Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  ‘You’re an Oxford man like myself. Figure I can ask you to do this properly without any complaint. Here’s what I want. Plain and simple (just like your fellow pupil Worrier, I may add).’

  I felt slightly protective about his taking Worrier’s name in vain but I remained quiet and continued listening.

  ‘Take out the following and then give me the rest. No sixth-formers looking for work experience. Definitely no one who’s been to a polyversity or whatever they call themselves these days. Doesn’t fool me. Preferably no one who didn’t go to Oxbridge if possible. None of that second career old age nonsense. Oh, and no one called Wayne or Shane. Just wouldn’t look good on the board.’

  Reminded me of the story of a recruiter in the City who, having proclaimed how Napoleon wanted his generals to be lucky, randomly picked up half the application forms and threw them into the bin with the comment, ‘We don’t want the unlucky ones in this bank, now do we?’

  Thursday 16 November 2006

  Day 34 (week 7): Nuclear option

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ said TheBoss today as he arrived into chambers. ‘My case listed for tomorrow was meant to settle weeks ago. I’d have never said yes to it otherwise as I’m booked in for pheasant shooting in Devon from tomorrow morning.’

  He said this as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. ‘There’s only one thing for it, I guess.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, curious as to how he was going to sort out a straight case of double-booking.

  ‘The nuclear option.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Contact the judge.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, I won’t actually talk to him myself. Fortunately one of the party is in his old chambers. I’ll see if he can have a word.’

  Sure enough, one phone call and a couple of hours later and a call came through from TheBoss’s solicitor. He put it on loudspeaker, just to show off.

  ‘I’ve just had the judge on the phone. Wants to know if the time estimate of one day is accurate. I think it is but I thought I’d better check with you.’

  TheBoss smiled. He had his chance. ‘I agree with you. I’d have thought a day was about right.’

  My mouth dropped and he raised his eyebrows. He was definitely showing off. ‘But you know,’ he went on, ‘you have to be very careful when a judge asks a question like that on a Thursday.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ his solicitor asked.

  ‘Sounds like he’s trying to think of a way of getting out of the case. Maybe he wants a long weekend.’

  ‘But we’re fully prepared for trial. The client’s all set and you’ve been briefed.’

  Meaning of course that TheBoss would be paid whether the case went ahead or not. Brief delivered, fee due.

  ‘You’re right,’ TheBoss said.‘Look,I’m keen for it to go ahead and to get stuck into the fight.’ Then he added, almost as an afterthought, ‘But it would be terrible after all this time and preparation to start off on the wrong foot with the judge. Just a thought.’

  ‘Hmm. You might have a point. Thank you. It helps to have such sound, independent advice.’

  ‘Oh, my pleasure.’

  Come early afternoon a call came through from HeadClerk.

  ‘Seems your case has just adjourned,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ TheBoss said, trying to sound surprised. ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Quite. Full brief fee and no need even to turn up.’

  ‘Well, I suppose when you put it like that . . .’

  ‘Have a good time at the shoot, Sir.’

  Friday 17 November 2006

  Day 35 (week 7): Know the enemy

  Met TopFirst’s fiancée today for the first time. She had popped in to visit him for lunch and he took the opportunity to show her off to as many people as possible. If you met her, you’d understand why he’d want to do that. Unlike him, she’s beautiful, modest and understated, which does make you wonder what she’s doing with him. Maybe it’s an academic thing as they were apparently sweethearts from Cambridge where, he loudly proclaimed today, she was the only person to get more academic prizes than him. No surprise, then, that she is now doing a doctorate. It all left me feeling that TopFirst has got to be one of the most smug and downright annoying people at the whole Bar. At the moment he seems to have everything going for him on all fronts and I’m struggling to imagine how I’m possibly going to compete when it comes to the final decision. The problem with all this stuff about knowing your enemy is that the more I get to know him, the more unassailable he appears.

  Though maybe this is something which in itself I can use.

