coughing and spluttering like an underwater volcanic vent with benthic fauna clambering at his neck.

Now Corporate Blawg still weighs 99kg, but his lunchtime peri peri chicken and chips that were a second on the lips, won't be adding to his hips.  So this is the future, and if you see a 188cm, 99kg corporate guru miserably sipping gin and slim-line tonic in a City pub over the next five months, take a chance and ask him "are you Corporate Blawg?".

Sensible is as sensible does

Like a bee collecting nectar, or a KFC carton underfoot, so the natural process of life continues, driven forward by necessity and love of dirty chicken.   Likewise the less than wise but immensely likeable Corporate Blawg is propelled through space in a rapidly-aging time machine made of flesh, bone, a speck of grit, and the severed head of a lego man who died in 1982.  It is the summer solstace on Thursday, when the year turns and starts to age like a tasty Romanee Conti.  So also Corporate Blawg, that undiscovered element, that benign but ridiculous fuse of a muse of nature and techology, that weapon of gas and suction, yes, so Corporate Blawg is contemplating growing older, growing up, and growing man-breasts.

Wherefrom did this motion strike him?  It was a flash of realisation, a bolt from the heavens when in response to a plan to meet in a bar Corporate Blawg found himself uttering those now immortal words: "Yes - that seems sensible".

Take a moment.  Pause.  Reflect.  "Yes - that seems sensible".  What Corporate Blawg should have said was "Cool", "Mega" or "Great" (at least imaginative).  But no, "sensible" had become a word for good, and cool was off the radar. 

Following that second at a distance, like suited men in a 4x4, Corporate Blawg looked to his feet in moribund horror of his inherent change.  Injury compounded insult as Corporate Blawg noted after three months of wearing them, that he had on sensible shoes.  Not trainers to look mega in, not trainers to ride skateboards or sprint from sweetshops, but mountain walking sports trainers for sensible walking to work on concrete floors and cemented walkways. 

Then in his head he heard a voice, and remembered his Grandad's brown cardigans... It happens to us all, my son.  Resist for as long as possible, but when it hits you, embrace it.  Perhaps it is a side-effect of marriage.  Clothes are for comfort, and love makes you fat.  Ah well, happiness is where the heart is.

On that note Corporate Blawg is going to hand over to Corporate Papawg to write about something more sensible.

On Saturday night/Sunday morning Corporate Papawg stumbled home from his friend's 30th birthday party.  There he switched on the TV to see a movie about Bob Dylan (playing a rising folk singer), also starring Val Kilmer and Christian Slater.  Corporate Papawg only watched 15 minutes before another East Londer stuck his fingers in the mains and caused a power cut.  However, in those final 15 minutes of electricity Corporate Papawg read on subtitles a rant from Val Kilmer, clearly drafted by the great Bob himself.  The conclusion of this rant was that "the only thing that separates man from the animals is the knowledge of death". 

At the time Corporate Papawg thought this was f*cking genius. But, whilst getting himself a sensible haircut the next day, Corporate Papawg thought about it again and realised it was utter bollox.

Elephants mourn their dead.  Magpies only ever have one mate, even if one dies.  Dolphins push sick dolphins to the surface to help them breathe.  Of course animals know about death, because otherwise they would not learn from fear.  The instinct of fearing harm and death and seeing harm and death creates knowledge.  In fact, the knowledge that comes from instinct is one of the few sources of knowledge where we can be sure of its truth.

Ditfurth (1976) says that "our brain is a tool for thinking, but not its cause. Our brain has not invented thinking, the thinking invented the brain."

Still quite poetic but less pithy than Bob I'm sure you'll agree.

Similarly, Corporate Papawg recently watched Apocalypto, the Mel Gibson movie about Mayan people.  Good movie, but Corporate Papawg was disturbed by the violence.  Once upon a time in the East Corporate Papawg loved his horror films and action movies but not now...  Now the last thing Corporate Papawg wants is to see any sort of realism connected with mutilated limbs and spraying blood.    Anyway, Corporate Papawg should have known it was going to be an odd film.  Any movie that has a tag-line of "No one can outrun their destiny" is an absurd non-sequitur that causes Corporate Papawg to break the offending DVD with a hammer and chisel because he's watched too many violent movies and thinks that violence solves problems.

Corporate Blueg believes that navy blue is the best corporate colour.

Back from holiday...

Corporate Blawg is back and proud because he's brown.  Not because it was particularly sunny, but because in-between the rain Corporate Blawg didn't use any sun-cream lotion.  This careful planning is a bit like catching a train to a bus stop to speed up your journey, or adding flour to gravy to make it more filling.  Nevertheless the results are the same.

From the misty hills of the amazing Amalfi coast, to the sun-washed cliffs of capricious Capri, Corporate Blawg has danced and jumped and shouted "FACEBOOK" at the top of his voice to famous footballers and actors alike... 

