GeekLawyer’s Blog

Some readers and quiescent cobloggers have assumed that there is a degree of antipathy towards Geeklawyer by his ex-blogger Ruthie. this is superficially a most reasonable belief since, as previously reported, he crushed her professional and love life by eviscerating MinorJunior for his private entertainment. And then he dumped her for humorous effect. So much is well known and disclosed; good grounds indeed for spurned fury.

Nonetheless this evening he permitted her to buy him a lavish supper at a most expensive restaurant. She had not appreciated the ruinous cost of the menu when making this extravagant theatrical bid for reconciliation. But of course like the vile purple women she is her motives and intent were dishonourable, as Geeklawyer knew well. Her brazen hussy-ish behaviour had to be meted its just reward. And so it was. A ruinously expensive supper was threatened and demanded by your blogger. Full and informed consent was given by her.

Having inspected and quailed at the sight of the menu prices, Ruthie invited, implicitly only it must be said, Geeklawyer to sup modestly. She snacked on a single bread roll, drank tap water and ate a cheap delicately baked halibut that was chaperoned only by a frugal serving of potato. She asked for no desert.

Geeklawyer ordered a bottle of the second most expensive champagne on the wine list; it was an elderly bottle of Pol Roger in urgent need of euthanasia. Geeklawyer isn’t, in truth, that keen on champagne - not even the improbably expensive varieties. Unless, that is, a strumpet ex-girlfriend is picking up the bill to impress; then he’ll suffer it more easily.

Oysters in chowder followed as a starter; pursued in eventual turn by a lobster, in Cardinal sauce, that was so large Geeklawyer initially mistook it for a small well cooked pig; And this at £10 a kilo. Ouch.

On hearing, with increasing horror, the sound of this Croesan order unfold Ruthie paled visibly, and with trembling lip she performed what can only fairly be described as an Oscar winning exercise in furiously studied indifference; she pretended to casually text a message into her phone. Geeklawyer could not read it but he assumed that it was to her bank manager, saying “I am being held hostage, all transactions from now on are under duress: please cancel them. Please, oh please.” Geeklawyer thinks that he saw the phone keys destroyed and Ruthie’s thumbs bleeding from the applied pressure.

And on delivering Geeklawyer home she asked to “come up for coffee“. Her reward was a fraternal peck on the cheek. Not one drop of bodily fluids was yielded to the floozy. A poor yield indeed for several hundred quid.

The departing screech of tyres was heard all the way from his road to far far distant Lewes. At least Geeklawyer thinks it was the tyres screaming.