Law and Peace

by Tim Kevan

  Now this obviously caused a great deal of confusion for FanciesHimself but after he consulted OldRuin he discovered that the solicitor was right. OldRuin did indeed like guineas (and any other offer in old-school currency it seemed). He was also utterly charmed by the approach as was clear from the tone in which he told the story at chambers tea today.

  ‘I wonder whether I should have made a counter-offer in groats, just to make him smile,’ he said. ‘I particularly liked HeadClerk’s response which was to remind me that whatever money I wanted to negotiate in, his fee certainly wouldn’t be limited to merely taking his shilling.’

  ‘Shame it wasn’t in gold sovereigns,’ said HeadofChambers, then added, ‘I liked it when I heard that special forces were issued with them in the first Gulf War to buy assistance from local people.’

  Then TheBusker said, ‘Maybe we should all start being a little more imaginative in our settlements. Captain Cook used red feathers as currency in Tahiti and then there were beaver skins in the States . . .’ he paused and added, ‘ . . . though I suppose they wouldn’t have been as convenient in your back pocket as the feathers.’

  ‘And then after all the haggling we could all retire to the local tavern to down a few flagons of ale,’ said TheVamp cheerfully.

  Friday 5 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 49): Client conference

  This afternoon OldSmoothie, SlipperySlope and I had a meeting with the main Moldy litigants: Arthur, Ethel, Stanley and Dora. Tony was also there to support Dora and I get the feeling that romance might even be in the air between the two of them. They were both dressed today in their litter-picking outfits.

  ‘We’ve got people doing the same thing all over the world now, BabyB,’ said Dora excitedly. ‘It’s all about t’interweb these days and with our Tony the Trash and Dora the Dustwoman accounts we now have over a million followers on Twitter covering lots of different countries. It’s really captured the imagination. We’ve even set up an official charity to organise everything.’

  I was delighted to hear it and they were all obviously enthused by this great cause. But then we had to get down to business and in this Arthur and Ethel were clearly in charge. Indeed they had called the meeting following a discussion they’d had with the other Moldies whose cases rested on the outcome of the test cases. But before they could begin, OldSmoothie spent some time (billable, obviously) explaining where we were in the litigation and that whilst the case could go either way, there was a real risk we could lose. He then added, ‘However, there still remains a chance that we may win and if this happens then you could all be due substantial damages.’

  ‘That’s what we’ve come to see you about,’ said Arthur, finally able to get a word in.

  ‘I see,’ said OldSmoothie, clearly not seeing.

  ‘You see,’ (which he didn’t), ‘it’s never been about the money for any of us.’

  ‘Oh. A point of principle. Hit the big corporation hard. Of course, I understand,’ said OldSmoothie, still not seeing.

  ‘It hasn’t even been about that either. All any of us have actually ever wanted from this litigation is to be acknowledged.’

  ‘Oh,’ said OldSmoothie, now seeing less and less.

  ‘And if there’s a chance for us to settle in a way in which the other side acknowledges what they’ve done and says sorry, then, you know, we’d all be happy with that.’

  ‘We’re realistic enough to realise that when the science is uncertain we’re unlikely to force them to take down the mast,’ said Ethel.

  ‘Though we’d obviously prefer that they did and stop all these strange effects once and for all.’

  ‘But what about the damages?’ asked OldSmoothie, who was starting to look a little less certain about things.

  ‘I don’t think you understand, young man,’ said Arthur. ‘We don’t want compensation. I don’t want anyone else caring for Ethel and what good would the money do us at our age? All we all want is to live what lives we’ve got left, not accumulate figures in bank accounts.’

  He paused and then reflected, ‘Tempus fugit, I think you’d say. I remember my Virgil from school: “Time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail.”’

  Then Ethel added with a smile, ‘Although I’ve always preferred the phrase festina lente: “Make haste slowly” and all will be well.’

  Arthur and Ethel grinned at each other, sharing something they had obviously repeated many times before. What was also clear was that this was something upon which all TheMoldies were in full agreement.

  ‘And actually, young man,’ Ethel continued, as OldSmoothie winced at her description, ‘we don’t want to bring down a big company and all the poor people and their families who rely upon it. As Arthur says, we just want to be acknowledged.’

  ‘You see, it’s like we have become invisible. People think because we’re old that we somehow think or feel differently, that we don’t feel hurt when we are ignored, that we don’t matter any longer.’

  She paused and looked at Arthur before adding, ‘We just want people to stand up and say that in fact we do matter. Not just us, but all the pensioners up and down the land. We want them to have a voice.’

  Arthur turned to Slippery. ‘That’s what we’ve been telling Mr Slope here from the start. Couldn’t have been clearer, so it shouldn’t be news to anybody now.’

  They’d said their piece and a heavy silence fell upon the room. OldSmoothie looked very unhappy at the prospect of settling for a mere apology and with what may well end up as no costs, given that nominal offers had already been made by the other side and duly rejected months ago. Words were failing him but he managed, ‘Well, let us have a think about this. I’m not sure whether we’ll be able to get any settlement. But let me have a think.’ With which he ushered TheMoldies out of the room.

