The Budding Barrister

And now, the end is near...

2008-07-01T09:58:00.002+01:00

OK. I’m not even going to begin apologising for the time it has taken me to post a new blog. If you have read my previous postings you will, by now, understand why it is nigh-on impossible to write something on a regular basis. There is one blogger that I have referred to previously who shamelessly puts that theory to the sword who, when I had time to read his/her blog would publish on an almost daily basis with intelligent and funny stories that made crucial reading to up-coming and present pupils; myself included.

Right then, an update as to my progress, in case anyone is interested…
The work that I am doing has increased both in volume, quality and, best of all remuneration. I got paid a four-figure sum for a small hearing that I did recently. Granted, I had to buy a train ticket to Devon and pay for a hotel room out of that, but I’m still smiling – or I will be if/when the cheque from the solicitors arrives. I’m now doing a bit of fast-track work which is nice because of the better fees involved….oh, I can’t do this….I have so much to tell you and am trying to procrastinate to build the drama. Oh well, here goes.

Firstly, my chambers has a ritual whereby the pupils have to fight it out in an advocacy exercise in front of all the members of chambers. This is done around three weeks before the tenancy decision and therefore has everything riding on it. I cannot begin to tell you how nervous I was. Being in court every day and trying to do as much [good] work for members of chambers at the same time it was difficult finding the time to prepare. The assessment was judged by a [past] member of chambers who is a High Court Judge. Everyone said beforehand that he was a thoroughly delightful chap who would not try to catch us out. Bollocks. He may well have been a thoroughly nice chap and, by all accounts, he is. But the very first thing he did was to throw me the biggest curve-ball in history. It had both myself and the other pupil scrabbling around the White Book aimlessly, trying to look as if we knew where redemption lay. We didn’t. The Judge addressed me. Help! I did the only thing I could: I blagged it. It seemed to work and we moved on. Anyway, long story short, we both did fine and it was over.

The chambers meeting for the tenancy decision came around three weeks later. Nervous though I was, I do not exaggerate when I say that I was considerably more nervous about the advocacy exercise. I felt a little numb as the hours passed on “the” day. When I was able to think logically and put emotion to one side, I thought that, overall, had performed fairly well during my pupillage, I had got on with everyone, not pissed anyone off (to the best of my knowledge) and so things should be alright. Those brief moments of clarity were but a drop in the ocean of ifs, buts and “if I don’t get it, I’m quitting the bar”, etc. I left chambers around 17.50, whilst all the excitement and the buzz had already begun in earnest all around me. I should have left by around 17.30 (meeting was at 18.00) but, impressively, I was still rather busy with work. I took a wander down the embankment and eventually found a bench near the London Eye. I sat. I waited for the call. I squinted uncomfortably in the late afternoon sun and thought about nothing else but tenancy. I tried reading but couldn’t. Made a few calls but they did not last long because I did not want to risk missing the call.

The call from my pupil-master came. Quite late (relatively). To find out what he said, keep reading and I will post again soon……kidding! I wouldn’t do that to you. It was good news. He shot the breeze with me for the first 30 seconds and made the odd joke at which point I thought he must have good news otherwise he wouldn’t be doing this – it would be too cruel. I was right. I was offered a tenancy and I quickly accepted. I am fortunate enough to belong to a great set and I have now achieved what I set out so to do, all those years ago. Now the real work begins….

Where has the time gone?

2008-05-15T10:53:00.004+01:00

Wow!

I'm in my second sixth. Moreover, I'm a month-and-a-half into it.

I have been on my feet virtually every day, across the length and breadth of the country.

I know it's been ridiculously long since my last post but I very much doubt that anyone is reading this anyway - I suppose this is more of a pupillage diary for me, rather than an actual blog.

Anyway, the gap between this and last post may not be enthralling, but it should give you a good idea of what will happen to you and your life in the last few months of your first-sixth and the start of your second (who knows how the remaining time will pan out?!).

As I said, I am on my feet every day and the clerks keep me very busy indeed. I am in a civil set so the work at the junior end of chambers is rather restricted. Mostly small claims (involving Road Traffic Accidents and the odd contractual dispute), infant approvals, possession orders and the like.

I get to travel all over the country -yay- from Cardiff to Worthing, Walsall to Colchester; and many more besides. It is incredibly tiring, especially as my solicitors have a habit of briefing me at 5-6pm with a cross-country hearing the next morning.

