by Tim Kevan
With everything that has been going on in chambers I still haven’t been in touch with Claire since the night last week when we both found out that we had been given tenancy. To be honest, or rather ‘to be frank’, I think this is probably owing to the fact that that was also the night when we sealed our long-term friendship with a tentative first kiss. I still don’t know whether it was just a drunken celebratory thing as far as Claire is concerned and I’d never really considered that she might like me in that way. For that matter I’m not exactly sure in what way I might like her. She’s my best friend, and if we get this wrong our whole friendship might be ruined. So, to my shame, I’ve been too nervous to contact her since that evening and today I received a text message saying:
Hey, BabyB. Hope you’ve had a good week. I’ve just been added to a big case in Leeds for the next two weeks so I’m off up there this evening. Would be lovely to catch up when I’m back.
This of course makes the whole situation about as clear as mud but at least it has the advantage of delaying the need to make any decisions.
Monday 8 October 2007
Year 2 (week 2): Blind leading the blind
Had a visit from OldSmoothie this morning.
‘The problem, BabyB,’ he explained, with his charmometer switched to full, ‘is that BigMouth has asked me to present the case, and TheVamp will no doubt prove a hit with both judge and jury, but neither of us know anything about running a libel action.’
Which makes three of us, I thought to myself.
‘In fact,’ he went on, ‘the only thing I can remember about the subject is the well-worn advice to authors wanting to reduce their risk of being sued when they base a character on someone they don’t like.’
‘Oh, what’s that?’ I asked innocently.
‘Think about it. If there’s going to be a case then the description in the book has to be such that it leads the reader to think it’s that man in real life. With me so far?’
‘Er, yes . . .’
‘So, to avoid that, you just tell the author in question to describe the size of the character’s manhood.’
‘Oh.’
‘I mean, who’s going to sue claiming that the man with the small one is in fact them?’
Then he returned to BigMouth. ‘And of course,’ he continued, ‘he’ll struggle to get some real libel barristers on a no win, no fee as these cases are seen as just too risky.’
‘But aren’t there professional difficulties associated with doing something outside your area of expertise?’ I enquired, reinforcing my own newly established position as a great authority on the intricacies of libel law.
‘Oh, it’s never stopped me, BabyB. One of the joys of the Bar is that you can wake up one morning knowing nothing about a subject and then by the next day be putting yourself out as an expert in it. However, it’s always useful to have a junior who can provide a little guidance from time to time.’
So, the good news is that I’m on the case. The bad news is that I will probably be up all night drafting a note on some of the legal issues that may arise – particularly given the fact that I’m starting from scratch.
Tuesday 9 October 2007
Year 2 (week 2): The conference
Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against politicians. Well, nothing more than the average prejudice against those MPs who are corrupt or simply power-hungry. However, even after reminding yourself that as a breed they’re all still human and maybe even have families, you may still struggle to actually like a fair number of them. That’s not to say they’re bad or ill-meaning, merely that very few of us have anything in common with them. But even allowing for the fact that MPs are most definitely a discriminated against minority, I defy anyone to find even an ounce of sympathy for our friend BigMouth. Or should I say, my new client, who I met today for the first time in conference. ‘Met’ is perhaps an overstatement. Even though I was the one who had done all the work, I basically served the coffee and then sat at the back of the room taking notes. These ended up being my thoughts on the great man, which were rude and unrepeatable. Honestly.
Suffice to say, my first impression of BigMouth was not a positive one. He just isn’t a very nice man. He’s arrogant, egotistical and completely lacking in any insight as to how he may be perceived by others. All this means that he is in exactly the right job of course, propping up the Parliamentary green benches, or rather, popping up on them even when it’s wholly inappropriate. Which is most of the time, since he’ll try and wrangle a quip about Europe or immigration into any debate you care to choose, however off-topic it might be. Oh, and his voice goes so far back in his throat as to take you back in time through generations of impeccable aristocratic inbreeding.
