Pole dancing for the judge
Geeklawyer was involved in a rather turgid IP trial in the High Court today. Patent infringement, design rights blah blah yawn etc.
Frankly it was all he could do to count the wodge of £50 notes he was being paid to say “No My Lord, that’s not right …” And he wasn’t doing very well. His Lordship had made clear his interest in Geeklawyer earlier in the trial: usher delivered notes giving invitations to meet in His Lordship’s chambers to ‘discuss the case‘. Geeklawyer is ruggedly hetero and doesn’t go in for the bottom action favoured by conservative MPs and Wykehamists, and politely claimed another pressing interlocutory matter in the Patents County Court.
Well of course spurned judiciary are the worst of all. All of a sudden Geeklawyer’s submissions were meeting large and insurmountable brick walls:
“Your client has the patent [Mr Geeklawyer] covering the activities of the defendant, but perhaps my view is that they should not be held liable for infringement when when opposed by such a desirable barrister who is too proud to meet me for private discussions?”
Mercifully in the 2 hour lunch recess in the pub Geeklawyer read MsR’s blog post about her pole dancing exploits. Inspiration ensued.
The clock chimed midday. Geeklawyer, tanned dark muscular, clad only in Calvin Klein boxers slid through His Lordship’s chamber door. The £2 tube of olive oil was well bought: the oil smothered his rippling muscular pectorals and glistened on his engorged thigh muscles as he wound around his Lord’s 18th century oak doors in the half-light of the Strand afternoon.
“Martin, I mean, My lord [X]. We need to talk about urgent emissions, I’m sorry, submissions”
Geeklawyer leant back against Lord X’s oak bookcase, with its priceless array of 18th century authorities, and extended a muscular defined thigh slowly and delicately around Lord X’s lapdancing pole (an odd thing for a High Court judge to have in his chambers he thought). He could see the shuddering excitement of his Lord compounding as the gyrations of Geeklawyer’s writhings became more urgent and thrusting: as though for all the World the pole was that Love lost in the heady days of yore. Lenore. Nevermore. The visage from the Plutonian shore.
Geeklawyer won his case. An arduous victory. For God’s sake it had better not go to appeal.
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