Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  ‘. . . during the hearings. The same, and who also, er, what’s the word?’

  ‘Aromes, perhaps?’ I suggested.

  ‘Quite.’

  We smiled at the reference to the judge’s well-known problem with flatulence. But his nickname isn’t just slang for that, since it also refers directly to Bart Simpson and his infamous attention deficit disorder. For the judge this is manifested in the handling of his cases. My opponent seemed particularly animated about this.

  ‘Someone in chambers has given me the judge’s online-gaming name and I’m going to take him on during the hearing on my phone.’

  ‘Without him realising.’

  ‘Precisely. Except you’ll have to cover me if he gets suspicious.’

  When the hearing started the judge was carefully guarding his computer screen so that no one could see it. My opponent had his phone under the desk, and whilst I was cross-examining his client, he passed me a note saying that his online challenge to the judge had been accepted. You’d think that with both judge and opponent otherwise occupied it should have been a shoe-in, but it was quite the opposite as no one was properly listening to anything anyone said. At one point my opponent had to put forward a legal point.

  ‘That case on causation. Wotsit’s name?’

  ‘Oh, wotsit called?’ the judge said as he continued to stare at the screen in front of him.

  ‘Wotsit’s name?’ said my opponent again, scratching his head.

  ‘Oh. Wotsit . . . wotsit . . . wotsit?’ the judge echoed.

  At which point, just because I couldn’t resist, I added a ‘wotsit?’ myself. Just for fun. In the end it seemed the only way for me to bring the judge’s attention back to the case and the points I was making was to add, and particularly emphasise, the word ‘bridge’ (‘building a bridge between the two versions of events’, ‘bridging the gaps in the evidence’) and other related words (‘the trick to understanding the defendant’s evidence’, ‘in his bid to win the case’). After it had caused the judge to jump back into judicial action a few times he was eventually forced to resign his game and start paying attention.

  Which made my opponent smile on two fronts since he not only won money from the judge online but he was also handed victory in court.

  Tuesday 15 May 2007

  Day 156 (week 33): Fake claim

  Court finished at 11.30 a.m. though I didn’t phone the clerks until 4 p.m. to tell them so. Which gave me the time to visit AmbulanceChaserLtd. I arrived at around 2 p.m. and was put straight onto their conveyor belt. Around 2.15 p.m. I was taken around the corner to see a doctor who asked me two questions about the accident and then said, ‘So, would it be right to say that you have an aching neck?’

  ‘Er, I did have for a day or two.’

  He then got up and briefly felt it.

  ‘And is it continuing at all? Perhaps there’s a little pain when you wake up?’

  ‘Well . . . maybe. Just a little.’

  ‘Excellent. Now, if you just bear with me I will finish my report.’

  He spent about two minutes typing and then printed off a ten-page medical report on my injuries. Almost all of it was generic save for my name, date of birth and one paragraph about the accident. As I’d guessed, the prognosis was that I would be better within six months of the accident. That’d fetch around £1,500 and might just slip below the insurers’ fraud radar. By 2.30 p.m. I returned to the office and was asked to sign a witness statement along with a form which gave them the right to take off a £500 ‘administration charge’ from my damages. Apparently my case will now get handed over to FakeClaims&Co.

  Which might give me a little more insight into their practice.

  Wednesday 16 May 2007

  Day 157 (week 33): Email frolics

  As part of the ongoing correspondence between TopFirst and the fictional Ginny, I prompted him into commenting about members of chambers the other day. In his usual arrogant way, the email I got back included the following little nuggets:

  I don’t think you’d like our head of chambers. He’s pompous, sexist and, you might be surprised to hear, not the brightest cookie in the jar. Shows how far you could get in the past just on being the son of a QC.

  Chambers is a hotbed of gossip at the moment. One of my fellow pupils has slept with two or three barristers and a clerk in only the last few months and I’ve heard that she might even be pregnant by one of them.

  As for the other pupils, I don’t see that much competition, to be honest. One’s like a frightened mouse who’d struggle to address an envelope, never mind a court, another one still lives with his mother and then there’s a new one who might well score points on the rugby field but I doubt very much his brawn will come in handy elsewhere. Cream, as they say, always rises to the top.

