Letter of the Law
The universe is governed by an unalterable set of laws. The fundamental rules of physics – motion, mass and energy, thermodynamics, if you drop your toast it will land jam side down and your dog will have just deposited a fist-sized ball of excess hair in the exact site of impact (may be less bandied about than E=MC but nonetheless as immutable). Be it legal, spiritual, scientific, we all yield to prescripts in some shape or form.
I recently found myself on a deadline, which obviously meant that I had to self-sabotage and spend at least four hours online working out how much my goat dowry would be (nine whole goats – she stated proudly) and learning all the words to Funky Cold Medina. Somewhere between my bride price in live stock and the silver tongue of Ton Loc, I segued over to a photo of a meal that I will never make, but say that I will (Kellie to captive audience: “I think I’ll make that – insert complicated, expensive, ridiculously time consuming dish – next week. Omnipotent Narrator:“Next week never comes”). Once there, I started searching for a salmon recipe (where is she going with this? I’m sure you’re asking. Well, grab a drink and hold on. I’m getting there). In the throws of searching for culinary fish delights, I stumbled upon an article about the Salmon Act of 1986. The statute decrees, that in Britain it is illegal to “handle a salmon in suspicious circumstances.” This wee gem stopped me in my time-wasting tracks; my mind began to boggle with all of the potentially suspicious circumstances during which I may be found in the act of handling a salmon. Or were the circumstances themselves more mundane, but the salmon handling itself the dodgy factor (what was I doing to that poor salmon)? Could it simply be the fact that I was handling a salmon outside of the realms of a standard salmon handling location, that made the act of handling so beyond the legal pale? Was this the actual phraseology of a real Act of Parliament? Such fun! The following is the result of the rest of my afternoon’s obsessive digging, regarding weird and wonderful laws around the globe.
Where to begin, given the litigious nature of the United States and the fact that laws vary tremendously from state to state, this is going to be my entry point. I have heard it said (well actually I read it on a T-Shirt but it’s still a primary resource) that guns don’t kill people, men with mustaches kill people. Well, the hairy lip set will be further outraged by the fact that in Iowa, it is against the law for a moustachioed man to kiss a woman in public. I’m not sure what branch of law that this falls under; carrying a concealed weapon in the form of a pair of lips?
In Oklahoma, it is against the law to have a sleeping donkey in your bathtub after 7 pm. So, if the donkey was asleep in your bath at say 6.45pm, no-one would bat an eyelid? Is it okay if the donkey in my bath is still awake at 9.15pm? I’m interested in this on multiple levels. Who dictates a donkeys bedtime? Who polices this law? Are there special officers doing dawn raids checking for napping asses in your bathroom post 1900 hours?
If you have Tuszyn, Poland on your travel itinerary, make sure you leave all Winnie the Pooh-based frivolity at home. Our honey loving, ursine friend is an outlaw in these parts. Deemed an “inappropriate hermaphrodite” by lawmakers, his pantless undercarriage and non-gender specific genitalia mean that he is banned from all playgrounds and children’s areas. I’m confident that Owl would have something to say about this. In the meantime, Donald Duck be afraid, very afraid (or invest in a pair of undies).
The French town of Sarpourenx is home to a pragmatic type of Mayor, a real forward thinker. He has issued an edict forbidding anyone to die within the city limits, without first purchasing a burial plot. A severe punishment is threatened for anyone who dares defy this regulation. Now, I’m no Judge Judy, but I can definitely see a flaw in this legalese. What kind of fitting punishment will be meted out to these thoughtless, plotless, dead people? I should think a good talking to and no supper at least. I imagine one of the only benefits of being deceased, is that the laws of Sarpournenx should no longer really bother one.
Do you remember the story that circulated when you were a kid about a purple dye that follows you around the pool if you pee in it? The urge to see if it was legend or legitimate, tempered with the fear of being trailed by the telltale indigo line of the pool pee-er. In Portugal, they have gone big. They have done away with urban legend and brought in legislation. It is against the law to urinate while swimming in the ocean. Again the question of law enforcement raises its head. Do you have facial recognition software that picks up a look of relief? Do you have scuba divers with litmus paper, do you profile women in their 40s that have had children and avoid trampolines? Big questions people.
So now we are more aware of the legal pitfalls of trouserless teddies and fish fondling, we can travel safely. I figure, as long as you wax before you smooch in Iowa and make sure you keep your hands off any salmon outside the comfort of your own home, you should be secure knowing that you can keep on the right side of the judge – as long as you make sure your donkey maintains strict bathing hours; although perhaps in that case the adage is true, the law really is an ass?
