Wednesday, 21 January 2015
25 December 2014
Christmas has descended, like a flurry of fake snow.
It has taken me several days to wind down from CIPA mode: my family had to speak to me quite firmly about the terms of reference I had drawn up for the Christmas Festivities Sub-Committee, not to mention the project plans for the Christmas dinner. But they have persuaded me that Christmas does not warrant the same degree of control as, say, a meeting of the Internal Governance Committee. Also, they say, we do not need to correct the typos in the relatives’ round-robin Christmas letters; indeed there is no clear mechanism for doing so. I am somewhat disappointed on both counts. I had wanted to send the letters back saying Your kids may have earned 67 Brownie badges and played violin at the Royal Albert Hall and your husband may be CEO of Swanky Hotels Inc and you may be Chairman of three committees with a social calendar like the Duchess of Cambridge and I don’t know how you ever find time for those gorgeous new pedigree puppies and the 2-acre garden full of chickens and Thai basil not to mention the good-looking gardener who is also no doubt time-consuming, but you still cannot use apostrophes properly I see.
Still, at least the emails have stopped. Apart from the IPKat, of course, which like other cats is (a) nocturnal and (b) still wrapping itself around your legs even on bank holidays. Also an ex-client of mine, who long ago decided that my invoices were for making paper planes out of, for some reason awakes on Christmas morning, turns to his LinkedIn® app and endorses me for patent litigation. Which I do not do. But apparently he thinks I do. And this is ever so slightly worrying because I am wondering what I put in my last invoice.