The pay is not bad. So far it varies from £100 for the most minor application to around £400 for the furthest flung hearing. In the six weeks that I have been on my feet, I have so far received three cheques, which isn't bad all things considered.

More soon.....I hope....

My thoughts after 100+ days

2008-01-15T09:22:00.000Z

I promised myself that I would not be one of those bloggers that publishes a few posts and then largely forgets about it. I am exactly that person. Kind of.

It's not that I totally forgot about the existence of my blog, it was more a question of priorities. Do the blog, don't do your work, don't get tenancy. That's how my mind worked anyway. You will notice the past tense of the verb "work". That is because, three and a half months into my pupillage, I have stopped caring. Not only about my pupillage, but about life in general - a year of subservience in chambers will do that to you. I have some sage advice for anyone thinking of coming to the bar: don't do it.

Joking aside, I have been kept very busy. I am actually very lucky in my set or, at least with the Master, as I do get constant work to get on with, but it's rarely unfairly voluminous and he is always around to help me. I put my hands up and admit that the amount of work should not have stopped me publishing but....I can't quite explain it. Perhaps those of you reading this that are presently undergoing pupillage will know what I mean but, it's as if there is some dark force hanging over you throughout which saps any good intentions you may have had to be productive when you don't actually have to be. Whereas in the past I used to be really good about doing all the laundry, dishes and cleaning etc, now, when I am at home and otherwise at a loose end, I will just stare at the dishes/shirts/dust [delete as appropriate] without any intention of challenging it and just think 'Well that's not going to get me tenancy now, is it?'.

Pupil's Advocacy Course

2007-11-18T13:00:00.000Z

As many of you will be aware, once you have started pupillage, you have to complete a compulsory advocacy course run by your Inn. What some of you may not realise, and certainly I did not, was that the course lasts 2 weeks!! Before you start thinking: 2 weeks holiday from chambers, woo-hoo!....think again! It was quite a lot of hard work, though ultimately useful and I made some new friends :-)

Mine just finished last week and I'm really glad its over. I'm actually looking forward to being back in chambers with some proper work to do! Maybe now I'll have more opportunity to publish some more [timely] posts.

The Noting Brief

2007-11-18T12:46:00.000Z

Well, this was nice. One night in chambers, at around 6.30pm, I was given my very first brief!! OK, so it does not really count, as it was only a noting brief....but still....!!

The next morning I had to be in the Watford County Court and sit there and take notes of the proceedings. I don't know what other people make of that duty but, for me, it was every bit as arduous as I thought it was going to be. Its rather difficult to keep your attention focused for so long. Fortunately for me, the case was actually rather interesting and was made all the more entertaining by the defendant litigant in person, who abused the other participants in the proceedings at random intervals. Still, as difficult as it was, I got £125 per day and was at court for 2 days....drinks are on me......in around 3 years or so when I finally get paid for the work.

The Beginning

2007-10-22T10:08:00.000+01:00

Wow – it’s been a while since my last post. I can’t believe that I’m already into my fourth week of pupillage. Some of the other pupillage blogs that I have been reading, my favourite one in particular, contain reams of entries all about how boring it is and how one will often spend time twiddling their thumbs with nothing to do. As an indicator of how much that applies to me, just check the length of time between this and my last post. And that’s not down to my being lazy; though far be it from me to deny that particular charge altogether. OK, enough with the vaguities (sorry, not sure how you spell that one), I have been swamped!!

On my second day I had to draft a particulars of claim on a real case and hand it into my Pupil Master (hereafter, known as “The Master”, a direct homage to “Pupilblogger” who, to the best of my knowledge, was the first to coin that phrase in blawgs). I had to do another a couple of days after that and, in between and since, there have been court visits, conferences and, mostly, case reading and summarising for the master, with discussions about my conclusions.

I won’t say that any of it has been easy, because it has not. What I will say is that it has, thus far, been very enjoyable and interesting. The most difficult thing for me has, until now, been the travelling and the hours. The travelling by tube I’m used to. What I’m not used to is travelling by tube in rush hour in a nice suit with all the trimmings and being groped by all and sundry. I won’t say that isn’t enjoyable at times.....but sometimes I’d like dinner and flowers first......sometimes. My hours are officially 09:00 to 18:00, though I frequently leave well after 18:00. On my first day the master impressed upon me that I would not score any brownie points by coming in early or leaving late (though he practically winked at me when he said that he was required to say that, and other blurb, under the working time directive). Let it be said that I am under no illusion that, converse to the last couple of sentences, I am positive that it will score me brownie points if I regularly outstay my fellow barristers and the clerks. As mentioned, I have been doing that a fair bit but, and here lies the rub, it has not been intentionally as such. Sometimes I am just enjoying a good conversation and other times I just want to get something finished or, at least, make some more progress on it before leaving chambers. We shall see how long that lasts....

