Law and Disorder (2 page)

This was no joke or amusing metaphor. He was absolutely serious. This would be the heart of my job. Then, as he led me back into the room grumbling about coffee-makers he’d had in the past, he went on, ‘Oh, there’s one more important thing I like to give my pupils.’

He rummaged in his desk and then handed me a strange little book entitled
The Art of War
, by Sun Tzu.

‘Litigation is like war, BabyBarista. Read this and learn.’

Tuesday 3 October 2006

Day 2 (week 1): Political correctness day

It was political correctness day today. It started with the chat from TheBoss. He sat back in his swivel chair, put his feet on his huge old leather-topped desk – which stood in stark contrast to my tiny Ikea number – and clasped his hands together in front of him.

‘Something I have to go through with you today, BabyBarista. We now have rules about sexual harassment at the Bar,’ (as if it was all perfectly fine before that). ‘I’m sure you understand, being an Oxford man,’ (whatever that was meant to mean). ‘Please remember that if you are ever feeling sexually harassed, you must not hesitate to report it to me.’

He then paused, for effect, and shifted a little awkwardly. ‘I’m also bound to tell you, for the avoidance of any doubt that, if you believe that I am the one doing the sexual harassing then you must tell HeadofChambers immediately.’

All said deadpan and without even a hint of irony.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said. Certainly. I’ll do that. Note to self. Must not forget.

Well, HeadofChambers was quite different. There are two men and two women doing this pupillage and we were all herded into his very grand room. Here, for the first time, I squared up to my competition for the year. On average only one in four gets taken on and there is no avoiding the fact that we are directly in competition for that place. It was hardly high noon at the OK Corral but there was definitely a lot of sizing up going on. The two women tried to be more subtle about it and one in particular appeared almost shy, but the other guy just came across as plain arrogant, like he already owned the place and was finding this whole induction process a distraction from his otherwise important business.

Two of the walls in the room were lined with law reports. Another had yet more old cartoons of long-dead lawyers, along with a painting of someone shooting on what was probably a Scottish grouse moor and a photograph of HeadofChambers in full hunting regalia astride his horse and raising a glass to the camera. It was quite a walk to get to the end of the room where HeadofChambers sat at his old wooden desk in front of a massive window which overlooked the courtyard below. We were told to sit at the conference table in front, as, no doubt, thousands of his clients had done over the years. He was how you might have imagined a barrister to look a hundred years ago. It was as if he had modelled himself on that image to such an extent that he had himself eventually become it, from his immaculate pin-striped suit to his slicked-back hair, which looked as if it had been flattened by forty years of wearing a bowler hat. He looked like a man for whom doubt had been cast away many years ago. As we entered his look was stern, despite the fact that he was clearly trying to take a slightly paternal tack with, ‘Ah, the Baby Bar. Do come in and take a seat.’

After a brief introduction telling us that chambers had been founded some sixty years ago and that we were following in a fine tradition, he continued, ‘Now. I’ve got to tell you this. Bar Council regulations and all that. Sexual harassment. Terrible mess. Hope it doesn’t happen. But, if it does, I’m bound to inform you that you should report it either to your pupilmaster or to me. This is without reservation and you should be fully aware that we comply entirely with the Bar Council policy on this issue. I’m also bound to tell you that should you make any such complaint it will not be held against you in this chambers.’

So that was that and now we knew. Except it wasn’t.

‘However,’ he looked up and peered at each of us over the top of his half-moon spectacles and then focused on the two women. ‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but it’s meant in the most helpful way. Consider it practical advice from an old hand at the Bar. Bear in mind that whilst you are absolutely within your rights to make any such complaint, in fact more than within your rights, you must not forget also that there are consequences to every action. This is always the case and is no different here. Whatever you do has consequences whether you notice them or not. I can’t say what they’d be in these circumstances but you have to be aware that not all chambers or barristers are as enlightened as us. Not that they’d actively discriminate against you in those circumstances. It’s just that you should know that they would know. That’s all.’

Welcome to the modern Bar.

