Hey, this isn’t Lincoln Road! (aka The Secret Diary of Steve Braunias)

via Stuff

by Brayin’ Stevia

 

Monday

Walked into the office with the kind of misplaced optimism you have on a Monday morning.  Fresh week.  Last week’s disasters behind you.  That sort of thing.

A note on my desk.

“See me – Shayne”

Quaint.  A note.  No technology used here if it can be avoided.

He looks happy to see me.

“I need you to go to the High Court this week to cover the Slater trial”

The blank stare bounces of his steely dome without noticeable effect.

“What about Amelia?”, I ask.

She booked this week off months ago.  Clever woman.

Court reporting eh?  How hard can it be?

 

Tuesday

Think I did a decent job yesterday.  I managed to keep my personal loathing of Colin Craig and Cameron Slater dialled down, and put in a great piece.  Definitely up to standard.

Especially proud of my preferred pull-quote that wasn’t used.  Although I myself love the self-referential irony.   Pearls and swines.  So much dies in editing.

The only people there were people who had a professional reason to be there. No spectators, no idly curious, despite the fact that the courtroom was filled with song.

Brilliant.

Truth be told, not looking forward to today.  These are two very unpleasant and unlikable people using a court to argue over who gets to keep millions of dollars because one of them wanted to have sex with his secretary and the other one wrote that he wanted to have sex with his secretary.

50 shades of gaster ejecta.

Why am I here?   I’m better than this.

 

Wednesday

Had a chat with myself.  Even though I hate being here and can feel every second of my life fading away into a meaningless void, I’m a professional.

If Amelia can do it, then it should be easy.  Clearly.

Now focus.

No.

I can’t do it.

This is nauseating.  If these two liked each other, they’d be even less bearable.

“You called me a poopy pants”, says Craig.

“Can you honestly tell the court that you never ever pooped in your pants?”, retorts Slater.

“But my poops come from God”, offers Craig

“All things are made by God”, says Slater, “even me!”

 

Thursday

I brought a book.

I’ll pen something during lunch, but I’m just going to sit here and read today.  Not like Shayne cares.  He just wants 500 words.  Add the mandatory Slater back-stab.  Job done.

Chatwin’s writing got under my skin, and I don’t necessarily mean that in a good way. At times he can turn a beautiful phrase when describing a sunset or the wind scoured landscape that seems to go forever. In other places I wanted him to move on, his prose making me claustrophobic in a place big enough to swallow me whole.

What?

Oh, lunch.

I’ll forgive Chatwin’s too many references to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and colonial white-man timbre to some of his musings in exchange for reminding me the importance of walking to experience and getting me out of my comfort zone; getting me close enough to high-fin whales and watch seals display their molars.

Whales.

That seems to ring…

…Jesus.  I better write something quick.  Erm

“Craig v Slater – Great comedy, but no one laughed”

Masterful.  If I do say so myself.

 

Friday

I’m, going in after lunch.  Or not, if I can get away with it.  I can’t stand the idea of going back to room 14 to see two right-wing ego driven mental cases have a battle of wits.   Plus I have In Patagonia to finish.

I’ll make something up for Shayne later.

I always do.

 

I’m too old for this.

 


Read more by Brayin Stevia.

– In patagonia review quotes shamelessly borrowed from Amazon

 


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