Finally a word on the master. Actually, he’s pretty cool. I think I have been very lucky, having heard the horror stories of others. He’s patient, generous, witty, good conversationalist and seems to be an excellent barrister too. Right now, I don’t mind being at the feet of the master – he has nice shoes.

The Doctor's Note - Part 2

2007-08-13T16:21:00.000+01:00

It is amazing what a little bit of research on the Internet can do for you. I found a very useful little piece on sick leave, which, I am sure you will be glad to know, I used to my own shady ends.

In a nutshell, if you are off work with sickness for less than seven days, then your employer cannot require you to produce a sick certificate from your doctor. You are able to “self-certificate” for this period. These regulations come from the Department of Work & Pensions. Thus, I printed them off, highlighted the relative parts and submitted them to my manager, together with my self-certificating form (SC2, should you be interested) much to her chagrin and my self-satisfied amusement. That’d be 1-0 to me then. Talking of which.......

My 5-a-side football team played in the second annual tournament for a small charity yesterday. Last year we reached the final and lost due to a combination of being kicked all over the pitch by a bunch of violent thugs who had little interest in actually playing football and a ref who was completely gormless. We actually equalised in the last minute, the ref gave the goal and then, following our opponents’ protests, ruled it out. That one rankled for an entire year with all of us. We played the same team in the semis this year and beat them – I can’t tell you how good that felt. The final finished 0-0 and it was 1-1 after penalties. It went to sudden death and we lost it 1-0. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!! As you would expect, despite being captain and being expected to lead by example, I completely bottled it and did not take a penalty. Still, I’ve always wanted to be able to say I’ve lost a final on penalties. Maybe third time lucky next year.

The Doctor's Note

2007-07-31T13:33:00.000+01:00

Now then; does the title of this posting not sound like it could be the title to a Seinfeld episode? Quite natty I feel. Alas, that is where the joviality of this posting ends. Whilst I am sure that many of you reading this will find it hilarious, I do not.

You may remember that the week before last I was “off sick” all week. Knowing full well that any sick leave beyond three days in length had to be sanctioned by a doctor’s note, I took a calculated risk and decided to not attend the doctor. This was for several reasons:

1) I was not, in the conventional understanding of the word, sick.
2) 18 months ago when I took a [more conventional] week’s sick leave, I was not asked for any such doctor’s note upon my return.
3) I could not be bothered.

All was swell until late last week, when the “manager” asked me for my doctor’s note. I pleaded ignorance. This did not work. I said that I would see the doctor (as it happens, I shall be seeing him tomorrow) and mention it to him, knowing full well what he is likely to say to me. The hope was that it would buy me some time. It did not. Yesterday, the manager asked me again for the note – I can’t help but feel that if it was somebody else, she would not be this persistent. Put it this way, she has yet to be so persistent on anything work-related. I think this is turning into a witch-hunt, or at least a Budding Barrister hunt. Ignorance not having worked, my lawyer super powers then kicked-in and I unleashed my nuclear weapon: reasonableness. Why, I implored, would I go to the doctors after three days if I had flu? I know what’s wrong with me, getting out of bed or out of a chair is (when you actually do have a flu) a traumatic experience. Am I to be expected to venture out (nigh-on impossible when within the grips of flu) to the docs, only for him to say ‘you’ve got the flu, there’s nothing I can do or prescribe for you – just drink plenty of fluids, get plenty of rest and take paracetamol’? Come now. This approach worked not. Apparently, they need ‘some kind of record’.

Ok, so, before any of you start on this one, I know I’m in the wrong, but it has become a matter of principle (don’t say it!!) and, in fairness, I’m only taking back time which is owed me anyway. I feel like Bart Simpson when he witnesses the [lack of] assault on a French waiter by Diamond Joe Quimby’s nephew, but does not want to testify because then Principal Skinner will have the evidence he needs to prove that Bart was playing truant. My final assault, if pushed, will be that of expectation. Last time I was not asked for a doctor’s note, so I had the legitimate expectation that I would not need one this time. Furthermore, having phoned-in to the office every day whilst off, there was ample opportunity to instruct me accordingly at the time. Honestly; some people just have no morals!

