Right idea, wrong corpse

Maybe I should be careful what I say here, because one of my best friends is an eminent divorce lawyer, but …

Just down the road from me in Chelsea they had a shoot-up a couple of days ago.

Everyone in England has probably read about it, but for those of you who live in far off places where they shoot people every day – or alternatively they live in blissful harmony – I should explain.

This is not a snide remark – kids shoot each other here all the time either on purpose or by accident, usually over drugs or “disrespect”, a brilliant concept imported from the wonderful world of rap.

A divorce lawyer had a row with his wife, also a divorce lawyer then started shooting at people from the window of his £2,200,000 Chelsea apartment. The police were called in and a gun battle took place.

The sad ending was summed up in a sign I saw outside a newspaper vendor’s stall yesterday: “Why did they kill my son?” – lawyer’s mother. To which the answer, I’m afraid, must be “Because he was shooting at people, dear, and wouldn’t stop”.

The lawyer was described as “high flying” in the papers – which seems somewhat of an understatement considering the way he carried on. He was certainly an alcoholic. All bad news, especially for my partner’s sister, Maura, who saw some of it and feels she was the only person around who wasn’t interviewed.

All this brings me to a confession I have avoided making in these rambling pages, but now is the time. I am in the middle of a long-running divorce, and I can easily think of one lawyer I would happily see shot – the patronising rapacious smoothie who represents she who must be paid off.

My own lawyer commented to me a couple of months ago that the U.K. is the world’s divorce playground for women. I suspect he is right – but see what you think.

When my soon-to-be-ex and I got together she was living in a rather squalid flat in a rundown council estate – what you call a project in the U.S. She had two daughters of 12 and 15, three babies under the age of 2 and no income.

Over the years that followed I provided for them, adopted the young ones and gave them a private education which was more than I could afford for my own older children. In fact life was, to say the least, rather different to the one I found them in. Like trips round the world, for instance, three houses, and at one time no less than five vehicles of one kind or another (strange, as I don’t drive).

Having done all this as the law stands it is apparently reasonable for me to give her all our jointly-owned property. This is because regardless of the reason why she ever came to enjoy it in the first place (me – since she never worked) the law says she must continue to have the life she is used to – though she only became used to it because I provided it. A bit circular, wouldn’t you say?

Is this enough for her? No. She would like an income, too. Although she has never worked, she feels I should carry on doing so. And since I have continued supporting her in the four years since we parted, she is in no hurry to come to court. Why should she be?

As far as I can see, by the way, the law says nothing about my right to carry on having the life I am used to.

As some wit once remarked, “No good deed shall go unpunished”.

I believe many lawyers feel this kind of bias in favour of the wife has gone too far. You could say that, couldn’t you?

Anyhow, I decided this morning that one person who really should be shot, even if only a little, is whoever at London Underground authorised a fatuous recording to tell passengers they should carry bottles of water in this warm weather.

What patronising wankers. They should stop talking to us as though we’re all witless seven year olds and worry more about the trains running on time.

That message sums up one thing seriously wrong nowadays: total, nitpicking obsession with what doesn’t matter at the expense of taking care of things that do.