August is archive month. Posts from the past
On the table the superskinnysoymoccacinolatte is cold, a film formed over the top.
I’d been so well and truly preoccupied clicking on law firms I thought could put the frighteners on troublesome Zirconnia Bennet and offer ‘go away’ money that I’d forgotten about what was right in front of me, and now as usual, first world problems were beginning to pile up all around me.
The most pressing of which is, of course, the shift back to present tense and that film forming on top of the coffee – is it Dr Zhivago perhaps, or the new Star Wars?
Latte art may have been a pleasant distraction but now I had the name of the city’s top ‘Philly’ lawyer Rushmore Knight lighting up my phone screen and I truly hoped breakfast was about to go all prima facie.
It’s a law film indeed, that one based on a book by John Grisham, what’s it called, the book that’s all in present tense and not a lot to do with giving presents…
“She’s a stone in your shoe we’ll be able to take care of nice ‘n good,” promised Knight in his best non-conciliatory-crisp suit-thousand dollar-an-hour voice, turning my eyes wide with what I was fairly certain would have been the accompanying grace of a wrecking ball.
Ok, so I’m soon going to be free of Zirconnia, but there’s one little problem with that.
Before she is disposed of, I need to find those files. She says she doesn’t have them, that she destroyed them, but I don’t believe that for one second.
Covert remote computer hacking has never really been a quiver in my bow, making me imagine how a one armed chef in charge of a twenty burner stove might feel, but those precious files needed to be retrieved one way or the other and I now set myself to this task with all the urgency of someone fighting for breath.
I got up, leaving a generous tip on the check tablecloth.
With a quick wave of a hand I found myself in the back of a cab and en route to a face to face with the underground computer whiz they called The Dreamweaver.
I didn’t know much about Dreamweaver except that he was young, expensive and infallible.
I found him secreted within his security camera protected backstreet lair, somewhat bizarrely propped up in what looked to be a coin operated, oversized leather massage chair, banks of flickering computer terminals the likes of which NASA would have been proud to call their own all around, and, after the initial quickly exchanged pleasantries, talk quickly turned to the less than charming possibilities afforded by malevolent Trogan e-worms.
Zirconnia was going down big time because of a tasty virus I selected that would do something very strange to her own files and to those belonging to anyone who had liked her on facebook.
Once the party in my head had died down I began to luxuriate in thinking about the object lesson this would serve to Ms Bennet and anyone else contemplating frivolous litigation aimed at the commercial airline industry.
At that very moment Paul Felloes decides he can afford to have a quick gander at facebook.
He is new to the travel industry, he knows practically nothing about ABTA and even less about crossrail, although he had spent a gap year on a round-the-world ticket gift from his father; what he does know, as he trawls through the photos offered as friends on his Facebook, is that a certain Ms Bennet looks very tasty and has an intriguing name so, just as the boss comes to see how the new boy is getting on with the city-deals, he clicks like and switches websites.
Of course, this particular Paul only lives in my imagination but I do know that there are a lot of other Pauls and Paulines out there and they are going to spread my virus – correction Zirconnia’s virus – across the world.