by Tim Kevan
This, of course, was exactly what I’d been relying on. Though I hope they haven’t been so obvious about it as to leave JudgeFetish once again with the feeling that he needs to withdraw from the case. But if his suspicions are nonetheless sufficient to prejudice him, then that will do nicely, thank you very much. Particularly if they end up not only turning him against TopFirst personally but also triggering wider concerns about a corporate conspiracy more generally.
After their little performance had ended, I assured them that I would take my clients’ instructions and get back to them in due course.
Wednesday 6 August 2008
Year 2 (week 45): Happy Landings
TheBusker was telling us all this evening about a case he had down in the West Country last week. It was a small rural dispute between a local farmer and a very grande dame, the Dowager Lady Bossington, in which the farmer was claiming rent for her six-week stay at his farmhouse on the estate that used to belong to her late husband. The farmer was apparently an old-fashioned, servile type but despite this he clearly thought that he should be paid for the accommodation he had provided, whereas the Dowager Lady thought it came as her right. In the middle of the case TheBusker was cross-examining the farmer and he had asked him quite how intimately he knew Lady Bossington. To which the reply came back innocently and in a broad West Country accent, ‘Well, I did have intercourse with her twice on the landing.’
Thursday 7 August 2008
Year 2 (week 45): A need to know basis
I got a call from TopFirst this morning.
‘BabyB, I don’t care whether you’re taping this or not. You might think you’re all very clever having set the police on to me like this. But I just want you to know that whatever happens from now on, it’s not business. It’s personal.’
Pompous to the end.
Later on I went to see OldSmoothie and told him what the police had said. My concern was how we were now going to explain this whole mess to TheMoldies.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said OldSmoothie.
‘But what about our duty to disclose everything to the clients?’
‘Cock and bull, BabyB. You should know by now that we only tell the clients what they need to know. If they knew the full story you never know what they might start instructing us to do. Then where would that leave us?’
Er, well, quite. So the show will go on.
Friday 8 August 2008
Year 2 (week 45): OldSoak
OldSoak, the resident chambers alcoholic, was in chambers today and lecturing a couple of ridiculously earnest mini-pupils.
‘You kids should all slow down’, he said. ‘You’re all in far too much of a rush to be getting on these days. It’s all work, work, work. Careers advisers and goal-setting. Why not let fate take a hand for once? Let life flow a little more easily.’
TheBusker joined in with, ‘I would definitely suggest doing a few more things outside of law whilst you’re at college.’
The worst of the two I’ll call KeanieBeanie, because he’s been pestering pretty much every member of chambers with offers of help, and he makes even TopFirst seem like a stand-up comedian. He replied earnestly, ‘But how will that help my pupillage applications?’
The walking talking irony that is UpTights then waded in with, ‘Don’t you have a life other than the law?’
‘No.’
‘Well you need to get one, young man.’
‘What would you suggest?’
‘Well, er . . .’ stumbled UpTights looking for an answer, ‘I don’t know. Er . . .’
It had her stumped but OldSoak piped up, ‘Drinking and fornication, young man. Don’t they teach you anything at Oxford these days?’
HeadofChambers added, ‘I always thought the word “venery” summed up what youth should be about. The thrill of the chase in all senses of the word. Fillies, firm young limbs and the huntsman’s horn.’
By this time KeanieBeanie had turned the colour of his brand new bright-red braces and had sidled over to stand next to TheCreep – the one person he’s been getting on with in chambers. As they stood next to each other with their shiny faces and rosy cheeks, like a couple of cupcakes fresh from the baker’s oven, TheVamp nodded at TheCreep and said, ‘Me,’ and then at KeanieBeanie and said, ‘Mini-me,’ before finishing with, ‘Pure Creep heaven.’
Monday 11 August 2008
Year 2 (week 46): What larks, eh Pip?
What is it about the Temple and its inhabitants that defies the onward march of time so successfully? It is as if Old Father Time himself had just popped in a few hundred years ago and decided to perch down 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 when you’re Father Time himself.
‘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 easy to imagine how he might have got waylaid.
This afternoon there was a rather fine summer garden party in the grounds and it had been well publicised that a certain heart-throb actor would be in attendance. TheBusker had been unable to resist leaving a note on BusyBody’s table first thing this morning, ostensibly from the Middle Temple Treasury and addressed to OldSmoothie, informing him that the distinguished thesp would also in fact be eating in Middle Temple Hall at lunch ‘as well as mingling with fellow diners’. The letter ended by emphasising the importance of keeping this information to himself ‘in order that the whole occasion may remain a discreet affair’.
True to form, BusyBody got to work and by half past twelve today there was a queue of very well-dressed ladies standing at the entrance to the Hall, looking each other up and down competitively. Having been tipped off by TheBusker, I went along and immediately spotted the double act of UpTights and TheVamp and, nearby, even Smutton who had rather stylishly understated her own get-up for the occasion. What I didn’t realise was that TheBusker had brought OldSmoothie in on the act and that he had also hired a lookalike of the actor to turn up and have lunch with him. The fawning that followed was all captured on OldSmoothie’s video phone and has been playing on a continuous loop in the chambers conference room ever since.
