Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  ‘I think you’ve missed limitation on one of your cases.’

  ‘What do you mean? Which case? My papers? What?’

  OldRuin then re-entered the room and I bowed my head. TheBoss glared but said nothing more. Eventually, he very unsubtly suggested I might like to join him for coffee on Chancery Lane. OldRuin looked at me conspiratorially. There was obviously something up, as such a gesture was wholly out of character from TheBoss. Nevertheless, a few minutes later we were indeed heading off to a café down the main legal thoroughfare in London.

  ‘So, what are you talking about?’ he asked as he tucked into the large doughnut he’d ordered to accompany his coffee.

  ‘Just what I said. Your papers for the solicitors on the shipping case have passed limitation during the time they’ve been sitting on your shelf. It’s an accident on a ship and you’ve only got two years.’

  After a brief bout of Tourette’s that shocked an old lady walking by, he started to think it through a little more carefully. True to character, his only form of defence was attack.

  ‘What were you doing going through my private papers? You had no right.’

  ‘I’m your pupil. That’s my job.’

  ‘You were only to touch papers that I told you about. There could be all sorts of confidential documents in there.’

  ‘But you told me that I was to do as many of your sets of papers as I was able and that there was no need to ask you about them

  – just to get on with it.’ ‘I didn’t mean go and cause this sort of trouble.’ By that point, I’d had enough. Even a pupil has a tipping point. ‘I’m extremely sorry you feel that way,’ I said, raising my head

  and catching his stare. My sudden bout of confidence appeared to unnerve him and he changed tack immediately.

  ‘Anyway, I suppose I should also be grateful to you for spotting

  it. What do you think we can do about it?’ ‘Well, we haven’t told the solicitors yet. That might be a start.’ ‘Who else knows, exactly, except you?’

  ‘No one.’ I hadn’t wanted to involve my friend from the other chambers and so had refrained from saying anything else to him.

  ‘Let’s sit on it today. I’ll try and think of a solution by tomorrow morning.’

  And that was that.

  Friday 3 November 2006

  Day 25 (week 5): Faustian pact

  Today I compromised myself. It is not the first time and will probably not be the last, given my initial impression of this mighty profession. But today I crossed a line that, until now, delineated the boundary between the bad and the wholly unacceptable.

  TheBoss arrived this morning and put forward a solution: that I would forget that I had ever seen the papers. He would then write a short advice and print it off for his own records dated July 2006. This would include a gentle reminder about limitation. He would then change the records in chambers showing the papers had been returned in July along with the advice and a fee note. This was one of the advantages of giving members of chambers full access to their own parts of the system. Come Monday, he would ask the most junior clerk to phone the solicitors politely asking about the progress of the case. So long as he could show that the papers were not on his shelf, the responsibility would then lie with the solicitors.

  TheBoss explained that he’d had a misconduct issue in the past and that if this came out it could be the end of his career. Also, it was only a tiny thing. Just amending the records. Not a big deal and ultimately it would be the insurance which would pay up, if anyone. Furthermore, the solicitors were in the wrong even if he hadn’t sent an advice. It was just an adjunct to their primary liability in any event. All not a big deal. Just making things clear.

  I have to admit that despite being shocked, in the heat of the moment I also saw this as an opportunity. I asked him how it might affect my pupillage.

  ‘Only positively,’ he replied.

  The deal was done.

  Monday 6 November 2006

  Day 26 (week 6): JudgeJewellery

  There’s a vicious rumour going around about one of the district judges who I shall call JudgeJewellery. It apparently started with a barrister friend of hers and has been doing the rounds for weeks. It seems she unwisely confided to her garrulous friend that she has a penchant for stealing cheap jewellery from a certain high street shop I will call CheapnNasty. Whips it straight into her Gucci handbag and then she’s away without anyone daring to accuse someone so glamorous of such petty theft. If that isn’t enough, she then likes to show off her wares in court the next day like some sort of trophy. Sounds completely unreal but although the chain of Chinese whispers was fairly protracted, the gossip did come from reliable sources.