  Monday 20 November 2006

  Day 36 (week 8): Chambers tea

  Chambers tea happens every afternoon at 4.30 p.m. on the dot. Despite the fact that we are now all on email, each member of chambers is called by the clerks and told that ‘tea is served’. About fifteen people turn up in the main conference room each afternoon and it’s always quite an occasion. The tea itself comes in an urn on a trolley which is pushed into the room with great ceremony by a junior clerk. Despite the fact that the members collectively earn enough to buy their own factory, the chocolate biscuits are always treated as a great delicacy, probably due to the fact that chambers only provides the cheaper plain biscuits for client conferences.

  As a pupil, the lesson I learnt very early on was not to speak unless spoken to and even then to keep it as brief as possible. You’ve basically got a room full of egos sitting around on their own personal highs, usually after a day in court. Lets them wind down before getting back to their families. Lots of victories to report and anecdotes to regale and if anyone interrupts, never mind a pupil, then woe betide them. Which means that it’s the politest tea party in the world and the phrase ‘no, after you’ can be heard at least a few times a minute.

  Today, BusyBody learnt this lesson the hard way. HeadofChambers had been telling a story about some cross-examination in court today. ‘. . . At which point she burst into tears. A rare pleasure indeed.’

  He paused, and thinking he’d finished and wanting to muscle in BusyBody started a follow-up story, ‘I saw a similar thing . . .’

  She got only this far since HeadofChambers had restarted at almost exactly the same time with, ‘You know, it’s funny how . . .’

  BusyBody stopped in her tracks, still wanting to tell the story, and HeadofChambers took great pleasure in a bit of PupilSport.

  ‘I’m very sorry, BusyBody. You were telling us how you saw something similar.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I went to the Old Bailey a couple of days ago and one of the barristers there was having a whale of a time with one of the witnesses . . .’

  It was only at this point that BusyBody realised that all eyes were now on her and that if interrupting HeadofChambers was bad, not having an entertaining punchline to mitigate the interruption would be almost unforgivable. She suddenly looked a lot less confident. Meanwhile, HeadofChambers chased down his prey.

  ‘Go on, BusyBody, do tell all. Sounds fascinating.’

  ‘Well, er, yes, he was asking one question after another and getting all sorts of different answers. The witness didn’t even seem to know what time of day it was. Must have been on drugs or something. Anyway, she started getting all flustered after a while . . .’

  The mention of the word obviously reminded BusyBody of her own situation and her whimpering became disjointed. ‘So, er, yes. As I was saying. The barrister was catching her out. Lots of details. Then. Well, er, he told her she was a liar and she denied it and started crying.’

  She tailed off, defeated. ‘It was very gripping.’

  HeadofChambers was straight in with, ‘I expect you had to be there, BusyBody.’ Before adding, after an awkward silence from the whole room,‘And that is why pupils should always be seen and not heard.’

  Tuesday 21 November 2006

  Day 37 (week 8): Wigs and gowns

  Today TheBoss and I went off to the High Cour
t to get the stamp of approval on a consent order following another settlement and for the first time I wore my wig and gown into court. What on

  earth is that all about? I mean, if you’re going to be dressing up in silly clothes there’ve got to be better options than something which went out of fashion over two hundred years ago. Why not go the whole hog and have say, Batman outfits for barristers and Robin ones for solicitors? I know I’d choose the caped crusader over someone with a horsehair wig in any fight. As for women, maybe Catwoman costumes would do on the basis that Wonder Woman would give an unfair advantage with the judges. Pupils, well, they could have red learner plates on their backs and then green ones for the first year of practice. Oh and if we’re going to have things pinned on to us, then let’s have a few adverts for good measure, tennis player style.