As I left the Hall with TheBusker, he turned to me and said in his best West Country accent, ‘What larks, eh Pip? What larks!’
Tuesday 12 August 2008
Year 2 (week 46): Money-go-round
At a meeting this morning with Slippery, ScandalMonger and Smutton.
Slippery was looking in a particularly self-satisfied mood as he mused, ‘I was reading a story the other day in which the world became so technologically complicated that when a glitch occurred there was no one left who knew how to fix it. They all ended up back in the stone age. You see, that’s what I love about our glorious profession.’
We all looked at him blankly, wondering where this was going.
‘It’s simple. The harder we work at complicating everything the more essential we become to being able to fix it. A wonderful, money-making virtuous circle.’
‘The first thing we’ll do is kill all the lawyers,’ quoted Scandal.
Smutton was not looking quite her flirtatious self today. She even seemed a little sad. She looked at Slippery and said, ‘I remember so clearly when you arrived in our firm all those years ago. All bright eyes and legal ideals. What happened, Slippery? Where did it all go wrong? Was it the expensive trophy wife, the big house, the school fees, maybe? I mean, come on, don’t you get the feeling that sometimes it’s all so petty and meaningless?’
We all looked at her in surprise. It was as if finally after years of bearing witness to Slippery’s corrupt ways, the thoughts she had always suppressed had suddenly started popping out as speech, leaking out like a gentle form of Tourette’s. She finished in a quiet voice, ‘Who was it that hurt you? W
hat did they do?’
After that she left the room without another sound, leaving all of us temporarily speechless.
Wednesday 13 August 2008
Year 2 (week 46): Gross injustice
OldRuin’s hospital case started in court today and what with everything else that’s been going on, it’s been all hands on deck. Of course this also means that I’ve been spending quite some time with Claire in the last couple of weeks, which has been very enjoyable indeed. I’ve deliberately been keeping the conversation light-hearted and have steadfastly avoided asking about her boyfriend. As for the case, neither Claire, myself nor OldRuin are terribly optimistic as to the outcome but we all believe that it’s at least worth making a stand against what has become abundantly clear is a gross injustice. If the hospital closure goes ahead, a great number of people, particularly the elderly population of OldRuin’s Hampshire village, will have to travel a significant distance to get to their nearest hospital. What’s more, the various parts of the local economy that have built up around the hospital would also be severely affected.
So today, these and many other excellent points were put by OldRuin to the judge. The campaigners outside of the court were also having a fine time of it, owing to the high court’s lack of cases in the holiday season, which in turn meant that they had a monopoly over the attention of the bored journalists hanging around outside. The case is due to finish on Friday after which we will then have to wait a few weeks for judgment.
The one piece of good news to emerge from today came from OldRuin who whispered to us that a friend of his who is a ‘very senior civil servant’ in the Department of Health had whispered to him that in the unlikely event that our court case succeeds, then the minister has indicated privately that the hospital will not close.
After the case I asked Claire if she would like to have a drink with me and was pleased when she agreed.
‘I’m so very sorry,’ I said after we’d finished the first bottle of wine.
‘For what?’ asked Claire.
‘Everything, I guess. You know. Losing sight of what was important. Getting my priorities completely wrong.’
‘Don’t worry, BabyB, I know it’s been difficult with your mother,’ answered Claire, making me wonder if she knew more than I’d told her.
‘You’re right, but it’s still no excuse. You, OldRuin, Arthur and Ethel, my mother. You’ve all made me realise that I’ve been way off the mark.’
‘It’s nice of you to say so, BabyB, and I do understand what you’re going through. I guess we’re all finding our way in this big wide world.’
After that I took a deep breath and steeled myself, ‘So come on then, now that we’ve cleared the air, tell me about your new boyfriend.’
She looked a little shocked. ‘What do you mean, BabyB?’
‘Oh, er, well, I was under the impression that you had started seeing a guy in your chambers.’
‘Who exactly?’
‘Oh, you know, the tall, dark handsome older one. The one I saw you in the bar with that time.’
‘What, James? Oh, no, BabyB. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick there. I’ve just been helping him to get through some marital problems.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said, raising an eyebrow and smiling.
‘Not like that,’ said Claire. ‘Though I admit that at one point he did want it to go further but I told him I wasn’t interested in married men. Since then we’ve actually become very close friends and thankfully his marriage is now very much back on track.’
Oh.
Thursday 14 August 2008
Year 2 (week 46): Softening up
As I prepare for my showdown with TopFirst in the next few weeks over the Bar Standards Board complaint, I thought I’d soften him up today with a little opening salvo. It was just a short email:
My Dear TopFirst,
Could you please confirm whether one of our clients is or is not the mother of your fiancée? As I’m sure you can imagine, I would not like you to fall foul of our professional rules. Therefore, if it is indeed the case then perhaps you might explain how you have avoided a conflict of interest?