But I wouldn’t be saying any of this were it not for the fact that he was rude about my coffee. And not just once. After forcing me to make him a fresh cup he made yet another dig about how he even gets a better ‘cuppa’ (a word that didn’t quite ring true coming out of his mouth) down the greasy café in his constituency, which he is forced to visit once a year. Now, it’s one thing bossing me around and taking me for granted. After all, I didn’t spend a whole year of pupillage learning nothing. But criticising my coffee-making skills is just a step too far. So the third time around I dropped a bunch of UpTights’s herbal ‘chill pills’ as she likes to call them (they are basically St John’s Wort) into a nice strong ‘cuppa’. Special like. Jus’ for ’im. That certainly shut him up for a while. Perhaps they should adopt the same approach in the House of Commons?
As for OldSmoothie, after bringing to bear on the issue all of his innumerable (ahem) years of experience in the field of libel law, his esteemed advice was to ‘fight’. As far as he was concerned, if BigMouth, his ‘best friend’, was telling him that the allegations were entirely manufactured and false, then that was good enough for him. He wasn’t going to go through the silly formalities of testing the strength of the evidence as he would do with a normal client. No, his friend’s word – even if that friend is an MP – is his bond. OldSmoothie is simply taking the story at face value, which means therefore that we have a case, and unless the newspaper in question (I shall call it RedTop) backs down we may well end up in court.
Bad news for the client I would have thought. Good news for the lawyers all round.
But then, who am I to say? I can’t even get the coffee right.
Wednesday 10 October 2007
Year 2 (week 2): Short skirts and long looks
TheVamp had, put it this way, made an effort with her attire for the conference with BigMouth yesterday and when, later in the afternoon, she rocked up at chambers tea, HeadofChambers couldn’t help but comment, and in his most judicial tones at that, ‘Is it just me or are skirts getting shorter these days?’
‘Yes, and men’s looks are getting longer,’ replied TheVamp.
‘Particularly in the case of a rather well-known circuit judge I could mention,’ said BusyBody who is still in chambers and now looking very heavily pregnant. No one knows whether the father-to-be is OldSmoothie or FanciesHimself, the junior clerk. The fact that she has been allowed to remain in chambers for a third six months after her original pupillage has caused suspicions that OldSmoothie may bear more responsibility than he was letting on and is trying to avoid any scandal coming out. Then she added about the judge: ‘I’m sure he’s getting worse. I mean, whenever I appear in front of him I feel like his eyes are undressing me.’
‘Must have very big eyes then,’ said OldSmoothie, somewhat ungallantly.
Thursday 11 October 2007
Year 2 (week 2): Smutton
‘Wake up and smell the cash, BabyB.’
SlipperySlope, who, it turns out, is acting as BigMouth’s solicitor, was as full of himself as ever when I encountered him in chambers this morning. He introduced me to an extremely glamorous partner in his firm who I can only call Smutton, not just because she was dressed in a similar style to TheVamp, despite being probably twenty-five yea
rs her senior, but also because almost everything she does and says seems to be dripping with innuendo. Imagine perhaps a filthy version of Sarah Palin or maybe a panellist on some daytime TV show for women. Someone who looks like she had a few too many brandy and Babyshams in the seventies, cocaine in the eighties and young boys in the nineties. Yet someone who also carries herself with a self-assurance and humour that despite everything is well, I’m a little ashamed to admit, kind of sexy. But this was all just my first impression and as these thoughts passed through my head she stared at me in a way that made me want to hide in a corner.
‘Ah, so this is the famous little BabyB,’ she purred. ‘I hear you’re doing a little pro bono for us.’ Need I mention that her eyes looked me up and down as she paused on the word bono.
‘Er, actually, er, it’s on a no win, no fee,’ I stammered.
‘Never mind, BabyB. I’ve always been pro bono myself.’