  Still, for today I liked it. We waltzed into court and for just a second the flowing robes felt almost like a suit of armour all set for gladiatorial combat. Such a shame then that by the end of the hearing any dignity with which I had started was in tatters. You see, there I was. Sitting next to TheBoss. Nodding intelligently and making notes in all the right places when all of a sudden I got a terrible urge to sneeze. Well, as you can imagine I suppressed it immediately. Except it didn’t go away. It was one of those sneaky little sneezes which slips around everything you throw at it and comes back even stronger for the next round. At one point I gave in to it and held my head back about to sneeze as the whole courtroom looked at me and then, as if it was just being mischievous, it went away without actually happening. But, you guessed it. It hadn’t gone away. It’d just side-stepped for a minute and then was back in action and hit me without any warning with an almighty thunder. Boy, I think it was so loud that they could hear us all the way along in the Court of Appeal. In itself though, that would probably have been OK. I could just about have lived with that by burying my head in my notebook and imagining I wasn’t there. The problem with this particular sneeze was that it had taken me unawares and on my first day of wearing my wig. The significance of this was that as my head was levered backwards I didn’t have time even to consider that when it was triggered forward it would literally be bombs away. You guessed it. As I play it back in my mind it is all in slow motion, but at the time it happened in an instant. My wig was displaced from my head and sent flying, not onto the floor in front of me or anywhere so convenient. It went flying through the air only to land on the judge’s desk, knocking over his jar of ink and his water glass and sending it all everywhere. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, after having wiped off most of the water and ink, the judge then peered down at me and asked, ‘Mr BabyBarista. Do you have an application which you would like to make?’

  You what? An application? It was like having to go round to the next door neighbour’s and ask for your football back.

  ‘Er, yes, My Lord. Can I have my wig back?’

  ‘What’s the magic word, Mr BabyBarista?’

  ‘Please, My Lord. May I have my wig back?’

  ‘You may.’

  Friday 24 November 2006

  Day 40 (week 8): Piffling

  Today I went to Willesden County Court with OldSmoothie who was not at all happy when he saw the name of the judge.Apparently they fell out at university ‘over a particularly strong-minded filly’. Whatever the details, there has been no love lost between them since and from the kick-off OldSmoothie was hitting the judge where it hurt most: his ego, addressing him as the more senior ‘My Lord’ rather than ‘Your Honour’ in reference to the high court judgeship he had failed to attain. Each time he said it (which was frequently), you could detect a slight twitch around the corner of the judge’s mouth. To correct OldSmoothie would only highlight his point. Not to correct him left OldSmoothie getting away with an insult. All he was left with was to remind OldSmoothie that, for today, the upper hand was his.

  ‘It must be a great comedown, OldSmoothie, to have had to come to Willesden and fight with the baby Bar on such a piffling case as this one.’

  I don’t know whether OldSmoothie had deliberately provoked such a remark but I wouldn’t put it past him. He certainly seemed well prepared with his response.

  ‘This case might be piffling to you, My Lord, but,’ he paused for effect, ‘I can hardly say the same for my client, who has a wife and five children to feed on a salary which is less than a fifth that of a high court judge. Nor, I am bound to say, do I think the higher courts would find it, as you say,’ he licked his lips, savouring the moment, ‘piffling.’

  The judge was lost for words. A careful man, not usually prone to losing his temper, he was also sufficiently honest to admit defeat, and we all saw him visibly crumple, his hands on the bench and shoulders hunched. Without giving any further time for a response, OldSmoothie continued, ‘Of course, I’m sure such intemperate remarks were not intended and that we may still be able to proceed without any prejudice.’

  The judge was snookered. If he passed the case to another judge, he would have to give a good reason and his remark would be exposed and if he continued and found against OldSmoothie’s client, he would be appealed. So he took the only other option available and OldSmoothie returned victorious.

  On the way back, OldSmoothie said to me, ‘You’ve got UpTights as your pupilmistress in April, haven’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. Why?’

  ‘Good luck is all I’ll say. That woman’s got more edges than a broken [chamber] pot.’

  Monday 27 November 2006

  Day 41 (week 9): Ultimatum

  ‘Mr BabyBarista.’

