Sod's Law

So 12.39pm finds me not in my class, as expected of a respectable College of (the) Law of England and Wales' student with classes from 12pm to half two, but in the library blogging away in reckless abandon.

The reason for this is not my purpoted(read; disgustingly shameless) laissez-faire attitude to the things I am uninterested in. The College of Law currently ranks in the ‘Supremely Unconcerned’ zone...with every suspicion of its languishing in this zone for the foreseeable future, what with the daily barrage of work they pile on my dainty coiffure. Honestly, for someone who works best….ok then, someone who works ‘okay’, right at the very end of the year by subsisting on cramming and sheer willpower, having to attend classes everyday and hand-in substantial amounts of work DAILY is not really my thing….*hears mother’s voice in head “Oho! So whose thing is it then?!”* Well, for one, it certainly is some other Law students’ thing, I assure you! If I hear one more solicitor-in-training excitedly chirp about the glorious joys of detangling Tax Law equations, or spot another raising hands, unprompted, to answer questions like his armpits have hedgehogs lodged in their depths, oh it will be on! *snaps finger in ‘Z’ formation*

I have never been a stickler for daily attendance at school largely because I honestly believe that the amount of money we pay as tuition fees can NOT possibly cover the amount of suffering each disturbingly boring class brings. (Sit down Mr Cameron! I don’t mean I agree with your hair-brained scheme to increase fees…we all know who will be the real victims of that; England’s Money Pigs a.k.a The International Students. The BNP always conveniently forgets this group of sacrificing youth, in its incessant lectures on immigration. And all their 'Nigger Get Like Me, I'm Ethnically British' swagger. Ok so that was a David Banner remix of what the BNP actually say not what they have said, well at least not what they have said in public. Yet. But one does hope.

One digresses.
 
So, supreme unconcern aside, I have long since the first term of my first year at university realised that law was not really my passion in life. *Hears daddy reasonably intone, “Its stability not passion that provides food for one’s table”. Regardless of this untimely realisation, I have gone on to complete a law degree from a renowned university, attained a masters from another prestigious institute, studying at the ‘UK’s best law school' and I’m looking to crown my scholarly pursuits with knowledge of the nefarious laws of my motherland. (So yes, I do believe I have successfully stolen the Great Pretender award from King Edward VI).

So attending classes and doing all those things that are necessary in the quest for the haloed grail of good grades is something I have gotten quite skilled at. Even when all i want to do is make like Little Britain's Vicky Pollard and ask the world "AM I BOVVERED THO'?" Now, after this long winded whine session, you may conclude that this general disinterest in my daily studying is the reason I am currently lounging in the library blogging away with nary a care in the world as my class goes on 3 doors away? Simple answer, Transport For London....To borrow a most Nigerian term; in short, LONDON as a whole!

Now, I must profer a disclaimer at this point to my accusing TFL when I am Nigerian. Mainly because the Nigerian traffic causes us to give at least a two hour grace period when scheduling appointments. I guess I shouldn't complain about slow trains and all. I will anyways.

As I was saying, from time to time it seems like the universe syncs with all its natural accomplices to frustrate the milk of human kindness out of a person’s spirit. Apparently this is called Sod's Law. The stated law is defined by the Urban Dictionary as "A humorous axiom stating that anything that can go wrong will go wrong." In London, 'time to time' appears to be every other day for most commuters.
 
Take for instance this ordinary day in the life of a regular London student.

Today you have an early, essential lecture. This is of course, the very day that the bustop in front of your house is ‘Not In Use’ as the bus has to be diverted due to an accident at dawn caused by rival gangs playing Stab-Da-Bredrin on your street. You finally decide to walk to  the next available bus stop 15 minutes away on this blisteringly cold morning. Halfway there the heavens open and blessings of the wet variety descend on your newly coiffured hair which you were rather eager to show off at this morning’s lecture.

You hurriedly sweep your fingers through your heavy bag, frantically searching as you still attempt to walk briskly along, stopping only once to remove your gloves for a more thorough search. Refusing to believe the obvious...that your umbrella is cushioned warmly between your wallet and housekeys, both still laying calmly forgotten on your dresser. Dearly wishing you were in a country littered with street hawkers with whom you would have conveniently picked a fight and vented your frustration, you instead Bolt to the bustop like a mature post-graduate student towards a ‘Free Food’ sign.

You obviously miss your bus. Wait 10 minutes in the vicious, sleeting and perpetual English rain, finally smiling as you see another bus approaching your bus stop. As you look into your bag to find your Oyster, Oga Driver just take style scale pass you, leave you dey gawk!! In English, the one second you put your head down to withdraw your Oyster card, the bus driver assumes you are not waiting for his bus and it sails past on its merry way.

You finally get on a bus, and there is no place to seat. Of course. So you stand there creating your own puddle as little children in bright wellies look longingly at the water pooling at your feet even as their mothers give them that 'Step Into That Water And Feel My Wrath' look that must be a compulsory elective at Mummy College. You stand for the short ride to the tube station and quickly rush to your platform on your arrival....then watch your train go chugging past IMMEDIATELY you arrive at the platform. Just like your train was waiting for that ‘monkey-sucking-a-lemon' look you now have on your face as you stare at its cheerfully retreating backside.
 
The next train of course will be delayed because today is the day someone decided to end their life AND inconvenience the world at the same time, by jumping in front of a train. Not to make light of suicide, but it seems a rather selfish thing to do. Furthermore, jumping in front of a train seems the very height of selfishness. Think about the driver who will now live with a guilty conscience forever. And how about the other commuters who might be scarred by the experience. Although admittedly many Londoners will unremorselessly think ‘good riddance’. But still!

So, the train is delayed and when you do get on a train(FINALLY!), it moves so slowly that you immediately believe that what you have  always suspected is indeed true, “Little midgets move trains”. Yes indeed, the train proceeds to move like it is being slowly pushed by a group of elderly midgets. Is this train-crawling limited to the Northern Line only?? Oh BORIS!!!!!
 
Anyways, you finally get to your destination, in my case School, so late that barging into the class at this point is tantamount to slapping your teacher Leona Lewis style (Is it too soon?... For someone to be so angry at her lack of personality that he slaps her is NOT funny. Well, not THAT funny.) So, you find yourself quietly seated in the library blogging away. Pretending you are not beyond elated to be given a reprieve from the mindless boredom that is an Accounting Law class.