BabyBarista is a fictional account of a pupil barrister undergoing the trials of pupillage at the English Bar. Subscribe to a feed of this Times Online blog at http://timesonline.typepad.com/baby_barista/rss.xml
“Got you a nice little earner for you for tomorrow,” said my Instructing Solicitor SlipperySlope on Monday. “Family case. Very simple.”
“But I don’t know anything about family law,” I answered.
“Don’t worry about that. You probably still know more than me and anyway, it’ll settle, I promise.” Then he added slightly mysteriously, “The judge’ll see to that.
So it was that I ended up doing my first family law case yesterday. I’d done a bit of research but was still massively out of my depth and I admit that my knees were shaking just a little. Which wasn’t helped any when the judge then boomed at my opponent: “Who’s paying for this complete waste of time and money?”
“Er, er,…” My opponent didn’t seem to be any more confident than me in this area and he was stumped. “Er, Your Honour, may I please take instructions?”
“You certainly may. But let me warn you now. If this case is being funded by the taxpayer and it doesn’t settle pretty sharpish, it’s the sort of case where the papers may just well end up with the inland revenue.”
My opponent and I both looked at the judge in astonishment and then at each other. We had just been issued with a judicial proclamation of blackmail. ‘Settle or else your respective clients’ small business gets done for tax evasion.’ Not just any old blackmail either but with all the official bells and nobs on which really make a difference. We both knew that a reference from a circuit judge would get the tax man frothing at the mouth. This was a code red to the lawyers to sort it out or else!
Except it wasn’t just the lawyers that had got the none too unsubtle message being handed down by the learned bench. First off, my opponent’s lay client jumped up and started making all sorts of noise to his solicitor who then himself jumped up, poked my opponent in the back and whispered something to him. Then I got similar treatment from my own client. My opponent stood up. “Er, Your Honour, it seems that a compromise may now be possible. Would you allow us a brief adjournment?”
The judge had anticipated the answer and was already half way to his room as he turned and said, “Ten minutes. No more.”
All I can say is that SlipperySlope was right and in fact we were back in five.
"Sir, this case involves a car crash which arises out of a car making u-turn in the middle of the road." It was TheBusker and I was supporting him in quite a valuable case down in the West Country. He went on, "Which reminds me of the story in which a driving instructer said to his farmer client, "Can you make a ewe turn?" to which the farmer replied, "No, but I can make its eyes water."
The judge liked the joke and TheBusker won his case.
“Does anyone know anything about sexual harassment?” asked TheCreep this morning, in the clerks room.
“OldSmoothie’s the expert in that department,” said UpTights smartly.
“It’s not sexual harASSment,” said HeadofChambers, emphasising the last three letters of harass. “Harass rhymes with embarrass and embarrassment’s exactly what you’ll be suffering if you start throwing around that sort of Americanism to an English judge.
“Though to be fair,” said TheVamp, “an employment tribunal isn’t exactly the top of the judicial ladder.”
“And anyway, I think that you’ll find that OldSmoothie has always put the stress on the ass when it comes to harassment,” added UpTights.
“You know,” said TheCreep earnestly interrupting the flow. “I was recently invited to join a Facebook group which called itself the “Sexual Harrassment Action Group…” His voice tailed off as he noticed the silence and the smirks which followed.
“So quiet you can almost hear a penny drop,” said TheBusker with a smile.
“So what are they going to call this next decade?” said OldSmoothie at chambers tea just before Christmas.
“Well, we’ve had the noughties so maybe now it’s the tenties?” said BusyBody.
“Yes, quite. The age of austerity and repossessions which will leave us all living in tents if we’re not careful,” said HeadofChambers.
“Or at least struggling to pay for a second home, a nanny and school fees on top,” said TheBusker wryly.
“Not forgetting child support and the odd mistress,” said BusyBody looking directly at OldSmoothie.
“Odd being the operative word,” retorted the pompous one.
“How about the tweenies?” said TheVamp. “Or the inbetweenies?”
“Even though the teens aren’t for another few years,” piped up TheCreep. “And for what it’s worth, even the first decade of this century doesn’t finish until the end of 2010.”
“As with most things you have to say my little friend, “said UpTights, “it’s worth even less than your legal practice.” She paused and then smiled. “Which for some reason prompts the twenty tenners. Your daily fee, perhaps?”