  I recognised the voice immediately as belonging to the manager of the loan company whose debt I had agreed to take on last month. We’d been in touch several times in the previous few weeks finalising the contract, which was all signed off last Wednesday.

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘I discovered something very interesting at the weekend, you know.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Just a little get-together for the Round Table but by complete coincidence one of the couples mentioned that their daughter had just finished her pupillage last year and is currently unemployed. Very high-risk year, they tell me.’

  ‘Ah, well, I see, well . . .’

  ‘Which is not what you led me to believe.’

  I was stumped. In my panic to get my mother out of trouble last month I’d dug the hole even deeper.

  ‘Let me cut to the chase, Mr BabyBarista. It seems to me that you’re my only option of getting any money out of the loan I should never have made to your mother, so let’s put it like this. Get the tenancy, pay back the loan and everything will be forgotten.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you very much, yes . . .’ I was all over the place.

  ‘But, Mr BabyBarista, if that doesn’t happen, not only will I be handing your mother’s name over to the police, I shall be doing the same with yours as well as contacting your professional body. Good day.’

  With which he put down the phone. I really need to get this tenancy.

  Wednesday 29 November 2006

  Day 43 (week 9): Showdown

  On the face of it barristers employ their clerks, so strictly they are the bosses. But you’d never guess it to watch TheBoss and HeadClerk in action. For all his arrogance and pomposity, he is humility itself when HeadClerk walks through the door. This was particularly apparent when HeadClerk came round today.

  ‘Time for a quick word, Sir?’ There was an unusually pointed tone to the way he said ‘Sir’ which didn’t bode well.

  ‘Of course. Come in. Have a seat.’

  ‘Actually, I won’t if you don’t mind. Bit of a rush today.’ Ouch.

  ‘So how can I help?’ asked TheBoss.

  ‘Just had a bit of an awkward conversation, Sir, with the senior partner of that firm you did the accident on a ship for.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ TheBoss tried to look relaxed but couldn’t help folding his arms and taking his feet off the table.

&nbs
p; ‘Seems they didn’t receive an advice you say you sent.’ He emphasised the word ‘say’.

  ‘Well it certainly went out. Er, what do the computer records say?’

  ‘Well, they say it was sent, which is strange, as I’ve never had any problem from this firm in the past.’ His suspicions were at best thinly veiled. ‘Anyway, Sir, they have demanded every detail as to when it was sent and where this was recorded so if you could give me a copy of anything you have, that would be most helpful.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ TheBoss tried to wave him away as if it was an inconsequential detail. ‘I’ll look into it in a day or two.’

  ‘Er, Sir, there is one thing I need to get clear before we proceed further with this.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, I’ve never had any problems with our computer records before and the senior partner seemed so adamant and clear in what he was saying that . . . well . . .’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, I need to know from you that it was actually sent. Do you actually remember doing so?’

  TheBoss didn’t even flinch and had obviously been preparing himself for this question. ‘Of course it was. I remember printing it off and putting it in with the papers myself.’

  HeadClerk still didn’t look completely satisfied but he clearly couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong.

  ‘Right you are, Sir. Just needed to check.’

  CHAPTER 3

  December: Sex Discrimination

  In war, the way is to avoid what is strong and to strike at what is weak.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Friday 1 December 2006

  Day 45 (week 9): Sex discrimination

  TheBoss definitely has a full-on cringeworthy mid-life crisis going on. First it was the flirting with BusyBody.Then today he announces that he’s just bought himself a Ferrari. ‘Got a lot of grief from her indoors over this one you know. But, hey, I’m worth it.’

  Hey. You’re not. More like a Robin Reliant if you ask me.

  It did mean that he was oozing smugness when Worrier came to visit this morning. She seemed embarrassed as she asked me in a whisper whether I was free for lunch as she needed some advice. I was touched that she had come to me, particularly as she’s the only one of the pupils that I can foresee becoming a friend. But before I could even whisper back ‘of course’, TheBoss was all over it.