  Today I was with a junior barrister called Teflon, so called apparently due to the fact that whatever trouble he gets into, none of it sticks. He was appearing in front of JudgeJewellery and she was certainly sporting some gaudy-looking earrings. Yet despite the fact that they clashed with her judicial uniform, she carried it off with enormous style. It’s not merely that she is beautiful. She seems somehow to be above all the hustle and bustle of the arguments going on around her, easily reducing Teflon to rubble with one of her slightly amused smiles. All of which kind of makes even her pilfering seem kind of cool. Which of course it isn’t. But hey. I don’t think I’m the only male member of the Bar who is suffering from this mild, if somewhat inappropriate, infatuation.

  When I got back from court TheBoss had left a set of papers on my desk with the instruction ‘Email me the advice by tomorrow morning’ scrawled on a Post-it note on top. Great. Just what I needed at six in the evening. Then, with impeccable timing, Worrier strolled in looking for help. Not that I wasn’t pleased to see her. In fact I’ve already grown to like her very much, partially based on our mutual dislike of the other two goody-goodies. It’s just that I already had work which would probably take me past midnight and Worrier’s little queries never tended to be quick.

  ‘I’m in a panic, BabyB. I’ve got to finish an advice by tomorrow morning and I’m completely stuck.’

  ‘You and me both,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ She stopped in her tracks and looked slightly forlorn.

  Immediately I felt bad for taking my impatience out on her.

  ‘How can I help, Worrier?’

  ‘Well, I’ve done a first draft. I just need someone to have a read through for me. But if you don’t have the time . . .’

  ‘Of course I have the time. Let’s have a look.’

  ‘It’s quite long,’ she warned.

  ‘Let’s see.’

  She handed me the advice, looking slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Worrier, it’s forty-five pages long.’

  ‘That’s the problem, BabyB. I’m having difficulties working out what needs to go in.’

  To leave Worrier to hand in that particular piece of work would have made her a laughing stock. To correct it would probably leave me getting a couple of hours’ sleep at most. But I have to say Worrier really did look in a state, and as I looked at her again I heard myself saying, ‘Pass it here. Let’s see what we can do.’

  Tuesday 7 November 2006

  Day 27 (week 6): Sorted

  Today TheBoss has been dealing with the fallout from his plan. Or to put it more accurately, the lack of fallout. He amended the entries on the system without a hitch. It wasn’t designed to protect against corrupt barristers and so it was easy to do so without any trace. The junior clerk then made the call yesterday afternoon. This morning, the solicitor called TheBoss. Despite the calm in his voice, he was swivelling around nervously on his expensive orthopaedic chair. I only heard TheBoss’s side of the conversation.

  ‘I was just wondering how the case was getting on.’

  . . .

  ‘Oh. Didn’t you get my advice?’

  . . .

  ‘Oh. That’s strange. It was sent back in July. I can dig out a copy

  and fax it over after this call.’

 
. . . ‘No. Not at all. It would be my pleasure. Very strange. Must have been a problem with the post.’ . . . ‘Oh, by the way, I assume you’ve issued by now?’ . . . ‘What? Oh, no. Oh, no. Did you not realise that limitation for cases involving ships is two years? I did mention it in my advice but to be honest, I thought you’d know that anyway.’ . . . ‘Hmm. I don’t know what you can do at this stage. It’s pretty serious. I’d certainly suggest that you report this to your professional indemnity insurers and seek their guidance before doing anything further.’ . . . ‘No, no. I’m sure it must have been the postage. I wouldn’t want you to start blaming your internal post.’ . . . ‘Oh. It’s my pleasure. If I can help you further with this, please just ask.’

  Looking particularly smug, TheBoss turned to me and said, ‘Some might say, BabyB, “Case closed”.’ How worryingly easy it was. Makes you wonder.

  Thursday 9 November 2006

  Day 29 (week 6): Flirt

  Pretty much back to normal now. TheBoss is his old arrogant self and I’m making coffees and photocopying. BusyBody’s been at her worst today. Sniffing around our room under the pretence of researching through the law reports there. Worse though, was TheBoss’s reaction to her presence.