Friday 12 October 2007
Year 2 (week 2): Letter of claim
TheVamp and I drafted a letter of claim to the publishers of RedTop today. It essentially said, ‘Dear RedTop, It was very naughty of you to have been so rude about our client. We know he’s an obnoxious, arrogant so-and-so of the worst kind but really, honestly, he did not and we repeat, did not, hire a prostitute.’
‘Do you think he did it?’ I asked TheVamp.
‘Well, the fact that he invited me over for dinner in the Commons on Tuesday and boasted about the luxury pied-à-terre he gets on expenses, means I certainly don’t buy the happily married rubbish in his witness statement. But as to whether he went the whole hog, so to speak . . .’
She tailed off. That really is the million-dollar question. At some point we’re going to have to be given the chance to grill BigMouth a little more thoroughly. It’s certainly unfortunate that we haven’t been allowed to do this before the letter of claim, but there you go. It’s his loss for having chosen his best friend to represent him. To make matters worse, unlike most clients who would probably be satisfied with a retraction and a prominent apology, our politician friend and his inflated ego insisted that our letter stipulated not only an apology but also half a million pounds by way of damages. Right. If I were a juror, even if the story was untrue, I would find it hard to put a value on BigMouth’s reputation at anything more than a few pence.
But then the man did insult my coffee.
Monday 15 October 2007
Year 2 (week 3): Loan shark
So let me explain. It’s not cool, I admit it, but I still live at home, with my mum. That’s right: grown-up barrister; Oxford law degree and still living with my mum. Now things might have been different if chambers had paid me just a little bit more during pupillage. Different on two fronts in fact: I could perhaps have afforded my own flat, but I might also have been able to help with the financial mess my mother has got herself into. A mess caused by debts she’d run up whilst getting me through Oxford – problems she’d kept hidden from me until last year when they started to explode like landmines. At least they did until I cut a deal with her loan shark. We agreed that he would leave my mother out of it and once I was a fully fledged, gold-plated tenant, I would take over her debts. Well now I am a tenant, and today I rang the shark to arrange swapping the payment schedule to myself. It would be a mere formality I was sure.
‘Well, Sir, we do need to go over a few details before we can finalise the arrangements.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Not a problem. Any time you like.’
‘Oh, and we’ll need your mother to attend as well. You do understand.’
‘Of course I do.’
What can there possibly be to worry about? Only the tone in his voice and the fact that the man I struck the deal with last year has mysteriously disappeared. So now I anxiously await the meeting at the end of this month.
Tuesday 16 October 2007
Year 2 (week 3): Wish you were here . . .
Got a postcard from TheBoss today. Well, it didn’t actually say it was from him. In Shawshank Redemption style, it was a little overdramatic and forced on the mysterioso front, which shows that he’s probably still unravelling after the shock of the hearing. But thankfully there was humour rather than menace in its tone. It was a picture of a long golden beach somewhere in the Caribbean and it read simply, ‘Wish you were here . . . don’t you?’
Unfortunately it has conjured up the deeply unattractive image of TheBoss and his mistress BattleAxe sunning themselves for all to see. When I mentioned it in chambers tea, OldSmoothie wasted no time. ‘BattleAxe. Hmm, yes. I’d call her, er, agricultural.’
To which HeadofChambers added, as if repeating something people had said about her before, ‘When she stands to address the court all around are sucked down.’
Wednesday 17 October 2007
Year 2 (week 3): Double dare
SlipperySlope faxed through RedTop’s response today. It was along the lines of: ‘Dear Slippery, Your client is a vain, arrogant and nasty man. You know that as much as we do. If you want a fight we look forward to exhibiting him in front of a jury.’