Wednesday 4 October 2006

Day 3 (week 1): TopFirst

‘So, how have you found your first few days?’ I asked.

‘Pretty easy really. Personal injury’s not exactly very taxing intellectually, if you know what I mean.’

We were in the clerks’ room and this was my first chat with TopFirst, the other guy pupil with the over-confident swagger. Today he was obviously on his best behaviour although he still seemed a bit of a swot. Got a first at Cambridge and even went on to do a master’s. A little quiet, although I’ve been told that quiet is not a bad tactic for pupillage. Seems strange when you’re training for such an ostensibly outgoing and independent profession that you spend the first year proving your abilities to slime up to the right people and keep out of the way of others. Yet TopFirst is quiet to the point of being aloof and has an almost aggressive air of cleverness. Physically he’s tall and quite thin, but in a more rodenty than a chinless aristocratic way. Like one of the ferrets who took over Toad Hall. All dressed up and airs and graces and yet not quite making it. Let me be more clear. He’s arrogant and pretentious. Two things which will no doubt serve him well at the Bar.

Thursday 5 October 2006

Day 4 (week 1): Lunch

So far, other than making coffee, I’ve been wholly occupied in trundling along behind TheBoss and meeting and greeting other pupils. It seems that the way he likes it done is to refuse to acknowledge my presence when he’s with other barristers outside of chambers. We were at lunch yesterday in one of the halls and he greeted a number of his chums. Some had pupils and the only confirmation that I was not invisible was that there were perfunctory nods from them. A knowing look that says we’re all in the same boat and it’s not much fun. Raised eyebrows and at least the tiniest bit of human interaction.

Though I did at least learn an important lesson at lunch. Chat was about nothing in particular and after much thought I eventually came up with something designed to impress, only to find that TheBoss had decided to speak at the same time. Quick as a flash he looked at me and said pointedly, ‘Sorry, after you,’ with raised eyebrows. It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed that his best put-downs are in the insincere courtesies he offers around.

‘No, no,’ I said. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’

‘No, I insist,’ he replied. ‘Go ahead.’

Well, I was lost for words by that point and could only manage some incoherent ramblings. TopFirst was sitting opposite and smirked into his soup. Round one to him.

Friday 6 October 2006

Day 5 (week 1): Library life

Found my first PupilSkive today. Time in the library. Pretty obvious really, though I had to be told about it by Claire, my best friend from Bar School and now a pupil in another chambers.‘Researching a point’ is the general line to be taken. Found a whole collection of pupils wandering around the library, gossiping and looking as though they’d just been let out of jail. What would you give as the collective noun for such a gathering? A giggle? Certainly for some of them. They really are an earnest bunch as a whole. Not a little self-important too. Breathlessly talking about the merits of their respective pupilmasters and the cases that they’re on. Then there’s the revelling in the pomp of it all. Today, for example, I bumped into a friend and went to shake his hand and he corrected me. ‘Barristers don’t shake hands with each other.’

We’d all had that pointed out on the first day of pupillage but I’d noted that it was a custom often not followed, particularly by members of the Junior Bar. Next thing he’ll be addressing me as his ‘learned friend’ over coffee. I mean, please. Give it up, won’t you? It’s a job, and a pretty menial one at that. But perhaps that’s why they treat it so seriously since if they didn’t they’d realise quite how they’re being exploited. After one week, it seems clear to me that for less than the price of a junior coffee-maker in the local café (not even Starbucks), chambers gets itself a bunch of dogsbodies who will do all the inconvenient bits of paperwork, not complain at having to spend two hours poring over a photocopier and offer to make coffee or tea on an hourly basis. In the meantime, my contemporaries who went off to City solicitors are dealing with multi-million pound deals and flying off delivering papers to the Middle East whilst those in banking are swanning around on training courses in places like Geneva.

For me, I am off to Slough County Court on Monday. The glamour of the Bar. Though when I said this to my friend Claire as we sat in the library she replied,‘You should be so lucky,BabyB.I’ve spent the first week of pupillage babysitting for my pupilmistress’ two-year-old son whilst she swans off to court.’