  ‘That’s a nice blouse,’ he kicked off with, to which BusyBody was all, ‘Oh, do you like it. I just bought it at the weekend.’ Then he followed up with more questions than he’s asked of me in the last five weeks. ‘Where are you from?’, ‘What university?’, ‘Ooh, what college?’, right down to questions about parents and siblings. At first I just noticed that he was being peculiarly nice, but within about ten minutes it was obvious he was in full-on flirt mode. BusyBody of course was lapping it up and wasted no time in returning the compliments and looked positively reluctant to leave when the call came in from her own pupilmaster demanding her return.

  After that performance I needed to get out and managed to persuade Claire to bunk off at 5 p.m. under the standard excuse of ‘research in the library’. Then it was down to what has become our local wine bar, The Cheeky Monkey.

  ‘So what’s your pupilmistress had you doing this week?’ I asked.

  ‘Dry-cleaning Monday, food shopping Tuesday and then researching packages for her Christmas holiday today.’

  ‘Still saving the world then.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Well, you should be so lucky. Got to be better than drafting schedules of loss and photocopying duty.’

  ‘Sometimes I do wonder.’

  I then told her about what TheBoss had been up to and the fact that I had stood by.

  ‘You fool, BabyB. Didn’t you try to stop him?’

  ‘I wish I’d had the courage. I really do. But it’d risk everything.’

  She looked pensive and then came to a judgement. ‘It’s terrible, BabyB. You were put in an impossible position. I mean, what were you meant to do?’ she asked rhetorically.‘Report him and end your chances of tenancy?’ She looked concerned. ‘I wouldn’t mention it to anyone else if I were you. Let’s just hope it all blows over.’

  Friday 10 November 2006

  Day 30 (week 6): Busker or Creep?

  Today I had the pleasure of seeing two members of chambers against each other in court and they couldn’t have been more different in every way.

  First there was TheCreep who, despite the fact that he’s only been in chambers for three years, carries himself as if he’s a member of the House of Lords. I’ve heard him around chambers approaching QCs and asking them their thoughts on the latest ruling on a particular aspect of public policy. As if everyone goes round reading the law reports each day. He’s desperate to be picked as a junior by one of these big beasts, but what he doesn’t appear to realise is that they just find him irritating. Worse for him is that the clerks can’t stand his airs and graces and go out of their way to put him in his place with tiny cases in grotty, far-flung courts. TheBusker, on the other hand, couldn’t be less of a creep. He’s ten years’ call and about as laid back as it’s possible for a barrister to be, almost to the point of seeming a little spaced on occasion.

  Physically TheCreep is short and stocky and his brown hair is always neatly combed to the side. Though his suits are always immaculately pressed, they appear to be slightly too big, as if he’s still hoping to grow into them. The way he holds himself has the air of a sergeant major on parade,as if he’s always standing to attention, although again I wonder whether this is more a manifestation of him willing himself to be taller. TheBusker, on the other hand, is around six foot and quite slim and with a lazy slouch which makes even his tailored suits look slightly scruffy, as does his dishevelled mop of blond hair. But these differences aren’t anywhere near as great as that between their courtroom styles with TheCreep all jumped up and stressed out and TheBusker only highlighting those difficulties with a laid-back style that is often more surfer dude than traditional barrister.

  Today it was a building dispute and TheBusker was representing the dodgy building contractors. TheCreep had some particularly needy clients, which only exacerbated his brittle manner. With their obvious differences the two were grating against each other even before they got into court with TheCreep trying to have an argument with TheBusker in the robing room.

  ‘I’m going to be asking for your Defence to be struck out as it doesn’t comply with the Practice Direction,’ he said.

  ‘No worries, my friend, you can apply for what you like.’

  ‘Yes, but do you agree that it doesn’t comply?’

  ‘Sorry, Creep. You’re acting as though you think I might care.’

  ‘Yes, but how are you going to answer it?’

