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Everything is rethingable

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Ian Martin gets sued up to the gallbladder by speccy chancers in buttoned, tieless shirts

MONDAY Plagiarism is an ugly word. It suggests thievery, obviously. But it just sounds ugly. Plagiarism. Like something nasty you catch from a stranger on the internet. Which is how it usually spreads, of course. Like a virulent, lucrative rumour.

They say troubles come in threes. No surprise then that my legal interns are currently dealing with a troika of bullshit from some of my bitterest rivals. The claims themselves are laughable. It is almost as if certain people have looked at my work, thought ‘why didn’t I think of that?’ then forwarded that thought to some intellectual property busybollocks who has finessed it into ‘Why! didn’t I think of that?’ And the next thing I know, I’m being sued up to the gallbladder by speccy chancers in buttoned, tieless shirts from here to Addis Ababa.

TUESDAY Turn up to the Plagiarism Assizes, only to find someone’s nicked my place! Apparently this happens a lot.

WEDNESDAY Oh great. Court One. Justice Clone-Waugh. He has a fearsome reputation for getting to the bottom of things. We’ll be here all week.

First up, some ludicrous ponce from an ‘international urban design and space choreography studio’ in California alleges I stole the ‘crowd ambience’ for my private prayer therapy centre in Tamworth from renderings of his stupid animal church in Santa Monica.

Note the SKY in my Auteur’s Impression, m’lud. Does it look like Santa Monica to you? It’s the colour of cigarette ash. Yes, I concede that the facial expressions of pedestrians in our renderings are identical. But these peopleare smugly anticipating completely different outcomes.

Those heading for the animal church are expecting redemption for their pets. In my scenario, potential customers are converging for communionised self-pity and as a sidebar, there’s nobody on a Segway in a bandanna traversing anything that could possibly be called a ‘micro-plaza’. Plus the people in the Tamworth drawings are fatter.

Justice Clone-Waugh carefully weighs the body mass indices, inducts the integers sana cum laude and self-infers via hearing loop that it’s - bang! CASE DISMISSED.

THURSDAY Next, a mischievous claim that I did, with foreknowledge and malice, base the design of my residential tower in Middlesbrough (hereafter known as the ‘Value Sausage’) on the design of a vertical community encasement in Moscow (literally, the ‘Iberico Luxury Cylinder of Executive Meat and Gristle’).

Some theatrically affronted dickhead is now demanding that either he gets a small fortune in compensation, or an assurance that the Value Sausage is demolished immediately. Luckily for me, he insists on wearing a little hat in court, ‘in accordance with my atheist beliefs’. This infuriates Justice Clone-Waugh, who pronounces the claim null and void:

‘All sausage-emulating architecture is defined only partially by its visual appearance. Of far greater importance is the common presence inside these built forms of humanity itself, the as it were connective tissue that inhabits and defines all nicknamed landmarks. In the context of a global skyline crowded with giant sausages, I find the plaintiff’s assertion of saucisson sui generis de facto profundis to be frankly laughable and very poorly translated’.


FRIDAY The last hurdle. Some posturing arsetrumpet in a bespoke frock has accused me of stealing her idea to create a completely new upper tier of London.

I was entirely ignorant of her proposals for ‘Upper Jersey’ - a very crude notion to confer tax exemption on anyone with a registered London address more than 200m above ground level.

My own suggestion - Aero Docklandsville - was much more nuanced and set at a slightly lower altitude. I accept that my client, a Qatari gentleman who wishes to remain anonymous, may have been influenced by ‘Upper Jersey’. He definitely saw the initial drawings for this, shortly before commissioning me to map out Aero Docklandsville. What does this prove? Am I responsible for the amoral workings of my client’s mind?


SATURDAY So much for Qatari-owned British justice. I will be appealing against this harsh judgement, and making things as complicated as possible in order to avoid incurring interest on the six million euros. I don’t think the plagiarism industry realises whom they have pissed off. We’ll see who’s laughing when that certain Qatari gentleman receives a very strongly-worded letter from my friend the Prince of Wales!

SUNDAY Repeat of last Sunday’s occurrence in the recliner.

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