Law and Peace (31 page)

First there were the T-shirts: a succession of beautiful girls wearing Häagen-Dazs T-shirts entered the courtroom each time OldSmoothie was making a point. Then, whenever UpTights got to her feet, a fat, male Manchester United fan would come in. All of this to-ing and fro-ing was set against a backdrop that included Smutton and UpTights dressed to the nines, as always, in Myla and Louboutins, a detail I was finally noticing.

Ostensibly, the subject of today's proceedings was the evidence from one of the telecom company's executives. But the real show, as is so often the case, actually belonged to the barristers. Every time one of them stood up either to interrupt or to ask a question, the other one would lob a whispered insult across the courtroom.

‘You're a stretched and gabbling shrew-faced old harridan, UpTights,' whispered OldSmoothie.

At which UpTights leant back like a coiled spring before unleashing, ‘Can't you do any better than that, OldSmoothie, you prattling, mangy, two-faced, fat, lickorous old git.'

‘You're a dried-up plastic old scrag end,' he hissed as she stood up once again.

‘And you my dear man are a maggot-pated clunch and a dirty old buck fitch,' came the reply as she sat down.

This rather threw OldSmoothie and we all heard him whisper, ‘A clunch and a buck fitch?'

To which UpTights replied, ‘That's right. Look it up if you have to, you crapulent piece of rotting horse hair.'

The exchange of insults that accompanied their rising to address the judge, or a witness, was like a barrister version of Torvill and Dean's
Bolero
: a carefully choreographed dance, in which each flirtatiously toyed with the other before the spotlight swung back. Meanwhile, in the background, the entrances and exits of the Häagen-Dazs girls and pie-eating blokes continued whilst we all did our best to copy the particular body language that the judge was exhibiting from moment to moment. All of which was accompanied by the rhythmic lolling of my head from side to side, as if I were a sort of hypnotic metronome.

Then without any warning, OldSmoothie's angry face suddenly broke into a huge smile and he put his arm out towards UpTights who was actually only sitting a couple of feet away. He squeezed her shoulder and said, ‘I really don't know what I'd do without you, UpTights.'

She immediately pulled away from this invasion of her oh-so-important personal space, but not before whispering awkwardly and with as much of a smile as her stretched features would allow, ‘Love you too, OldSmoothie.'

Nowt, as I've said before, so queer as folk. Either they're both starting to suffer Tourette's whenever they come within hearing distance of each other or they're actually madly in love, and insulting and degrading one another is just a kind of sadomasochistic mating ritual for ageing, bored and over-educated barristers. My money has always been on the latter.

As I told the story later in the clerks room, HeadClerk said, ‘They'd each be nothing without the other. It's what gets them out of bed each day.'

‘I've always liked the concept of entangled particles in quantum physics,' said TheBusker. ‘That as one moves in one part of the universe it inextricably affects the other in a completely different part. It's just that in OldSmoothie and UpTights' case it's in a bad way.'

‘Reminds me of a time when I saw so many shooting stars that I actually ran out of good wishes,' chuckled HeadClerk. ‘I ended up wishing bad things, which just kind of felt, well, wrong.'

‘It's like OldSmoothie and UpTights got to that stage at about “hello”,' I said.

‘Diamonds and rust, BabyB, diamonds and rust,' said HeadClerk. ‘Gives them the edge.'

 

 

Tuesday 24 June 2008

Year 2 (week 39): Sub-prime UK

 

HeadofChambers made an announcement in chambers tea this afternoon: ‘It is with deep regret that I must announce that . . .'

At this point, the words and his sombre face led us all to think that he was about to announce the tragic death of someone close. He continued, ‘. . . chambers had three quarters of a million pounds invested in a property investment portfolio with a company that has just gone bankrupt and we are struggling to recover any of it.'

I should have realised. A face as serious as that could only be associated with financial loss.

OldSmoothie was the first to get stuck in. ‘What? Lost? Who? How?'

UpTights took up the baton. ‘How long have you known this?'

HeadofChambers shifted a little and looked at his feet before bringing his attention back to the room and putting on his QC voice. ‘Er, well, er . . . I'm afraid I've been trying to sort it out given that I was the one who put the money there in the first place.'

‘Yes, and you'll be the one we'll all sue if you don't recover it,' said OldSmoothie in a loud stage whisper.

TheCreep quickly spotted an opportunity to stick up for HeadofChambers and said, ‘I really don't think that's called for, OldSmoothie. We're all in this together.'

‘What? Are you worried that we might add you as a co-defendant or something?' replied OldSmoothie.

TheCreep backed off but HeadofChambers was already cranking out his defence. ‘It was hardly foreseeable that the property market was going to collapse.'

‘Ooh, foreseeable,' answered OldSmoothie. ‘Getting a little defensive, are we?'