‘So why do we do it?’ I asked.

‘Because you’re too vain to get an ordinary job,’ she replied.

‘Easier to fail at the Bar and go to the stage than the other way round, you mean?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Whilst of course all you want is to save the world.’

‘Naturally.’ She pushed a few stray strands of her brown hair out of her eyes and smiled. ‘Though quite how babysitting and coffee-making duties are going to help accomplish that I have no idea. But I’ve never asked you before. Why on earth did you choose the Bar?’

‘You want the truth?’

‘Why not.’

‘It’s pretty uncool.’

‘Go on, try me.’

‘To pay off the loans and credit card debts my mother’s incurred getting me this far. Get her back on her feet. Put an end to the constant worry.’

I paused before adding quietly, ‘I want to make her proud.’

Tuesday 10 October 2006

Day 7 (week 2): No-win, no-fee

TheBoss was actually stressed for once today and it was all over a no-win, no-fee agreement. Appropriately, it was a stress-at­work case which he’d assumed would settle which would have counted as a win and the fee would have followed. Except it didn’t settle and was now promising to end up in a five-day bunfight at Central London County Court starting tomorrow. The first big problem was that until last night, truth be told, TheBoss really hadn’t ever read the papers particularly carefully. It just seemed the sort of case which was going to settle. It was only late yesterday that he realised this was not so and started ploughing through the documents the other side had handed over months before. Needless to say, I received a late and rather abrupt phone call asking (i.e. instructing) me to get in early the next morning.

So, six o’clock this morning, bleary eyed, I crawled into chambers and started delving into the disclosure. By the time TheBoss arrived at half past eight I’d made a pretty good start and had managed to highlight a couple of good reasons why the other side might not be making the offers which TheBoss had anticipated. Factors other than work to suggest why the client might be stressed, such as a marriage break-up and massive debts. These certainly weren’t fatal to the case but they were enough to get TheBoss worried. So, rather than getting any credit for spotting these points, it seems that all day I’ve been seen as the reason why TheBoss might be about to lose ‘forty grand’s worth of fees’, as he kept muttering under his breath. As if it would have been somehow better to have made these discoveries in the middle of the trial.

With this much money at stake for TheBoss, one thing was clear. Settlement was a priority, and the quicker the better. His solicitor had even more riding on the case and so there was no resistance there. As for the client, the solicitor apparently gave him a call mentioning the difficulties that the other evidence might cause and, ‘. . . well, you do understand.’ No, the client didn’t really understand but what was he going to do, some eighteen hours before his big day in court?

So it settled and all’s well that ends well as far as TheBoss and his beloved ‘forty grand’ were concerned. Afterwards, he turned to me and asked whether I’d been reading the little book by Sun Tzu, to which I replied, ‘a little’.

‘Remember what he said about fighting, BabyB. “To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy’s resistance without fighting.” ’

What I’d say is, ‘Never take on a lawyer on a no-win, no-fee basis.’ Invest now in legal expenses insurance. Pay upfront. But whatever you do, don’t let the lawyers start worrying about getting paid. However much they protest otherwise, it’s there in their mind. Not even at the back of their mind. It’s a big fat ugly screaming beast jumping up and down on their head telling them to settle whether you want to fight it or not.

Wednesday 11 October 2006

Day 8 (week 2): BusyBody

With the settlement under his belt, TheBoss didn’t show today and apparently will be away the rest of the week. He figures that he’s got his brief fee for the five-day trial and so at the very least after all that hard work he deserves a rest. By Jove, he’s earned it. Not that I’m complaining. When TheBoss is away . . . BabyBarista goes to the library. Turns out there’s quite a social scene already developed. A little pupil ecosystem all of its own. One of those places where the only work done is by this one librarian we call JobsWorth who sees it as his mission to seek out and find every nook or cranny which might be hiding a little collection of pupils and then to scowl and say, ‘Can you either get back to work or leave please,’ which is what he’s forced to say since one of the pupils last year apparently reported him for swearing.