It all started when delivered one of his parcels to the Law and Social Sciences Library.
With eleven minutes to fill before his next job he’d boldly strolled in between stacked shelves of books on a whim, looking odd in his couriers outfit.
A forty-five year old in an aubergine uniform, surrounded by twenty year olds who seemed at ease in dress shirts.
Reading legal documents relaxed him.
Terse sentences and precisely honed paragraphs. Each numbered as if to emphasise their relentless commitment to one exactly phrased line of argumentation.
‘7. We see no reason to agree with…’
‘22. It is our view that the precedent…’
‘45. The law in this area is a complex patchwork of overlapping provisions…’
The language dripped with authority of the best kind. Supreme, yet all the while understated. Measured, but also delighting in uncommon flourishes. The odd turns of phrase and nods to french and latin. The knowing winks at ancient customs and insistence on traditional misspelling.
Reading these documents was like walking past the RAC Club on Pall Mall and hearing the doorman ask if you fancied looking around. An invite into a different world. Where if you just stood around something magnificent could happen.
He thought of the authors. Successful, well-respected men and sometimes women. But mainly men.
Men who could eat sushi with no regard for the price.
Overlapping Provisions is five in a series of ten micro-stories. Six is here.