The marriage of a Premiership goalkeeper to a Doctor of fashion in Ravello was a blinding 4 day party.  The 40 wedding guests consisted of legends, megadons, diamond-geezers, heros, models, funk-chicks, oldies and one or two uber-geeks like Corporate Blawg and his wife.  We fitted in by teaching the footballers how to smoke cigars, the actors how to drink, and the celebrity wags taught us that in order to get the right camera pout you didn't say "cheese" you said "prune". This reveleation in Ravello has ruined all subsequent holiday snaps.  You try it and see.

Then on from Ravello, Corporate Blawg and his wife went to Athens, to see his niece and her parents...

Corporate Papawg was much perturbed by how much he took to his 2-and-a-half year old niece.  This little bundle of loveliness completed melted his heart.  The highlight was when Corporate Papawg pretended to be Charlie Chaplin and made her laugh so much she wet herself.  But enough of that sentimental claptrap... Corporate Papawg does not want one of his own, yet.

FACEBOOK!  How good is facebook? We, the first generation to barely remember a world without email and the internet, even we have become saturated by Facebook, and it's great.  Corporate Blawg has got in contact with old schoolfriends, lots of holiday buddies, and an estranged tablecloth. FACEBOOK! yeah.

Corporate Blueg has recently learnt some very interesting things about LLPs, but since he's working quite hard at the moment, he doesn't want to talk about it. 

Raving in Ravello

With a clap of thunder, and the drum of rain beating against the windows like a steel band under a palm tree in the Bethnal Green monsoon, Corporate Blawg decided that it was time to take his wife on holiday. 

So Centreparks being booked up for the season, Corporate Blawg is going to the Amalphi coast.  And tomorrow he will say hello at a rave in Ravello, whilst eating ravioli ravenously.

Then on Saturday he will attend the wedding of two good friends.  And on Sunday he heads to Athens for week to ease some classical time with his wife's sister and her young family.  This Athens trip would be good if Corporate Blawg wasn't a little fearful of his Greek brother-in-law, to whom Corporate Blawg gifted a small bag of marbles for Christmas to ease his pain.

Corporate Blawg hopes to be back around 8 June, and looks forward to giving you a super-update of his mega jolly.  In the meantime, live well and party!

Tasting the waters

Corporate Blawg was in Bath last week, to taste the waters and recover from the LawBlog conference 2007 on the Friday before.  And what a great conference that was!

Corporate Blawg felt honoured for spending the evening in the great company of Charon QC, Geeklawyer, Ruthie, Pupilblog, Head of Legal, Liadnan, Squaremile et al. 

Never one to miss a profound opportunity Corporate Blawg was surprised that his blogging chums were not all the spitting image of Corporate Blawg!  Only Charon was familiar (having posted his picture all over the net if you know where to look and don't have a firewall).  For instance, who would have thought that LibelBlog was a short, green, tri-footed Mekon from the planet Thaarg?  All this time Corporate Blawg thought that LawBlawgUnited was a white middle-class nonce from the home-counties, whereas actually she's 8ft tall, has grey suckers on the end of her fingers and communicates by telepathic odours. Anyways, it's been a great revelation to all.

In order to dispell any myths of Corporate Blawg's appearance, he has exposed himself in the following picture as the one on the podium. 

For the avoidance of doubt, Corporate Blawg always wears a suit and at the weekends and disguises himself in spectacticles.

Jobs for the boys

The arms race between HM Revenue & Customs and large corporations is a funny conundrum.  On the one hand Gordon Brown and HMRC tighten up tax loopholes to increase their revenue and secure employment of their employees.  On the other, large corporations pay huge sums to tax advisors to reduce their corporation tax payments and secure employment of their employees.  Accordingly, Corporate Blawg considers that fundamentally the purpose of corporation tax is to keep tax advisors and other intelligent people in well-paid jobs so they do not go out on the streets and riot.

To ease Corporate Blueg's cold he ventured into Marks & Spencer to purchase an orange&raspberry drink - his favourite comfort vitamin C supplement.  Corporate Blueg was fascinated to discover that no longer is it orange and raspberry but "valencia oranges & crushed willamette raspberries".  This has added value to Corporate Blueg's life since he is now looking forward to valencia oranges & crushed rapberries of the Algonquin, Chilliwack, Meeka, Nootka, Tullameen, Fallgold, Redwing and Summit varieties.  Thank you M&S for adding further levels of pretension to an already saturated existance.

Corporate Papawg failed his driving test for the 4th time this week.  He had 6 minor faults, and two serious faults.  His two serious faults were for going too fast over speed bumps and using the footbrake when coming up to a junction.  Not only was Corporate Papawg well within the speeding limit (22mph) but also Corporate Papawg failed his last driving test for being too hesitant.  Corporate Papwg accepts that speed-bumps are not ramps, but to fail him on going too fast when within the speed limit clearly proves that the driving test is impossible for people who went to good universities and obey the rules.  Clearly some people where meant to drive and other people where meant to be driven.  Corporate Papawg is, hesitantly, the latter.

