Today I was fortunate enough to attend an interview at a local firm of solicitors. The building was the first thing to make an impression; after the succession of tiled steps which led up to a brightly painted front door, I found myself standing in a huge hallway under the austere gaze of a man painted in oil and framed in ornate gold. I was shown to the waiting room. It represented perfectly what I had always wanted in a house of my own one day; antique deep red leather chairs, with varying hues across the seat and arms from years of wear, and a towering oak cabinet with glass windows filled with dusty law books, all red and green bound, and with gold writing gleaming on their spines.
The silence of the building hung as gracefully as the painting in the hallway; and, such is the same within many Courtrooms and Solicitor's offices, the dark oak, the red leather, the oil paintings and the smell of dust all amalgamated so as to inspire me to sit up straight and improve my posture considerably for the sake of some unseen disciplinarian. In an environment such as this infused with venerableness - in which I have found myself working in at various times of my life -one could be forgiven for thinking the year 1710, 1810, or 1910; and this is one of the little lascivious things I cherish about the Legal profession, at least in terms of the offices I have worked in. In my opinion, one is very lucky to work in an atmosphere such as this.
The rich and detailed history of Law are inescapable, especially in such surroundings; and, very much like the gentleman watching from the confines of his golden frame, one is humbled by the grace, regality and time-honored traditions of such a fine art.
Tuesday 23 February 2010
Thursday 18 February 2010
All the goings on in February
It has been a while since I wrote.
On reflection, it occurred to me that the reason is partly down to lack of ideas for content, and by this I mean the relevant content in connection with a 1920s blog. Which is of course, what this is. I have always been one to have something to say, which pleases some and is a source of great annoyance to others (although none dare say so; and if they do, they say it with a twist of jest drizzled on top so as to sweeten with subtlety and avoid any bitterness), but my problem is that it is not always strictly in relation to the 1920s. If only it were. And so I face this problem, where in my opinion if I have a 1920s blog, then it should be filled with 1920s related things, and 1920s related things only. This would of course all be very achievable if I were in the decade itself. Sadly, and very bitterly, I may add, I find myself light years away from it, and surrounded by the recent echoes of the noughties and the new decade stretched out ahead of me, still filled with plastic celebrities and cheap perfumes stamped with their names; of supermarkets in a constant attempt to take over the world and fight each other to the death by way of advertising and marketing and cost-cutting, meaning that our dear local home grown independent grocers and butchers and bakers are all dying a death. And the list of course goes on to include all manner of politics, and society, and all the ills that pain me of this age. But that is for another time.
So you see, it becomes entirely distracting at times to write constantly about an age one does no longer live in.
So it came to me this morning that perhaps I should be less strict with my blog; and allow the content to be flexible and free so that it doesn't sit unattended for weeks and months at a time. I have come to the conclusion - one which is rather silly, being so completely obvious that I feel an idiot for stating the revelation here in writing as though it were some life-changing discovery - that I can, and will as a course of my own nature, write things here that will always undoubtedly contain an element of the twenties about it. No matter what it is. Whether I write about Cheryl Cole, or Lady Gaga, or Rudolph Valentino and Constance Talmadge - it will always be with an air of twenties-ism that is as ever-present and thoroughly instilled in me as the ways of an old Etonian will still always be an old Etonian, even if they decided to run away and join a circus, or some such unrealistic (I assume, but could be wrong) set of circumstances.
(If anyone knows of an old Etonian that did this, I have to say I will now be intrigued to know about the gentleman's fate).
So with that in mind I hope, very much so, to go forward discussing all manner of sorts here, past and present (and possibly future); but as ever, I will always be humbly your
Girl Gatsby
On reflection, it occurred to me that the reason is partly down to lack of ideas for content, and by this I mean the relevant content in connection with a 1920s blog. Which is of course, what this is. I have always been one to have something to say, which pleases some and is a source of great annoyance to others (although none dare say so; and if they do, they say it with a twist of jest drizzled on top so as to sweeten with subtlety and avoid any bitterness), but my problem is that it is not always strictly in relation to the 1920s. If only it were. And so I face this problem, where in my opinion if I have a 1920s blog, then it should be filled with 1920s related things, and 1920s related things only. This would of course all be very achievable if I were in the decade itself. Sadly, and very bitterly, I may add, I find myself light years away from it, and surrounded by the recent echoes of the noughties and the new decade stretched out ahead of me, still filled with plastic celebrities and cheap perfumes stamped with their names; of supermarkets in a constant attempt to take over the world and fight each other to the death by way of advertising and marketing and cost-cutting, meaning that our dear local home grown independent grocers and butchers and bakers are all dying a death. And the list of course goes on to include all manner of politics, and society, and all the ills that pain me of this age. But that is for another time.
So you see, it becomes entirely distracting at times to write constantly about an age one does no longer live in.
So it came to me this morning that perhaps I should be less strict with my blog; and allow the content to be flexible and free so that it doesn't sit unattended for weeks and months at a time. I have come to the conclusion - one which is rather silly, being so completely obvious that I feel an idiot for stating the revelation here in writing as though it were some life-changing discovery - that I can, and will as a course of my own nature, write things here that will always undoubtedly contain an element of the twenties about it. No matter what it is. Whether I write about Cheryl Cole, or Lady Gaga, or Rudolph Valentino and Constance Talmadge - it will always be with an air of twenties-ism that is as ever-present and thoroughly instilled in me as the ways of an old Etonian will still always be an old Etonian, even if they decided to run away and join a circus, or some such unrealistic (I assume, but could be wrong) set of circumstances.
(If anyone knows of an old Etonian that did this, I have to say I will now be intrigued to know about the gentleman's fate).
So with that in mind I hope, very much so, to go forward discussing all manner of sorts here, past and present (and possibly future); but as ever, I will always be humbly your
Girl Gatsby
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