Geeklawyer is on hol­i­day, but despite this he is still, aston­ish­ingly, work­ing. He’s doing a cor­po­rate buy­out. For his sins he is hav­ing to deal with a bunch of twatty coun­try bump­kin solic­i­tors. Geeklawyer has observed more than once that the more hum­ble the firm, the more remote and insignif­i­cant the town they work in, the grander the part­ners and fee-earners become.

You can imag­ine, there­fore, what the firm of Tweedy Smythe and Hum­bolt of lesser Stoke on Not­ley are like. And you can imag­ine the pain of deal­ing with a part­ner called Mar­tin Snot­t­ley LLB (Clacton-on-Sea Col­lege of Law, 1972, 2.2): on Mon­day he was defend­ing the land­lord of the Black Swan on a charge of not hav­ing a tax disc, while the next day he was wear­ing his Head of Cor­po­rate Law hat. Nei­ther Microsoft, Shell or HM Cus­toms & Excise have yet graced his desk with an instruc­tion, but Mar­tin lives in hope.

Nat­u­rally when deal­ing with a Geeklawyer he is com­pelled to demon­strate that he is a Mas­ter of Law at every oppor­tu­nity. While he is in fact merely a Plonker of Law. Geeklawyer often observes that the smaller the lawyer the greater the affectation.

Geeklawyer is famed for his inabil­ity to be affective.

If you are such a small town solic­i­tor Geeklawyer will now offer you some friendly and con­struc­tive advice: you’re an insignif­i­cant noth­ing & a nobody, get fuck­ing over it, pull over: the big boys are in the fast lane try­ing to get past you.

But oh my, why me? Geeklawyer is a nice chap, what­ever the bitch god­dess Ruthie says; and why do these peo­ple crop up only when he is on hol­i­day? It’s not fair.

Mein Herr: noch etwas ein fleis­che Schnapps, bitte. Rauch schwein! Rauch.