A bit of a misunderstanding
The Gunsmith’s Arms was closed this weekend. A brisk, executive notice stapled to the lintel above the door attested to this fact, informing arriving hopefuls that the sudden closure was owing to the shabby, putrid state of some of the more bibulous locals, whom the pub management had taken it upon themselves to refurbish. Strange, odourless smoke seeped out from the unmended cracks in the windows; so Hamilton and I made our way to the Muted Slughorn for an iced grapefruit and warm Scotch. We had been settled for some time when I mentioned I’d spent the afternoon browsing the website of a firm of London actuaries. Hamilton looked exasperated by the confession and I quickly explained that my attention had been held by the ‘site’s life expect-ometer, an engrossing facility that generated an average life expectancy for every UK postcode. I had discovered that at my present address, I could reasonably aspire to 2.3 years longer than the national average, but less than half a kilometre down the road, that expectation dropped by more than 18 months. Naturally, I continued, I had resolved never to leave the house again for fear of becoming suddenly and statistically vulnerable. Hamilton seemed to be on the point of proffering some tiresome counter-argument when I raised my hand and hissed at him to be silent: in the far corner of the bar we could just make out the bare-bottomed, leatherclad form of F1 supremo Max Mosley, weeping into a tumbler of Rannoch Farm malt. 'You sir,' exploded Hamilton from across the room, 'have borne witness, and enjoyed for your own part, one of the finest, most seminal legal resolutions of the decade. Pull yourself together!' On closer and more sympathetic enquiry, it transpired that the saucy litigant, being poorly versed in the language of the bench, had been frenziedly excited by the prospect of 'punitive damages', and sorely disappointed by the reality. By way of compensation I offered to buy him another whisky and knock out several of his front teeth. He accepted gladly and, afterwards, ran off giggling into the dusky evening.
