Snowbound so there's no excuse

I have been putting off writing in this blog for a while now. But a combination of the never-ending snow and a half-day with nothing to do, apart from shovel snow, means that really I should write on my blog today.

Sigh.

What to write about...

I see Macca and Heather are back in court for their divorce.

I am betting myself a new pair of shoes that Macca and Heather will be divorced before Himself and She Who Would be Married Forever.

Even though Himself and SWWBMF have been at it since 2004 and they've only been at it since 2006.

It constantly brings this famous case to mind:

Jarndyce and Jarndyce drones on.

This scarecrow of a suit has, in course of time, become so complicated that no man alive knows what it means. The parties to it understand it least, but it has been observed that no two Chancery lawyers can talk about it for five minutes without coming to a total disagreement as to all the premises.

Innumerable children have been born into the cause; innumerable old people have died out of it. Scores of persons have deliriously found themselves made parties in Jarndyce and Jarndyce without knowing how or why; whole families have inherited legendary hatreds with the suit.

The little plaintiff or defendant who was promised a new rocking-horse (or dirt bike, as we say in today's world) when Jarndyce and Jarndyce should be settled has grown up, possessed himself of a real horse (or Harley), and trotted away into the other world.

Fair wards of court have faded into mothers and grandmothers; a long procession of Chancellors has come in and gone out; the legion of bills in the suit have been transformed into mere bills of mortality; there are not three Jarndyces left upon the earth perhaps since old Tom Jarndyce in despair blew his brains out at a coffee-house in Chancery Lane; but Jarndyce and Jarndyce still drags its dreary length before the court, perennially hopeless.

Nevermind, as the delightful Kanye says, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

And of course disposing of the copious output from the lawyers is great for adding texture to the compost bin.

It's the little people who have to live in Bleak House I worry about.