NEWSFLASH: Gold on Oldies!

Watch out! There is a new threat to your inheritance.

Old people on saga holidays could become the victims of young buxom gold-diggers as of 2008. The Single Equality Bill to be published in June 2007 may end all forms of age discrimination including overseas cruises and coach tours for the over-50s. Fears are rife that the grey brigade may be inundated with youngsters in their 40s trying to woo oldies through holiday romances in Scunthorpe and Totness.

Despite concern that zimmer frames will soon become in short supply, the Department for Communities and Local Government have said that a common sense approach would be taken when they remember where they left it.

Also in the news this week is that Paris Hilton has begun a petition to escape her 45 day prison sentence. One Guardian reader suggested she be renamed Bangkok Hilton. If her petition works, and Californian judges can be swayed by public opinion, Corporate Blawg will start a petition that judges wigs should be blue and purple rinses.

Corporate Blueg is still on holiday and will return when he has detached himself from the loving embrace of NHS law.

Corporate Papawg has had no fatherhood frights in the last week, and is contentedly working his way through his 2000 A.D. collection, in a mid-life crises but-not-really since I'm-nearly-30 kind-of-way.

Bristol Birds

Bang go the braincells, the liver shivers, and the skin starts to shrivel like a dehydrated prune. Another weekend of intoxication subsides like a cliffside cottage tumbling into the sea. 

All day Sunday, vodka-in-the-neck returned on me as if a putrid dog was p**sing down my hairy throat. I'd recommend it.  Vodka-in-the neck that is. First you swig the neck of a Smirnoff Ice, then you fill the neck up with a double vodka.  Four of these and Bob's your uncle, your aunt and a comedy game with a porcelain bowl. 

This celebration was prompted by visiting Jez, an excellent friend from University.  Jez has put a bun in his wife's oven, and we had to spend our bread on toasting his success.

Fred (short for Frederica) is showing a bump that represents 12 weeks of nervousness.  The impregnation has come as a great relief to them both, particularly Jez.  It is a worry for every man, to some extent.  My personal experience is that rugby boots make soft work of unprotected gonads, and slipping on electric fences makes pubic hair stand on end.  Despite similar accidental tortures, Jez's tadpoles have proved that they can swim vigorously, vigorously enough to reach the spherical gamete of womanness and turn it into a prawn.

Jubilent at seeing each other again, Jez and I left Fred with the washing up and a lime cordial. On Fred's suggestion we headed into town to chat mano-a-mano, and read birds' names from an Eye-spy paperback - such as Shag, Shoveller, Spoonbill, Little Tern, Woodcock, Swallow, Mistel Thrush, Great Tit, Raven, Great Skua, Horned Lark, Northern Flicker, Ruff etc. 

Jez wore a pink cardigan so come 3a.m. every bouncer directed us to gay bars,which weren't on the agenda for us.  After 3 vodka-in-the-necks and 4 jugs of Star we found a place with titties and beer in a seedy backstreet of Bristol.  Unfortunately, this wasn't the kind of bar where the girls take off their clothes for money, but it was the kind of place to hang out with Gracey and her sister, Memphis. 

Gracey was 17 in age and stone.  Twice as wide as me, and when she talked her cleavage leant into my beer as if her nipples would suck up the alcohol and spray it across the room. 

In a thick West-Country accent, Gracey told me that she has a one-year-old at home, and her sister who is 19 also has a baby.  I asked her, politely, how she spends her free time, she told me: "Oi loike foitin' men.  Oi dun loike foitin' wimmin, bah oi loike foitin' men".  It was a wise decision not to ask her about the father of her child.  When this scary creature from Viz started threatening to flick cigarettes at ethnic minorities Jez and I politely asked her not to (which she did to our surprise), and then we moved away from this unpleasant elephant. Clearly motherhood does not have a calming and maturing influence on all women, we discussed, back on piste.

We started to recover from this ordeal over a kebab and an irn bru.  As Corporate Blawg chewed the garlic sauce, Jez told me he wanted me to be one of the three Godfathers to his barn.  Congealed chicken fat escaped his nose.  Me?  A godfather?  Had he lost his mind?  Apparently not.  He said that I was the one to take his sprog to Glastonbury and hear funky jazz musicians in the West End.  I decided to park this idea for another day.

And now, back at work, all that seems quite far away.  At least two hours on the motorway. Haven't told the wife about the godfather thaing yet, in case she thinks I'm ready for responsiblity.

Corporate Blawg has discovered the fear of fatherhood (approximately 2years and 6 months as agreed with the wife), the fear of fatherhood and losing all that's known and good.  So Corporate Blawg has ditched his other blog and will also record here (in green) all that there is to lose before it's gone - craziness of youth, adventures of adolescent proportions, and mis-spent hours between the playstation and the pub.

Corporate Blueg is temporarily on holiday in Rogersnogfairy, for at least another fortnight, maybe.