Legal Widow

The Lawyer is cross because he has had to revisit all his contracts and write in a force majeure clause, all the while complaining that asteroids come under Acts of God and are therefore covered already. He even rang the vicarage for corroboration, but our vicar is of the allegorical type, preferring the idea of a spiritual rather than a physical resurrection, and told the Lawyer that unless he could see the asteroid as a manifestation of man’s universal fears and hatreds, he couldn’t help him. The Lawyer slammed the phone down, saying: “That’s what comes of letting liberals into the Church,” and promptly looked up the local RC presbytery in the phone book.
Subjudice has realised that she has until the age of 29 to get all her living done and is lobbying to leave school and start her gap year now. I think the idea is that the gap year extends to the moment of impact, which will find her sitting on a beach in Thailand gazing up at the stars, high on some illegal substance. At the moment, she and her little hippy friends have to make do with oversugared cans of pop, which they glug down until they get manic and giggly and then fall over complaining of a headache – classic drug-taking behaviour. Her conviction that the world is going to end in her lifetime means she refuses to do anything productive while her lifetime still has any years left to run. I’m just relieved school’s over and she can do her slacking during the summer holidays, although I can see battles looming over getting out of bed, getting dressed, getting washed etc. Mind you, I remember a similar malaise when I was her age, thinking it was no good planning for anything because we’d all be obliterated in a nuclear war. It’s probably a comment on the comic book youth of today that they ignore perfectly good life-threatening conflicts bubbling away on the other side of the globe in favour of a big fat ice cube hurtling through space.
Subjudice’s attitude is catching. It’s been difficult getting the Lawyer to do so much as a feed and weed on the lawn because, as he pointed out, if we wake up one morning to find a great smoking hole where the garden used to be, that will be £17.50 in Homebase’s pockets and not ours. He’s also been hinting that the expensive garden design course I plan to embark upon in the autumn will be a waste of time. In retaliation, I asked him whether the humiliating race for equity was worth it if we only have a few years left to us; but he pointed out that he’d feel a whole lot happier borrowing the cash to buy his way in to the firm if he knew he never had to pay it back.
Deminimus and Liability have taken an altogether sunnier view. Because we let her put on unsuitable videos at five in the morning in an attempt to gain a few more hours kip, Liability knows that Bruce Willis will simply go up there and blow the thing up. And Deminimus, the young physicist, has been doing the maths.
“It’s not as if it’s going to hit us,” he said, demonstrating the chances of a direct hit with the aid of an apple he hurled over the sofa towards the orange held by his younger sister.
“Ow,” said Liability. “Mummy – he hit meeeee.”
“Yes, but I missed the orange,” said Deminimus.