“You know, personally I quite favour the twenty tenors,” said OldRuin, diplomatically cutting through the tension. “There’s something almost operatic in all this war-making amid financial ruin.”
“You’re a marketing genius,” said TheBusker. “I can see it now. The new X-Factor. The search for the twenty tenors for the twenty tenors.”
But whatever, they eventually decide, may I wish all readers of this blog a very happy new year and best wishes for 2010.
I was on the train to court today haggling over the details of a claim with TheCreep who was my opponent and had come and plonked himself down at my table. Except haggling is putting it politely. Getting harangued by him would be more accurate. Then, just as we went over a large bridge, a child who was staring out of the window shouted: “Mummy, we’re flying.”
Conversations actually stopped. Even TheCreep hesitated and for that moment the whole carriage really was flying. Away from their present cares and worries as their minds were thrown back to an innocent past where lawyers didn’t exist and witches, wizards and warlocks ruled the roost.
A fleeting moment of hope before it all started up once again.
Having in January this year not only won the "Quirky" category of the American Bar Association's Law Blog (Blawg) Awards but also gained the most overall votes for any category I was curious to see what the Americans would do to try and stop the Brits stealing their glory this time around. So, when it came to the announcement as to who the Top 100 were for this year I was delighted to see that despite my concerns, not only this blog but two other excellent Brit Blawgs had been nominated: Charon QC and Geeklawyer. But as is always the way with lawyers, it was only when I read the detail that I realised their strategy. Whoever would imagine that the Americans would change the rules of an election simply to engineer the result? I mean, go figure? But there it was in black and white: a completely different system of voting which is only available to those that have signed up to the ABA. Hmm, so that'll be US lawyers then? Now, whilst it definitely gives them an advantage and will lose the majority of blog readers who simply flick from page to page, it doesn't mean voting is impossible for us Brits. Whilst inconvenient, the sign up is relatively easy and once you've done that then you can vote for all three representatives from this side of the Atlantic. So, go on, please vote here and let's see if we can show them despite these shenanigans.
I happened to mention to OldRuin today that I had been struggling with a little DIY last night and had decided that it wasn’t something in which I excelled. “BabyB, I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that it is essential to earn enough to ensure that one never has to pick up a paint brush. You know about Lord Finchley, I’m sure?”
I replied that I didn’t. OldRuin said, “Hillaire Belloc I think. Now let’s see if I can remember how it goes. It’s been a few years.” He paused and looked up and then slowly recited the following lines:
“Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light
Himself. It struck him dead: And serve him right!
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.”
Listening to his gentle delivery it brought me back once again to the thought as to what might have been had he been my pupilmaster rather than TheBoss. Almost without realising I was articulating my thoughts aloud I said, "And the only advice I was ever given by TheBoss came from ‘The Art of War’."
Old Ruin gave an understanding look. “I used to give my pupils two books when they started with me,” he said. “The first was a little volume called ‘The Expert’ by Bernard Picton which said among other things that “the ‘X’ is for an unknown quantity and the ‘spurt’ for a drip under pressure.” The other was Cyril Northcote Parkinson’s volume ‘Parkinson’s Law’ where he explained that work expands to fill the time available.” He smiled and said with a twinkle in his eye: “They provided more valuable insights for the practise of law than either Sun Tzu or for that matter the likes of Dicey and Halsbury. Oh, and I’d occasionally pass them old copies of Henry Cecil’s wonderful ‘Brothers in Law’ series whenever I stumbled upon them in second hand book shops.” His gaze strayed and he looked as if his mind was travelling back over the years. “His real name was His Honour Judge Leon, you know. Lovely man and a good judge, too.”
Word has it in the robing rooms that there’s a particular county town in which the district judges have all gone what can only be described as feral. Now don’t get me wrong. There has always been the odd (in all senses of the word) one here and there and we’ve all known who they were. In fact if you were advising your clients as to the likely outcomes it was something which seriously had to be factored into the equation. One, for example, simply didn’t like women claimants and another hated anyone with a regional accent. But it was generally considered pretty bad luck to get one of these judges since even at their own courts they were only one out of four or five who were dishing out the justice.
Not so in this particular county town where every one of the district and deputy district judges have pretty much declared independence, Passport to Pimlico style. It started with the publication of their so-called ‘Local Practice Directions’ in which skeleton arguments and bundles of authorities were "discouraged". For that, read not merely "frowned upon" but instead "actively ignored". Then there’s the policy that "personal injury cases are encouraged to settle" for which read "if they don’t settle, there’ll be wasted costs against the lawyers". Oh, and just the small matter of cross-examination and submissions for which the directions say "Judges may dispense with these is they deem it appropriate". For this read "We can’t be bothered with you testing the evidence or going on too much so we’ll just decide the cases our way thank you very much."
