The Ponty Pilot rang a bell and his clerk came into the chamber and served two bowls of stew for the Governor and the lawyer; when the clerk had left and closed the door behind him, the Governor got to the point: "tell me. Mr Lewis, Aladdin, is your parents' choice of name for you of special significance?"and the flush across the younger man's face should have rung warning bells in the Ponty Pilot's head, as spontaneous a case of aposematism as you can get, but he was undeterred: "many magic lanterns in the house, boyyo?" and Lewis scowled: "while I find personal questions about my name and family circumstances distasteful, Governor, I bow to your position – it's an example of teknonymy; in a long established family firm like Lewis, Lewis, Lewis, Lewis, Lewis Lloyd-George & Lewis, it's easier to identify which of the senior partners you want to refer to, by saying Aladdin's Dad, or Nebuchadnezzar’s Dad, or even Gwilym's Dad, because we, the Juniors, do most of the bloody work although the client's think our dads' are the ones concerned about their cases – they're usually out playing golf while we knock our pans in, interviewing witnesses, checking statements, importuning insurance companies, or accident assessors and trying to get all the papyruswork in order so that Judges, like yourself, sir, have all the necessary information on which to base your judgements," and the Governor offered the youngster a cigar and a more generous than usual glass of his own, dwindling, supply of Laphraoigh: "drink that, boyyo, and taste that cigar, genuine Havana – I never flew the old bus without an emergency crate each of the malt and the smokes – you can't get anything like them here, call it The Holy Land? it's so backward it's almost prehistoric, worse than Cardiff on a wet Sunday in February," and smiled benevolently at the young lawyer, who, after a few moments thought, said: "yes, the cigars and the whisky are kif all right, sir, but don't you think the way they operators have recreated the character and ambiance of Biblical times is superb, such attention to detail – no television, no mobile phones, no cars, no smoking, no advertising hoardings, no credit cards, just gold, silver and bronze Roman coins and pockets full of shekels, I only wish I had a camera, the sights and scenery are ten times better than back in Ponty, and, if I can speak in confidence, sir, none of us at Lewis and co, want to go back, and nor do most of our clients, they prefer life here," and, gratified at the younger man's touching, if misguided, faith in him, the Ponty Pilot leant closer and sotto voce explained to Aladdin Lewis that this was not a Holiday Resort, and that due to a freak storm during the flight, the plane, it's passengers and crew, had all been thrown almost two thousand years into the past: "this is the real deal, sonny, and even if I manage to get Spirit of Ponty airborne again, fuck knows what we'd find back in Wales in 30AD, probably wolves, polar bears and glaciers, people running around blue with cold, but this conversation is strictly on the QT, no record, no quotes, no pack-drill, nothing attributed, we'll call it quits, no winners, no losers, a gentleman's agreement, just between you and me, okay?" and Aladdin took the proffered hand, not quite sure what he had agreed to, but had the distinctly uneasy feeling that, somehow, he had just lost the case!