  For a little while now TopFirst has been using his Hotmail account rather than his work one for obvious reasons. But after I pressed ‘reply’, I added another email address which amounted to his surname and then @ followed by chambers’ domain name. This address belongs to another member of chambers with the same surname as TopFirst. Oops! I then prefaced my reply, which sought spurious advice over summer jobs with, ‘I’m copying in your work email as I’d be keen to get your advice as soon as possible.’

  Obviously, I’m taking a risk, as TopFirst may now guess he’s being stitched up. But I’m fortified by the fact that he has met Ginny in the flesh and, further, that he is somewhat blinded by lust.

  Thursday 17 May 2007

  Day 158 (week 33): Back on track

  It seems that TopFirst didn’t check his email until last night, when he fired back a reply:

  Ginny! What were you thinking? That’s not even my work email address. It belongs to someone else with the same surname in my chambers. I really don’t know what to say but you might just have ruined my chances of tenancy with that single mistake.

  Oh, please. Spoilt brat throwing his toys out of the pram. But I had to get him back onside, so I replied this morning:

  That’s just terrible. I’m so very, very sorry. Please accept my most sincere apologies. I’ve been worrying about it constantly since receiving your email and couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Is there any way I can make it up to you? I promise that I’ll try in whatever way I can. Maybe I could email the barrister and explain the mistake? Do tell me how I can help. Please. I very much hope we don’t fall out over this as I’ve so enjoyed our emails and meeting you and was really looking forward to seeing you again. As you might imagine, I don’t exactly get the same stimulation from my fellow students here in Durham, who have neither your brains nor your experience.

  TopFirst replied almost immediately with:

  No! Please don’t send any more emails at all to chambers. Ginny, there’s no question that we’ll fall out. I’m still totally looking forward to seeing you soon in London, I promise.

  All back on track and one more body blow to TopFirst. As for the email, I have no doubt that it has now done the rounds in chambers. The person who shares TopFirst’s surname is almost as much of a gossip as his namesake.

  Friday 18 May 2007

  Day 159 (week 33): You’re nicked

  News on JudgeJewellery – she with the penchant for cheap jewellery from CheapnNasty. Well, gossip, anyway. Apparently a couple of days ago she was actually caught in the act of stealing the said jewellery, as we already knew was her wont.A security guard first spotted her acting suspiciously and asked to look in her handbag. She then got all high and mighty and ‘do you know who I am’ about it. Which, of course, just made the security guard more suspicious and they descended into a bit of a set-to which ended up with the security guard physically grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into one of the side rooms. When she still refused to open her handbag, the guard eventually called the police, a little concerned about forcing a judge, of all people, any further. Anyway, eventually earrings were found and she was nicked. Taken down the station, charged and then sent on her way. I know all this
because UpTights has been instructed to defend her. What a pair!

  Monday 21 May 2007

  Day 160 (week 34): Karma

  Today I was doodling over UpTights’s picture using MS Paint. I’d added a witch’s hat and a broomstick along with a few warts and was about to send it off to Claire when an email from the stretched one pinged into my inbox and I read it quickly. Now, you might now be guessing what happened next, but for my part, in that split second, I was innocent as to what was about to happen . . . Yes, I pressed ‘send’, thinking my email was going to Claire when somehow UpTights’s email address had inveigled its way into the address bar, presumably through the post I’d just received.

  Now, after what I did to TopFirst last week, you would be right to point out that this was simply a good dose of karma winging its way back and hitting me full in the face. Be that as it may, the question which arose was, what to do next? Having sent her email, UpTights had popped out and her computer terminal was therefore vacant. Did I rush in and try and delete the offending email before her return or did I instead ’fess up as soon as she got back and make the best of it? Or there was the very English ‘more tea, vicar?’ option of simply pretending it didn’t happen and hoping for the best. Needless to say, I took the first option and sat down quickly at her computer and started trying to find my email. Didn’t take long and within a few seconds it was deleted.

  At which point UpTights re-entered the room and exploded.Well, not literally, you understand, though with all that stretching you figure there’s always a risk. ‘What are you doing at my computer?’

  Similar options faced me once again, but this time with the stakes having been raised somewhat. I was well aware that the email would continue to be visible in the ‘deleted items’ folder. ‘Er . . . well . . . er . . .’ Oh, I forgot to mention the prevarication option. ‘Er . . . well . . . you see . . .’

  ‘What do I see, BabyB? What?’

  ‘Well . . . the thing is . . . I . . . er . . .’

  To lie at this stage would risk the whole caboodle but at least give me a small chance of getting off. To tell the truth carried the same risk but with no upside as far as I could see. What was it OldRuin had once said? ‘Instincts, BabyB. Follow your instincts.’ My instincts at that moment were simply to sprint out of the room as fast as I could and never return. Instead I blurted an enormous kind of a sentence in one breath.

  ‘I drew an unkind picture of you and sent it to your email by mistake and I was trying to delete it before you came back and I’m really, really sorry . . . so sorry, maybe I should resign my pupillage . . . so very sorry . . .’ I was actually starting to feel slightly ashamed and I think this probably showed.

  ‘So let’s see it then, BabyB. Let’s see it. Come on. Let’s see it.’

  I turned to the computer and went to the ‘deleted items’ folder and eventually brought up the email and with it my masterpiece. UpTights stared at it. Then stared at me. Then back at the picture. Then back at me. She then leant back as if she was winding up her body to deliver an almighty thump to my head. And then she started laughing. Not a chuckle. Not a giggle. Far from it. An almighty roar that made me think only of the tragically demented Mrs Rochester. And she continued to roar.Then,as quickly as the storm had erupted, it ceased. ‘BabyB, you’ve made my week with that one.’ After which she pointed me back to my desk and silently got on with her work.

  Nowt, as they say, so queer as folk.

  Tuesday 22 May 2007

  Day 161 (week 34): Divas

  Apparently there was an opera singer dining on High Table in Gray’s Inn Hall last night. The diva was surrounded by some of the country’s most distinguished barristers and judges.

  ‘Doesn’t open her mouth for less than £20,000 apparently,’ HeadOfChambers reported at tea this afternoon.

  ‘She was in good company then,’ said OldSmoothie.

  Wednesday 23 May 2007

  Day 162 (week 34): Don’t mess with me

  Went to see TheBoss today and told him how I’ve been getting on with FakeClaims&Co. He’s not looking good at the moment. Put on even more weight and struggling to maintain eye contact. Also getting more aggressive: I do wonder sometimes what he’s taking.

  ‘Not bad, BabyB. Keep it coming. And don’t forget, our interests coincide. If I go down, you’re coming with me. Important point to bear in mind when you’re scratching around doing your Sherlock Holmes routine.’

  It was time for the worm to have a go at turning.

  ‘Don’t forget that I could sink you.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t do that, BabyB. Sink me and you sink yourself. Don’t start trying to get tricky with me, BabyB, when I’m the one who taught you how.’

  He is, of course, right – and my fortunes are undeniably linked to this con man of a barrister. However well I succeed against the other pupils, there remains TheBoss, like the fabled sword, hanging over my chances of tenancy.

  Thursday 24 May 2007

  Day 163 (week 34): Quality of mercy

  There’s something about the Temple and its inhabitants which seems to defy the onward march of time. As if Old Father Time himself had just popped in a few hundred years ago and decided to perch here for a rest. ‘Here you are my friend. Have a seat next to the fountain. Put your feet up. A cigar maybe? Then perhaps a stroll around the garden? Won’t keep you long.’ And after all, there’d be no rush if you were Old Father Time.

  ‘Oh, go on then. Maybe just one dinner in Hall. And my, this is rather fine wine, I must say, and not bad conversation either. Maybe I’ll stay just a little longer . . .’

  It’s certainly what sprung to mind today as I accompanied OldRuin on an early-morning stroll there before going off to court. As we walked through Pump Court, once the home of the infamous Judge Jeffreys, he pointed to the sundial and quoted the inscription: ‘Shadows we are and like shadows we depart, BabyB.’ After our little tour of the Temple, we travelled to court where OldRuin was representing a fourteen-year-old boy accused of theft. As the case progressed I realised how refreshing it was to spend time with OldRuin. It wasn’t just that his fee or the time spent at court were irrelevant to him. It was the care he took with the case and the reassurance he was able to provide. Despite the fact that the client was found guilty, it was clear OldRuin was intent on making some difference through his plea in mitigation and it was all going extremely well until he mentioned the word ‘mercy’. The district judge immediately jumped in and said, ‘Mercy? This young tearaway doesn’t deserve our mercy.’

  ‘Sir,’ OldRuin replied with a gentle smile. ‘When Napoleon said that to the mother of a condemned man, she replied, “But sire, would it be mercy if he deserved it?” ’

  Yet though these were fine words, it was the look of compassion which accompanied them which I think won the day. A look which went from OldRuin’s client to the client’s mother and then to the judge. As I now sit at my tiny little desk and write this post, I wonder whether things may well have been different on all fronts if OldRuin had been my pupilmaster instead of TheBoss.

  But he wasn’t.

  And they’re not.

  Friday 25 May 2007

  Day 164 (week 34): Rookie error

  Yesterday I was in Southend, the day before, Bournemouth, and today it was Brighton, which sounds more like the itinerary of a stand-up comedian than a baby barrister. Though come to think of it, the wages are probably as paltry and the audience as humourless.

  Today my opponent was another pupil. She opened with the line, ‘Sir, my client is a very old lady of . . .’ Wait for it, ‘. . . fifty­seven.’

  The cracking sound of the point of the judge’s pencil breaking reverberated around the courtroom long after judgement had been given against her client.

  Monday 28 May 2007

  Day 165 (week 35): Squaring up

  There was a chambers party this evening to celebrate OldSmoothie being made a bencher. The pupils were all invited along to serve the booze. At one point we were
in the small kitchen and for once there was a real sense of camaraderie, due partly to the demob-happy feeling of being away from sets of papers and partly to the fact that the room took us away from the constant glare of attention that pupillage brings with it. Worrier had already started giggling nervously and TopFirst was kicking back looking particularly smug as he poured himself a small glass of champagne.

  With everyone together, I came up with the wheeze of a couple of little drinking games which ended up in most of us having to down a few glasses of wine in one. Worrier and BusyBody soon exempted themselves and TopFirst mysteriously disappeared after the first couple, claiming that he had to finish a piece of work, which was a pretty lame excuse, even for him. ThirdSix, on the other hand, was a veritable drinking machine. Perhaps it’s his rugby background or perhaps he was trying to win a point against me. Or even just maybe (shock horror) he was simply trying to make friends. Either way, my ears pricked up when I heard that he’d never been beaten at downing a pint.

  ‘Never been beaten? Never ever? That’s a bit much, isn’t it? Surely there must have been once?’

  ThirdSix looked pensive.

  ‘Well, no, actually.’

  For some reason, probably the couple of glasses she’d been forced to down, Worrier looked impressed.

  ‘Well, I’d have you any day,’ I jousted.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  There were a few exchanges of ‘yeah’ and ‘yeah, right’ until I said,‘Come on then,let’s have a go.Red wine,pint glass.I challenge you. Now.’

  I think it might have been the word ‘challenge’ which made him step up to the mark, although I’m sure his intake up to that moment also had something to do with it. Whatever it was, ThirdSix said, ‘OK then, BabyB. You’re on.’ And so we squared up. I’d like to say it was like Clint Eastwood and Lee Van Cleef, each weighing up the odds and staring death in the face, or at the very least a reckless bout of pistols at dawn. But it was far from either. A sloppy and rather quick pouring of the drinks in the kitchen followed by a ‘go’ from a worried-looking Worrier and we were off. Except I wasn’t quite as off as ThirdSix. To say the least. Within a few seconds he’d downed the pint, as might have been predicted, whilst I had finished, hmm, very little of mine, in fact.