I was against one of the most pompous and self-important barristers I’ve ever met today (which is saying something). It was a very small personal injury action in which a fisherman was claiming for whiplash as a result of a Russian registered boat having accidentally knocked his own boat. If there was any doubt as to what my opponent thought of himself, you only had to look at the italicised description that he had put of himself at the bottom of his lengthy (and almost incomprehensible) skeleton argument: “BigHead is a world renowned expert [I’m not kidding] in private international law and in particular shipping and the commercial matters which arise therefrom. He travels extensively throughout the world [don’t we all on our holidays] and also acts as an expert witness for English law in this area.”
Except that today we weren’t in Monaco or Athens but instead we were in the county court of Barnstaple and it was clear that the deputy district judge had the measure of my opponent from the moment he started addressing the judge as “My Lord”. “Well, Mr BigHead, it’s very nice of you to visit our humble little court here in North Devon. Must be quite a change from what you are used to.”
Without even realising that the judge was ribbing him, BigHead replied, “Indeed, though I have to say that I find it’s good for the soul to do a few of these little cases now and again and to remind one what the rest of the profession has to put up with.”
Ouch. But that wasn’t the end of it.
“Well, Mr BigHead,” said the judge. “I’ve read your extremely thorough skeleton argument and as I understand it your main point is that we do not have jurisdiction to hear such a weighty matter as this and that instead it should properly be heard in the Admiralty Court in London?”
“Precisely, My Lord. I have absolutely no idea why anyone would even have dreamt that such a case could be heard in a county court.”
“I see. Just for the sake of completeness, do you have any further points to add beyond the skelton?”
“No, my Lord, I think it makes the point fully.”
“Yes, quite.” The judge then turned to me. Now I have to admit that jurisdiction had not even been something I had considered and given that I’d only received the skeleton that morning I was, to say the least, a little out of my depth on this point. I waited for the judge to start grilling me. “Now, Mr BabyBarista, he started. “I assume you want to rely upon section 27(1) of the County Courts Act 1984 which gives certain courts, including I might say this one, admiralty jurisdiction?”
“Er…” I had the rabbit in the headlights look and as I stared at him I could actually make out that he was nodding at me as if telling me that was exactly what I wanted to be relying upon. “Er, yes, of course, Sir. I’m extremely grateful. My point exactly.”
“Excellent. Well, Mr BigHead, for a shipping lawyer as important as your skeleton says you are I’m extremely surprised that you didn’t know that a few of us coastal courts can also manage the odd bit of shipping law on the side.”
BigHead was lost for words. Then the judge added: “I don’t know whether you’ve heard of the Bideford Bar, Mr BigHead but it’s provided more than a few shipping cases in its time, I can tell you.”
“Oh,” said BigHead. “I’m afraid I hadn’t heard of it. Does it have a particular specialisation in shipping?”
“You might say that,” said the judge with a wry smile before delivering the killer blow. “Though for your information it’s a sand bar at the end of the estuary and has nothing to do your own, er,” he looked directly at BigHead, “esteemed profession.”
It seems OldSmoothie went in for a meeting at Tory HQ on Wednesday and was told that really they were looking for people who are a bit more “with it”. Whilst the whole of chambers have no doubt that this basically meant more “on the ball” and maybe just, you know, in touch with the real world, he’s taken it to mean “trendy”. Then, as if just to prove the point being made he turned to TheCreep for lifestyle advice after hearing him again mentioning TheInbetweeners. Which has meant that yesterday OldSmoothie was strutting around in some black Converse sneaker shoes and loudly answering his brand spanking new iPhone with the words “What’s occurring?” and ending his conversations with the words “At the end of the day, when all’s said and done, and I aint gonna lie to you, I feels it, tidy”.
Living proof that in the case of both TheCreep and OldSmoothie it’s definitely how you tell them that counts. Or something Evelyn Waugh once said about the one being a Dodo and the other a petrified egg.
This is a fictional account of a junior barrister at the English Bar. It is not based on fact.
BabyBarista was educated at Oxford University and is a member of the Inner Temple, where he is a tenant in a mixed common law and criminal set.
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