  On his return he said, ‘You see, BabyB, that’s the problem with taking clients’ instructions. Now we’ll have to find a way around them.’

  ‘But there was nothing ambiguous about what they were saying. They want to settle in return for an apology.’ I looked over at Slippery and added, ‘And apparently that’s what they’ve wanted right from the very beginning. So we could have settled this months ago. Now I know precisely what you meant when you told me you’d taken all the instructions you needed. All the instructions you needed to rip them off more like.’

  Slippery’s whole demeanour changed and he growled, ‘Get real, BabyB, and don’t forget which side your bread’s buttered either. Or your mother’s bread, at least.’

  Then OldSmoothie stepped in, no doubt thinking he was being diplomatic. ‘BabyB, whatever’s done is done. But as for now, don’t forget that there’s always ambiguity. If the other side aren’t prepared to negotiate then there’ll be no settlement. Understood?’

  I understood exactly what both of them were saying but I left the conference determined that however much wrong I’d done in the last couple of years, I wasn’t going to let Arthur and Ethel down now. The first person I called was TheVamp who hadn’t been able to make the conference because of a court appearance.

  ‘It’s a terrible situation, BabyB,’ she agreed, sympathetically. ‘But the problem is that the damage was done when Slippery and OldSmoothie didn’t tell them about the other side’s offer – and that was months ago. Not quite sure what we can do at this stage but I’ll tell you if I come up with anything.’

  Monday 8 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 50): Mystery

  Asked OldRuin out for lunch today, to solicit his advice. ‘It would be my pleasure, BabyB,’ he had answered.

  Over lunch I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell him the full extent of the compromises I’d once again made this year, but I also had the feeling that perhaps it wasn’t necessary: that he understood. Instead I concentrated on outlining what Arthur and Ethel had told us on Friday and what OldSmoothie and Slippery’s response had been. As has been so often the case, his reply was both oblique and yet perf
ect for my needs.

  ‘I don’t have any answers, BabyB. No plot nor plan that’ll get you out of it. All I can tell you is to have faith and follow your heart.’ He smiled at me and his eyes twinkled even more than usual. ‘Mystery is better imagined than described. Whispers of the soul. Echoes of the heart. They are what we are. Poetry and music can give us the odd rare glimpse. But even then, you’re left grasping at air when you actually try looking for answers. But follow those whispers and echoes and they’ll guide you through the hard times of the soul.’

  Then, in the middle of all this profundity, a mischievous look crossed his face and he added, ‘Of course, I would never advise you to try to get the other side to bypass your illustrious colleagues.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I replied.

  ‘But if they just happened to make an offer at the door of court at a sufficient volume for your clients to be able to hear it, well, you could hardly blame your clients for choosing to accept it . . .’

  Tuesday 9 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 50): Frustration

  If I’m to sort out the mess that is the Moldy litigation, then I will need two things: information from Ginny and an offer from the other side. Today I received knockbacks on both fronts. First, Ginny reported back on her Friday dinner with our expert witness. All had gone well apparently, but still no cigar, as it were, in either sense: no compromising position for him and no information for me. However, she seemed at least optimistic that he’ll crack eventually and she told me that she hoped to see him again in the next few days. I reminded her that time was tight. Tempus fugit indeed.

  As for the other side, I engineered a chance meeting with UpTights today at lunch in Middle Temple Hall and I quietly asked whether there might not still be any chance of settlement.

  ‘Ah ha, BabyB!’ she exclaimed loudly enough to attract the attention of everyone else in the lunch queue. ‘I thought you’d crack at some point. Your case has been hopeless from the start and you should never have rejected the offer we made you months ago. We’re certainly not going to make you another one now that all those costs have passed under the bridge.’

  It’s not really a surprise but it was at least worth a try.

  Wednesday 10 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 50): The People’s Barrister

  OldSmoothie is still desperately trying any way possible to ingratiate himself with the Tories in the hope that they might make him one of their million-and-one new peers when they eventually get into power. Hence his attempt at a publicity stunt today. He obviously feels that despite his (ahem) inherent brilliance as an advocate and his incredibly successful career, he is still not getting the attention he deserves (actually, he is). But, refusing to be crushed by the put-downs he regularly receives from his fellow barristers, today he bounced (or rather, flounced) into chambers like a manic child who has eaten too many brightly coloured chemical-saturated sweets.

  ‘I’m going to become the people’s barrister,’ he declared with a grand wave of his hand.

  HeadClerk raised his eyebrows and commented in a stage whisper, ‘Ouch. I shudder to think what medication has brought this one on.’

  Then when OldSmoothie frowned at him impatiently he enquired politely, ‘And how are you going to do that, OldSmoothie?’

  Still almost breathless with excitement OldSmoothie said, ‘My new robes, that’s how. Want to see?’

  Then, without waiting for an answer he scuttled into a side room. By this time, he had attracted something of an audience, including several clients who had arrived to meet their barristers. After about a minute he reappeared in a white gown emblazoned with the red cross of St George and a little horsehair wig, painted with the same insignia.