BusyBody stepped up to the mark just for the sport. ‘Coming from the financial wizard that thinks hedge funds are for gardening and the credit crunch is a breakfast cereal, you're hardly one to talk.'

So much for that ‘big happy family' line that chambers always uses with new recruits. Then OldSmoothie started musing, ‘It's like the whole country's turning into one big toxic debt. No wonder the pound's being dumped. It's not like we produce anything any longer and the only thing we seem to be good at is racking up debt. I just can't imagine who'd still want to lend to sub-prime UK.'

‘Well, quite,' said TheBusker diplomatically.

But OldSmoothie hadn't finished. ‘I mean, what do we actually produce? Really? Nothing of any use whatsoever. Services they always say. We've become a country of so-called service industries.' He shook his head. ‘Services? Huh, parasites more like.'

BusyBody had been quietly listening to this outburst and as she turned on her heels to leave she said over her shoulder for all to hear, ‘Well at least no one can ever have accused you of being part of a service industry.'

 

 

Wednesday 25 June 2008

Year 2 (week 39): Judicial blackmail

 

‘Got a nice little earner for you for tomorrow,' said SlipperySlope yesterday as I was leaving his office after a meeting with Smutton. ‘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.'

Thus it was that I ended up doing my first family law case today. 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 as we rose for the entrance of the judge. It didn't help when he then boomed at my opponent, ‘Who's paying for this complete waste of time and money?'

‘Er, er . . .' My opponent didn't seem 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 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 threat of blackmail: ‘Settle or your respective clients' small businesses will be reported for tax evasion.' 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.

Only it wasn't just the lawyers who had picked up the none-too-subtle message being handed down by the learned bench. First off, my opponent's lay client leapt to his feet and started making all sorts of noises at his solicitor, who then also jumped up, poked my opponent in the back and whispered something to him. Then I was given 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 this answer and was already halfway 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 with a settlement in five.

When I arrived back in the clerks room, I discovered that I had been booked for a case in the West Country for Friday and so gave Arthur a call, as he'd asked me to, and when there was no answer I left him a message. After about quarter of an hour he called me back.

‘BabyB, I got your message about Friday and as I said before, I think it'd be nice for you to meet TheColonel. It'd mean you staying over until Saturday but I guarantee it'd be worth it.'

He was chuckling as he said this and then he passed the phone to Ethel. ‘Surf's up, BabyB. Do go and see him. You're sure to have fun.'

Then she handed the phone back to Arthur. ‘Anyway, I'm afraid I took the liberty of assuming that you'd be able to make it and have arranged it all. He suggested that you give him a ring after your case is finished.'

With which he gave me the number and was gone.

 

 

Thursday 26 June 2008

Year 2 (week 39): Oh, yes, yes, yes

 

Today was the day TheBusker had been planning for over a year. He's been especially training his dog for a court appearance. This morning he was to have his opportunity and I went along to watch. It was a relatively small theft case although big enough for a jury trial. By all accounts his client was definitely guilty and so he was grateful for anything that came his way, even TheBusker's DogCard.

Well, it all went to plan at the start. The client, wearing sunglasses, was led by the dog through the security gates, suggesting (without actually saying so) that the dog was there to guide him. Then, in court, the dog sat on the client's lap and if you looked closely you could see that he wore a mini barrister's winged collar, bands around his neck and a tiny little wig perched on his head. TheBusker had chosen this case specifically because the judge was a drinking buddy of his, and so the canine presence in court went unchallenged.

Then when TheBusker started making his points in cross-examination the dog sat bolt upright, looked at the jury and nodded his head like the Churchill dog in the television adverts. But when TheBusker's opponent started speaking the dog's ears dropped, his head went down, and he started to shake it from side to side as if in disagreement. The plan was proceeding splendidly and the jury were charmed.

That is, until TheBusker got up to give his closing speech and the dog became confused. Having sat up on cue he then dropped his head so low it would have made even an England football manager at a penalty shoot-out look optimistic. This was exacerbated further when he started slowly shaking his head in what can only be described as disappointment. The judge by this point cast a wry ‘never work with animals' look at TheBusker who simply went with the flow and shrugged his shoulders at the jury in a kind of ‘aw shucks' sort of way.

But just when all appeared to be lost, it became apparent that the dog's failure to toe the party line only made the jury smile even more, and in almost no time at all they returned with a verdict. As the foreman declared, ‘Not Guilty,' the rest of the jury smiled first at TheBusker and then at the dog, who for the first time in a while was once again nodding his head.

All of this made me wonder whether TheBusker had actually planned every bit of the performance, employing double, triple, even quadruple bluffs. Who really knows when it comes to TheBusker?

 

 

Friday 27 June 2008

Year 2 (week 39): Bideford Bar

 

I was up against one of the most pompous and self-important barristers I've ever met today (which is saying something). I'll call him BigHead. 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 into 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 on 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.'