  ‘Oh. I’m sure I’ll think of something.’

  The more stressed TheCreep became, the more laid back was TheBusker. He had no notes and came across very much as if he’d only just read the papers on the train there (which I can confirm was true). It was only when we got into court that I realised how he had prospered at the Bar for so long despite (or perhaps because of) his approach.

  TheCreep rose and spoke first. ‘Your Honour, the Defence fails to comply with the Practice Direction and should be struck out. Unfortunately, m’learned friend has not provided me with an answer to this point . . .’ He then set it out in characteristic length for the next twenty minutes. To which TheBusker simply got up and said, ‘Your Honour. We’re not here today to argue pleading points. We know that, you know that and I’m afraid to suggest that even m’learned friend might know that too.’ Without even addressing the substance of the argument he sat down and smiled at TheCreep. The judge then spent the next half hour addressing all TheCreep’s arguments before concluding in almost exactly the same terms as the submissions of TheBusker.

  The same applied to the hearing proper. Whilst TheCreep was busily scribbling notes, shaking his head and making loud sighs to himself, TheBusker just sat back in his chair with his hands behind his head staring at each of the claimant’s witnesses and not making a single note. Watching how they gave their evidence. Looking for a chink or foible in their character. Then he’d get up and ever so gently ask them questions which didn’t even seem to be relevant, but which resulted in each of them being tripped up in one form or another. As for his closing submissions, they were again brief.

  ‘Your Honour. It’s clear the building work wasn’t perfect. We’d be the first to admit to that. In fact we’d go so far as to express our regret in that respect. But nor was it sufficiently imperfect to be classified as negligence. M’learned friend has, quite properly I might add, made a lot of points today but, with respect, they were nitpicking. Thankfully, Your Honour, we do not yet live in a world where nitpickers rule the roost nor where courts of law award them damages.’ After which he sat down and TheCreep’s case was done for.

  After we all left court, the colour in TheCreep’s cheeks had risen as high as his limited height would allow and he petulantly fired at TheBusker, ‘I don’t think you take your cases seriously enough.’

  ‘You�
��re probably right,’ TheBusker replied, only winding TheCreep up further. Then he added mischievously, ‘But hey, do you think it’d be fair on the opposition if I did?’

  ‘You only won today because of that mad cow of a judge,’ said TheCreep moodily.

  ‘You know,’ said TheBusker, ‘you’re always complaining. Stuck in the murky details of life’s little unfairnesses.’ He paused and looked TheCreep in the eye. ‘Just for once, why don’t you look up to the horizon and admire the view. You know, like chill your boots a bit and hey, you never know what might happen. Judges may even start to listen.’

  As we went back on the train without TheCreep who’d gone off in a huff, TheBusker commented, ‘Less is always more, BabyB. Lets the judge think he’s deciding. How did someone once put it? “Cast your bread upon the waters and it will return buttered.’’’

  It was a cold day and I think both our minds wandered to hot buttered toast. Then he continued, ‘The curse of lawyers, BabyB, is that they’re trained to foresee problems in everything and so nothing can ever be simple. Just be careful that doesn’t take over your life like our friend TheCreep.’

  I do like TheBusker.

  Tuesday 14 November 2006

  Day 32 (week 7): OldSmoothie

  Received a visit today from a member of chambers who I shall call OldSmoothie, not after the yoghurty fruit drink, but because of his oily self-confidence, which oozes from every pore. Think Peter Bowles in To the Manor Born and Milk Tray Man, but not quite there on either count. He’s about fifty. He was made a QC five years ago, until which time he was moderately successful. Since then he has struggled for work, having fallen into the trap of being not good enough for the top work and too senior for the bread and butter. Some in that position go on to become judges. Others to become committee men for their golf clubs, their private members’ clubs and, of course, their chambers. OldSmoothie was just such a man.

  Today it was the pupillage committee and he wanted me to sift through the applications for mini-pupillage. His instructions were given in the mellifluous tone which he has no doubt used to good effect in court over the years: