Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  ‘It’s a nice little warm-up session for me today,’ he eventually said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Our chambers gives us these meaningless cases to limber us up.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, I’m in the Court of Appeal tomorrow, you know.’

  Well bully for you. He seemed determined to continue patronising me. After he’d asked me which university I went to and then where I did the Bar course (both of which actually turned out to be better than where he’d been), he then asked, ‘Where do you practise?’

  I decided to be obtuse just to wind him up. ‘Oh no need to practise, me. I just turn up and give it a go. Practise is for girls, I say.’

  ‘No, I meant where are you based?’

  ‘Oh, I see, where am I based?’ I feigned ignorance in the face of his extremely unamused response. ‘I live in London. How about you?’

  ‘No I meant . . . oh, never mind. What is your Inn?’

  ‘Oh, I’m very much an in one ear and out the other kind of guy myself.’

  When we went into court I decided that his nickname should be LatinLover (though if you saw him you’d appreciate the irony) as he just couldn’t help overusing that ancient language. All ex post facto, a fortiori, locus in quo, bona fides and the like which in a car case sounded just plain silly and even had the judge raising his eyebrows. As I sat there and listened to him drone on for well over an hour about the value of the case and the various technical arguments it raised, I tried to think what TheBusker would do in these circumstances. When it came to my turn, I drew myself up to my full height and put on my most serious face, which basically meant furrowing my brow. I then said in as deep and slow a voice as I could muster, ‘Sir, there are only a few things which it is appropriate for grown men to fight over and the value of whiplash injuries is not one of them. This case is worth £1,500. No more, no less.’

  I sat down and cringed to myself. It was the first time I’d actually managed to play a BuskerCard but there was no knowing whether I’d receive the wrath of the judge or perhaps his gratitude for not wasting his time further.

  ‘Thank you, Mr BabyBarista. I agree wholeheartedly and I have to say it is a great shame,’ at which point he stared for a little too long at LatinLover, ‘that other members of your side of the profession don’t approach their cases with the same maturity. £1,500 it is.’

  Wednesday 5 September 2007

  Day 236 (week 49): ClichéCard

  Fresh from playing my first BuskerCard yesterday, I decided that I might try my hand again today. Once more, as I stood up the brow became furrowed, a day older and wiser even than yesterday. ‘Sir,’ I started, but realised I had forgotten the deep voice of yesterday. I coughed a little and started again, an octave lower. ‘Sir.’ No, too low this time, but I cracked on. ‘Sir, life is but a sparrow’s flight through a great hall. It is a will-o-the-wisp. A candle in the wind.’

  Ouch. It was so cliché-ridden as to hurt. The voice of TheBusker had deserted me. Run off into the ether, no doubt chuckling at my miserable effort.

  ‘Mr BabyBarista, what on earth are you wittering on about?’

  ‘Er, just taking my run-up, Sir.’

  ‘Well, get on with it. It’s turning into the sort of run-up of which even the great Fred Trueman would have been proud.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. Er, all I was trying to say was that life is too short to be arguing about such matters.’

  ‘Mr BabyBarista. At this rate your life, at least at the Bar, will indeed be short. But I’m afraid to say that whilst you may have philosophy to be contemplating, the rest of us mere mortals have jobs to do. For myself, I have spent many happy years arguing over far less interesting and weighty matters than that which now sits before me. I suggest that from now on you play up and play the game.’

  The magic BuskerCard, it seems, remains best played by TheBusker himself.

  Thursday 6 September 2007

  Day 237 (week 49): Apology

  ‘I want to apologise. I’m so very sorry for lying to you the other day.’

  Claire had finally agreed to meet me for lunch.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘There are other things that have gone on this year and I shouldn’t have denied it. They’re to do with pupillage. I did want to tell you, but I just can’t right now.’

  ‘Thank you, BabyB. I’m so relieved to hear you say that. I really thought for a moment that I might have lost you.’

  ‘I thought I might have lost you too.’

  There was a long pause as she looked at me, and then she smiled. ‘Don’t worry, BabyB. I’m not asking to be your confessional. I just wanted to hear you tell the truth.’

  ‘I appreciate that Claire and I also appreciate your standing up to me. More than you can ever imagine. Thank you.’

  Friday 7 September 2007

  Day 238 (week 49): A favour

  Word has it from Worrier that TopFirst is considering telling ThirdSix to stuff the evidence he has threatened to produce about his trying it on with Ginny and then battling on till the tenancy decision. If I can possibly help it this is something I want to avert as TopFirst probably remains the most likely candidate for tenancy right now. With that in mind, I kind of figured it had become necessary to suggest to him that Ginny, the woman with whom he had associated so closely, was in fact a prostitute. Another lie, I know, but hey, who’s counting?

  Dear TopFirst,

  I am sorry for being so harsh with you in the past. I’m afraid I have an admission. I am not quite who you think, and I am now in a little trouble. Last night I was arrested for soliciting as well as possession of cocaine and I was wondering if you would defend me? I wouldn’t normally ask but given how fond you said you were of me, I thought you might consider it. Clearly I do not intend to tell anyone, least of all your head of chambers, of your association with someone I am sure you would describe as a common escort girl. Perhaps you might return the favour?

  I look forward to hearing from you,

  Ginny (actually my real name is Gina)

  No mention of ThirdSix, as that would risk TopFirst presenting him with the email as evidence against him. But it’ll hopefully be enough to force him to withdraw from the tenancy race for fear of ThirdSix exposing this illicit connection.

  Monday 10 September 2007

  Day 239 (week 50): StitchUp

  TopFirst came to visit me today.He wanted to go out for a drink after work and so we met in the local wine bar earlier this evening. ‘I’ve got to put an end to this once and for all.’

  My heart sank. He’d somehow twigged that I was behind Ginny. Maybe I’d pushed it just one step too far. ‘Put an end to what?’ I asked. As if I didn’t know.

  ‘ThirdSix. Completely and utterly stitched me up. I mean all’s fair in love and war and all that, but surely there are boundaries?’

  ‘Do you mean the Facebook thing?’

  ‘Worse even than that, BabyB. He filmed me being chatted up by a girl and now I think he must have set up the whole thing.’

  ‘No.’ You don’t say.

  ‘Yes. Then to cap it he’s threatened to send the film to my fiancée.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes. But there’s more. Now I’ve had the girl herself contact me and reveal that she’s in fact a prostitute and she’s threatening to tell HeadofChambers about our friendship unless I help her with some legal case.’

  ‘Golly. You’re in trouble.’

  ‘I’d say. I just had to pass it by someone. I know we’ve had our differences, but you’re the one person who knows exactly what we’ve been going through this year. I thought you might understand.’

  Part of me wondered whether TopFirst was simply testing to see whether in fact I was involved in all the trouble. But just in case his question was sincere I was happy to oblige. ‘Well, if I can help I will. What exactly happened with this call girl?’

  ‘That’s the irony of this whole thing. It’s a tower of innuendo. I never got a
nything out of it at all.’

  Good old TopFirst. Consistent to the end in his lack of insight and utter shamelessness. He is obviously still smarting at Ginny’s rejection.

  ‘Let’s look at the options. If you call their bluff what happens?’

  ‘I risk losing the possibility of tenancy and my fiancée.’

  ‘And if you withdraw from the race?’

  ‘Then I probably just lose tenancy this time round. I’m sure they’ll let me squat here until I find somewhere else and I doubt this girl will tell HeadofChambers if she knows it can no longer cause me damage.’ The word ‘squat’ was not a reference to some kind of weird yoga position but instead to being allowed to stay on in chambers on an informal basis.

  ‘Well it’s your decision. I really wouldn’t like to advise you either way.’

  ‘No. You’ve been a great help. Really. I think it’s pretty clear I have no option other than to withdraw. Thank you, BabyBarista.’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing.’ Then, before finishing up, I couldn’t resist asking, ‘So what are you going to do to ThirdSix?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. As if he’s not already dead in the water. Rest assured that once I’ve withdrawn and have no interest in the race, the rumour mill will be rife with made-up stories about our rugby-playing friend.’

  Hmm, like it’s not already.

  Tuesday 11 September 2007

  Day 240 (week 50): Losing the war

  It’s been all go today. First Worrier came to tell me that TopFirst had officially withdrawn from the race for tenancy. She also told me that she’d heard from a friend of a friend that ThirdSix had been caught in possession of cocaine at one of the county courts before joining this chambers. My, TopFirst has been working quickly. I wonder what other malicious gossip he has been spreading. Then ThirdSix came round. Smug in his pyrrhic victory over TopFirst. ‘At least I’ve got him back for stitching me up over all that business with my last chambers.’

  Well. Quite.

  In the meantime, Ginny received an email from TopFirst telling her where to go, which in the circumstances I kind of admired. He wasn’t going down without keeping at least a part of his dignity. I left it at that with no further reply.

  So, it would all have been going perfectly were it not for the fact that TheBoss is still spitting blood about FakeClaims and for some reason remains determined to take it all out on me at his forthcoming disciplinary hearing. Here I was, having taken in so many of the lessons he’d taught, having won the battles against my fellow pupils . . . and still about to lose the war.

  Wednesday 12 September 2007

  Day 241 (week 50): Eh oop

  ‘All right BabyB, you’re going to cheer up whether you like it or not.’ It was a hungover, caffeine-fuelled, hyperactive Vamp. The last person I wanted to be against this morning.

  ‘What you need is a distraction,’ she said.‘Let’s play a game.You can either take a northern or a west country accent.’

  I gave in and chose northern.

  ‘And bonus points for the words ‘‘flat cap’’,‘‘whippet’’ and ‘‘grim’’ for you and ‘‘cider’’, ‘‘wurzel’’ and ‘‘combine harvester’’ for me.’

  I didn’t do too badly with the odd ‘eh oop’ and ‘by ’eck’ but TheVamp really excelled herself. The judge, I figure, twigged, but without proof could do nothing. The highlight came when TheVamp put it to a witness that his car was travelling ‘slower than a combine harvester being driven by a cider-drinking wurzel’.

  Thursday 13 September 2007

  Day 242 (week 50): Underbellies

  ‘Ah, UpTights. I see you’ve had your quarterly refill of botulism. I’ve always enjoyed the irony of your great desire to fill yourself full of poison.’ It was OldSmoothie in chambers tea. It had clearly been a bit of an overdose since despite her anger, UpTights’s face hardly changed other than in its complexion.

  ‘And your hair implants are different, I suppose?’ she fired back.

  ‘I don’t know whether anyone ever warned you about pulling faces and the wind changing but it looks to me that that’s exactly what’s happened.’

  He chortled to himself in a very self-satisfied manner and went to get his cup of tea, leaving UpTights fuming. Conversation then turned to a party being hosted by a north London firm of solicitors whose invitation stated, ‘Please bring a party trick’. This led to speculation as to what people would be taking. Innocently, TheCreep turned to UpTights and asked, ‘So, have you learnt any new tricks for the party, UpTights?’

  Quick as a flash and before she was even able to start an answer, OldSmoothie was in there for the kill and even the less progressive members of chambers winced as he made his strike. ‘New tricks? You what? Everyone knows you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’

  This time, though, a defiant answer came back from a rather unexpected corner. ‘What is it you’ve got against women, OldSmoothie?’ It was BusyBody and she meant business.

  ‘What on earth do you mean? I love all women. Every one of them. Well, except perhaps the fat ones.’

  ‘You see, that’s my point. Every time you open your mouth you reveal your misogynistic underbelly.’ She looked him up and down. ‘And if I may say so, it’s rather an over-sized underbelly at that, wouldn’t you say? So, go on, what is it? Mother not cuddle you? Too ugly to get a girlfriend before you were rich? Or is it simply that we threaten you?’

  For the first time since I have known him, OldSmoothie had no answer to give. After a moment he bowed his head slightly, an expression of utter resignation on his face. BusyBody chose this moment to deliver the killer blow with a smile and a twinkle in her eye: ‘One little voice answers back and suddenly he’s got the look of a beach donkey.’

  There was no escaping the accuracy of her description of his face at that moment. BusyBody turned to UpTights and received a beaming smile. Well, it would have been a beam had her stretched features allowed. She had found the helper she so badly needed in the fight against her foe.

  Friday 14 September 2007

  Day 243 (week 50): Price of justice

  ‘We’ve got to win, UpTights. My whole financial future depends on it.’ It was JudgeJewellery and today was the hearing of the abuse of process arguments.

  ‘I should say. If you’re convicted, you’ll be saying goodbye to that cushy judicial salary for a start.’

  ‘No, not that. I’ve decided I’m going to quit the bench anyway. It’s far more important. I’ve been offered the lead in a huge ad campaign by CheapnNasty along with a television show of my own in which I sit in judgement on various domestic disputes between celebrities. Kind of Celebrity Judge Judy. The deal’s already done both in this country and the States. Between them they’ll pay more than twenty years of sitting on the bench. Oh and I’ll be allowed to take whatever I want from any of the CheapnNasty stores for life.’

  She seemed more pleased with the offer of free swag than the huge financial deal, but either way it was obvious that UpTights disapproved despite trying to look supportive of her old friend. Then JudgeJewellery added, ‘The only problem is that it all falls away if I’m convicted.Then I’ll fall foul of the laws against profiting from my own crime. But if you get me off, even with one of your technicalities, then legally speaking, at least, I will be innocent. I will have committed no crime from which I could profit. I will instead be profiting from the crime I didn’t commit. If you see my point. Anyway, you can understand my concern.’

  Oh, UpTights understood that all right. With their being old friends and all, you’d have thought that JudgeJewellery would have had a little more insight than to put pressure on this highly strung monster at such an inopportune moment. ‘Yes, I get the point. Anyway, I think we ought to be getting into court.’

  Thankfully for her, the Crown Prosecution Service could not afford to pay for OldSmoothie for such a small case and made do with one of their in-house muppets over whom she ran roughshod. All of which confirmed to me something whi
ch has been apparent for the whole of the last year – that you get the result you pay for. Which was good news for JudgeJewellery but as for justice, I think it’s time we’re honest and simply stick it on eBay and see what it fetches. Sell it down the Swanee river once and for all and be done with it.

  Tuesday 18 September 2007

  Day 245 (week 51): VirusCard

  ‘Come to beg me not to drop you in it, have you?’ It was TheBoss and as usual he was on the money.

  ‘Well it can hardly help your case to be seen to have brought your pupil down with you, can it?’

  ‘I don’t think you understand, BabyB. If I go down next week, there’ll be no room for mitigating factors. It’ll all be over. Finished. Which leaves me with nothing to lose by getting you involved, and as they say, two minds are always better than one. I’ve told you enough times, BabyB. It’s all there in the magic book. Life itself, BabyB, is war.’

  As I was telling Claire over lunch, she said, ‘We still do have the virus card, BabyB.’

  That was true although neither of us had held out much hope with that one. It had been Claire’s idea months ago when TheBoss’s own expert had examined chambers’s hard disk. An afterthought, really.‘Let’s add a virus to the disk so that it’ll crash say in a couple of months’ time,’ she’d said.

  This hadn’t been too difficult to manage since we’d picked a friendly expert who had given us access to his office and technologically it was pretty basic. The real weakness of it all was that both experts having examined the hard disk, the court wouldn’t normally need to see the original.

  ‘It’s worth a bit of sabre-rattling at least,’ said Claire now. ‘Unlikely to get FakeClaims to change their mind about bringing the complaint but it might at least show TheBoss that you’ve done absolutely everything possible to help him.’

  So after lunch I went to TheBoss and suggested that he make a last-minute request for his own expert to re-examine the hard disk this week.