  ‘More Lord Sutch than Lord Smoothie wouldn’t you say?’ said BusyBody dryly.

  ‘Oh, you can mock now,’ he declared, ‘but I think you’ll change your tune when you see how patriotic a jury can be, particularly when England have their World Cup Qualifying game this evening against Croatia.’

  To which HeadClerk responded almost apologetically, ‘Er, OldSmoothie, may I introduce you to your client for today’s trial?’

  OldSmoothie spun around and strode over to the man standing next to HeadClerk, with his hand extended in greeting and wearing an enormous smug grin.

  ‘OldSmoothie, this is Vedran. He’s from Croatia.’

  Thursday 11 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 50): Blaggered

  ‘I was against a friend of yours yesterday, BabyB,’ said BusyBody today.

  She then told me his name and I realised it had been Blagger.

  ‘Didn’t quite catch which chambers he was in but he said he’d been at Oxford with you.’

  ‘Er, yes, that’s right. How did he get on, I ventured?’

  ‘Well, he told me that it was his first personal injury case since he usually did possession actions.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it was,’ I said wryly.

  ‘Well, I made him an offer to settle and he seemed mightily relieved to accept, I have to say. Particularly because he had looked so shocked when I had landed him with a bundle of authorities.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said, thinking just how much of an understatement that was.

  As soon as BusyBody had left I gave Blagger a call. ‘I hear you were against BusyBody yesterday,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, BabyB. I got into all sorts of trouble. You see I met up with the solicitor I mentioned and she pretty quickly worked out that I was neither a judge nor a barrister. But she also decided that it would be quite fun to continue the blag for a little longer and so gave me some papers on what she said was “a very simple personal injury case”. But what she didn’t warn me about was your friend BusyBody. Scared the living daylights out of me, I can tell you. Thankfully she made an offer my solicitor friend said was at least “half-decent”. For my part I’d have tried to persuade the client to settle even if she’d only offered five pence. It’s certainly put me off doing any more legal impersonating.’

  Friday 12 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 50): Buskered

  Overheard TheBusker telling HeadClerk this morning about a parking fine he’d been given.

  ‘Yes, I was parked about an inch over the edge of the parking bay and only because the first car had already encroached into my own.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked HeadClerk.

  ‘Just not worth the time even considering an appeal so I sent off the money with a little note saying that I was not going to dispute the fine. Then I added that the traffic department had seven days to come to my house and clean off the glue that the ticket had left on my windscreen or else I would not only report them for criminal damage but I would also be issuing civil proceedings for trespass to property as well as hiring a very expensive contract cleaner to do the job.’

  ‘And how did they react?’

  ‘They’d obviously never had anyone raise this before and within two days of my letter being sent I not only had the traffic warden himself, but also his boss, knocking at my door at 8 a.m. with a bucket of hot water and a cloth.’

  HeadClerk smiled and TheBusker, who now had the attention of the rest of the clerks room, warmed to his theme. ‘I know we can’t all choose what we do for a living but there’s no need for anyone to be a jobsworth. I mean, who’d choose to be a traffic warden, anyway?’

  ‘Reminds me of that Harry Enfield sketch,’ said HeadClerk, ‘where a child was taking his belongings out of a doll’s house and then looked up at his parents and said, “When I grow up I want to be a bailiff.”’

  ‘Well, given how ruthlessly efficient they all are, I can’t say I was surprised to hear it was a Westminster traffic warden who discovered the car bomb outside that London night club,’ continued TheBusker. ‘Maybe that’s the solution to the war on terror? Just fill the security services with armies of commission-based traffic wardens.’

  Monday 15 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 51): Tomorrow never come
s

  I went to a ‘Sub-Prime’ party with Claire on Saturday night where the dress code was ‘bring the best of your worst or the worst of your best’, which basically meant it was full of shiny tracksuits and very tattered old dinner jackets.

  ‘So what do all the papers mean when they keep describing things as sub-prime anyway?’ asked Claire.

  ‘No idea,’ I answered drunkenly.

  ‘Sub-prime shops, sub-prime clothes, even sub-prime people. It’s just another way for the condescending, snotty-nosed media to call people chavs.’

  I’m sure she’s right but in the meantime we were all following the instructions on the ‘Sub-Prime’ invite which was to ‘live like there’s no tomorrow’.

  Which means that like all good sub-prime schemes I am now suffering an almighty hangover, since despite the promises, tomorrow really did come and I still have one or two pretty enormous problems to sort out.

  Tuesday 16 September 2008

  Year 2 (week 51): Vultures

  With the collapse of Lehman brothers yesterday it was no surprise to find that an emergency chambers meeting had been called this evening at very short notice. The topic was one that is probably being discussed in boardrooms up and down the country. Pretty standard you might think. Except for the fact that in our boardroom, the single agenda item was listed rather tactlessly as ‘How can chambers benefit from the present banking crisis?’

  This didn’t stop at least half of chambers from attending and HeadClerk kicked off with, ‘With all this talk of recession, what we must not forget is that wherever there is hardship there is opportunity, specifically in the areas of insolvency, property, employment and divorce.’