With best wishes as always,
BabyB
Now of course this is hardly a killer blow, since I can only imagine that he’s been acting against TopFlirt’s mother in complete innocence, and in any event there will probably be a way for him to get around it if he simply talks it through with his own clients. But this should at least serve to give him a scare and it may also start him wondering how I know so much about his fiancée.
Meanwhile, UpTights had her annual wig-fitting today. Given that she’s now spent many thousands of pounds on the little horse hair numbers, she even gets a personal visit to chambers and as usual she was talking about it at chambers tea afterwards. ‘It’s so good to throw out the old,’ she said.
‘What do you do with it?’ asked BusyBody.
‘I cut it up and then feed it through the shredder,’ she replied nonchalantly before adding, ‘and then I burn it in my back garden.’
‘You what? The shredder? Burning? As if somehow it might hold the secrets of your sordid little life within its tightknit curls?’ said OldSmoothie.
‘Well, I never even clean my wig,’ said TheBusker. ‘In fact, I’m afraid to admit that I don’t even know where I’d go to get it done.’
People looked around the room as if to find out whether it was OK to admit that they too failed such basic standards of personal hygiene. ‘I think most people take great pride in the fact that their wigs get a little dirty. It’s a mark of experience,’ said HeadofChambers.
‘I believe they even sell distressed wigs these days,’ said TheVamp.
‘Distressed wigs makes me think of pupils on their first day in court,’ smiled TheBusker.
‘A little dirt’s one thing,’ said UpTights. ‘But if you wear that wig five hours a day, two or three days a week for most of the year it’s going to get pretty sweaty to say the least. Particularly given the lack of air-conditioning in the Summer.’
‘It is perhaps a little ironic that wigs were supposedly introduced for cleanliness reasons,’ said TheCreep. ‘You know, to keep away the nits and their like.’
‘Well I still wear the wig that belonged both to my father and to his father before him,’ said OldRuin, ‘and I have to admit that I’ve never cleaned it once. As to whether it received any particular treatment back in the day, I’ll never know although I doubt it very much.’
‘Perhaps that’s why barristers never shake hands,’ said BusyBody. ‘I mean, once they’ve spent time adjusting their wigs, well, you can understand.’
Friday 15 August 2008
Year 2 (week 46): Slap versus tickle
Smutton has moved into action and she summoned me to her office today. Rather to my surprise, when I arrived I found that TopFlirt had also been invited. After we entered her office we both stood in front of her desk like two naughty schoolchildren. Smutton was looking her usual self again today and even in the company of the beautiful and really quite glamorous TopFlirt there was still very clearly a certain something about her.
‘Well, BabyB,’ she purred. ‘I hope you’ve been enjoying the hot weather. Stripping down to the bare necessities I expect?’
‘Er, actually, well . . .’
Before I could answer she pouted and said, ‘Because I certainly have. But anyway, back to the grindstone,’ she said, predictably emphasising the ‘grind’ and looking at TopFlirt as she did so. ‘Ready to finish off this Moldy litigation?’ she asked me.
‘Certainly am,’ I replied.
‘Now,’ she said looking at us both, ‘I presume you both know why I’ve asked to see you?’
We glanced at each other before answering, ‘No,’ in tandem.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Smutton, ‘let’s not play games. I know about the little tryst between the two of you and I imagine you,’ she nodded at TopFlirt, ‘wouldn’t want your loving fiancé to find out.’
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She let that hang in the air before apparently softening her approach. ‘But please, how rude of me. Take a seat and let me get you both a drink.’
She smiled, which made TopFlirt look even more nervous. Once her glass was in her hand, TopFlirt cut to the chase. ‘So what do you want from me, exactly?’
‘I want information, of course. Not enough to damage your beau, but certainly enough to damage his case.’
‘Don’t you think there’s a risk that I might tell him?’
‘Of course. But I’ve always enjoyed risk. That’s why I’m a litigator. My guess is you won’t. But even if you did, you’d have no proof. Remember, our security man checked you for recording equipment as you entered the building.’
‘Information about what exactly?’
‘You’re a bright girl, TopFlirt. I’m sure you’ll work it out.’
The subject was then dropped as Smutton attempted a little banter over the relative merits of a bit of slap versus tickle.
‘By the way,’ she said to TopFlirt as she was leaving, ‘as for your two young men, having watched them both in court for weeks on end, my guess is that BabyB prefers you in Myla and TopFirst in Agent Provocateur.’
Not to be completely outdone, TopFlirt replied over her shoulder, ‘And my guess is that you would prefer either of them to even your finest pair of Louboutin heels.’
As we left, TopFlirt glared at me and said sarcastically, ‘By the way, thanks a lot for mentioning my mum’s case. TopFirst is furious.’
Shame.
Monday 18 August 2008
Year 2 (week 47): Paying for experience