Unfortunately, they are of course right. Nor have they helped by leaving it ambiguous as to whether the allegations are true or even as to what evidence they may have. They are clearly calling our bluff. If BigMouth tries to seek pre-action disclosure to assess the strength of his case, they would report it front page along the lines of ‘BigMouth, surely you don’t need us to tell you whether it’s true or not?’ What’s worst of all is that even if they fight and lose, their circulation will rise so dramatically during the trial that it’d more than pay for any damages.
So the question now is whether BigMouth will step up to the mark in this game of dare and double dare.
Thursday 18 October 2007
Year 2 (week 3): Sue or true
‘Of course he’ll sue,’ said OldSmoothie as we sat in conference discussing RedTop’s letter.
‘But nobody believes what the papers say any longer,’ said TheVamp. ‘Why would he take the risk with all those costs, even if it’s all fabricated?’
‘Because Tory MPs are the very last of a breed who still cling to the nineteenth-century notion that unless they sue, the allegations are taken to be true.’
All of which is convenient for us. Like OldSmoothie, I’m now starting to look forward to a long, high-profile trial. Win or lose, it’s got to be better than the rest of my practice, which currently consists of car cases in such glamorous locations as Ilford and Slough.
Monday 22 October 2007
Year 2 (week 4): Conspiracy theories
‘It’s all a conspiracy,’ boomed BigMouth as he stomped into OldSmoothie’s room for another conference.
‘Hmm. Conspiracy theories are the last bastion of the desperate or insane, if you ask me,’ I thought. Thankfully, perhaps, I wasn’t being asked.
‘I wouldn’t put anything past RedTop,’ said OldSmoothie sympathetically.
‘What sort of conspiracy were you thinking?’ asked TheVamp gently, which made me realise that she may well be the one who can ask the difficult questions in this case and still get away with it.
‘A mobile phone mast, that’s what. Mobile masts this. Mobile masts that. It’s killing people, you know.’
Even OldSmoothie had to take a deep breath. His friend looked as though he might be beginning to crumble before our eyes and OldSmoothie decided to break the tension.
‘Let’s take this one step at a time. I’m assuming you don’t mean that there’s a killer mobile phone mast on the loose?’
‘Of course not. But there’s one near their houses. It’s driving them mad.’
Some form of madness was becoming apparent to us all but no one said as much.
‘Who are “they”?’ asked TheVamp with a look a psychiatrist might give a patient.
‘The old people, that’s who. Constituents. Keep on clogging up my surgeries.’
‘Er, in what way?’ asked OldSmoothie.
‘Brain da
mage, that’s what. It’s getting into their heads and killing all the brain cells. What’s left of them anyway.’
‘Er, right.’ OldSmoothie was beginning to struggle.
Facing a room full of raised eyebrows, BigMouth ploughed on. ‘You don’t believe me, do you? Nobody does.’
You don’t say.
‘I’ve got a load of people being pumped full of mobile rays and, well, how can I put it? It’s affecting them. Badly. All gone potty.’
I knew that we were all now picturing BigMouth’s blue-rinsed constituents. Potty was something we could believe. OldSmoothie clearly thought that his friend had also been exposing himself to too many mobile rays (well it’s better than prostitutes, I guess) and wanted to steer away from this particular red herring.
‘I think this is something BabyB can investigate. What do you say?’
He turned to me. What was I to say? ‘You must be joking. Stop wasting my time, you mad, pompous, out of touch old fool.’ Well, that would have been one response but instead all I managed was, ‘Er, okay then.’
Tuesday 23 October 2007
Year 2 (week 4): Just good friends?
Got a call from Claire yesterday asking if I was free to meet for a drink this evening. From her voice it sounded a little ominous but I agreed nonetheless. I’ve missed her these last two weeks and despite my worries about where things might be going with us I still wanted to catch up. Unfortunately, I was so involved in working on background stuff for BigMouth’s case that by the time I left the library I realised I was going to be late and called ahead. Thankfully, at least, having just been awarded a tenancy herself, Claire understands the difficulties of juggling work at the Bar with a normal life and she told me not to worry.