Mmmmmmmmmm.....doughnuts......

2007-07-30T16:56:00.000+01:00

The weekend has been and gone and it finally happened. I have spent the past two years in a residual state of excitement, waiting for the Simpsons Movie to come out. It came out. I watched. I enjoyed. I will not embellish any further for two reasons:

1) It is the Simpsons – nuff said
2) You will want to watch it (the eagle-eyed amongst you may have noticed the omission of the word “may”….not an accident).

What a shame that the same could not be said for The Transformers. I spent a similar amount of time waiting, and being excited for, this film. The weekend before last I watched. I did not enjoy. In truth, it was ok, but it could have been so much better. Those of you that have seen it will know what I’m talking about. I will not embellish any further for one reason:

1) I can’t be bothered.

After The Simpsons, I thought it would be a good idea to allow my sat nav to guide us through the City to get to our usual coffee place. I already knew the way, but I thought it would be quicker if I took the “suggested” route through the City. It was pouring with rain, I mean that really heavy stuff, which didn’t stop, and the traffic was awful. To compound issues, one of my friends was moaning about how I always took the advice of the sat nav and never listened to her, and how her way was much quicker. Broadly speaking, I was experiencing three thoughts in relation to her high-pitched whining.

1) I wish that she’d shut up.
2) She was right.
3) Bitch.

By the time we got there, needless to say, I needed that first espresso. The second one was plain greed. Anyway, that was Saturday. Sunday, in my infinite wisdom, I had decided would be a good day to accept an invitation to play in an invitation-eleven cricket match. To put things into perspective, I had not played a game of cricket in anger for well over a decade. It was actually pretty fun; the only drawback was that I was standing on Hampstead Heath for around 5 hours on a Sunday afternoon. It may have been nice to simply go back home in the early evening and then relax, whilst thinking ‘there are worse ways to spend a summer day’. But that is assuming you don’t have your regular Sunday night game of 5-a-side football. I was rather tired come the end of the evening – I shan’t be going to the gym tonight. And whilst my team may have lost the cricket, my team won the football. Welcome home.

The Ultimate Dilemma

2007-07-23T11:21:00.000+01:00

Now then, as the title to this posting suggests, I was presented today with something of a doozy. You know when the milk is on the turn, but has not quite turned, and you realise it too late, only once you have made the tea/coffee? To drink or not to drink, that is the question. Whether tis nobler on the heart to drink or for the stomach to suffer the slings and arrows of milk outrageously past its sell by date? OK, well I might be waxing lyrical ever so slightly; in fact, the milk is actually a day before its sell by date. Anyway, what would you do? Especially if you were making tea for others in the office too? In keeping with the makings of a true lawyer, I tried to keep the costs to a minimum and used the milk; however, I gave fair warning and notice to the intended recipients and even offered them a sniff. They consented, albeit orally, to the use of the milk. The teas had white flecks floating in them. We all drank the tea. It was ok. Tomorrow it will not be.

Today is my first day back after throwing several days of sickies last week (I’m not saying how many – thank goodness this blog is anonymous). I thought that, as I’m leaving, I may as well make the most of it, and win back some of my time by means fair or foul, before pupillage begins. Why is it always so tough coming back to work after a brief leave of absence? Hmmm….this takes me to my next issue…..

Notice. I am contractually obliged to give one month’s notice. I have worked with my current employers for two and a half years or so and, overall, have had an OK relationship with the organisation. I have, however, found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place over this one. On the one hand, I want to give them as much notice as possible in order to find a suitable replacement (not that "I" could ever be replaced) yet, on the other, I don’t want to spend too long being the subject of how much annual leave has he taken or how many projects have to be rushed to completion investigations. And trust me, there will be. So, I have decided to settle on six week’s notice. As I am taking a few weeks break, that will mean giving notice at the beginning of August. Cripes! That’s a week away! Well at least I’ll have a degree of finality and can look forward to leaving. Ho hum. More soon.

2007-07-11T10:52:00.000+01:00

Can’t help but get the feeling that I have become the tea bitch of our office. People are always praising my tea and coffee making abilities but could this be a shameful ploy to get me to do the honours on a more than regular basis? If it is, then its working. We all like to be complimented…..even if its for having the skill to put freeze dried caffeine into a mug, pour boiling water onto it and stir. Hey! Its harder than it looks!

I’v spent the last few days at work discovering the joys of facebook. How much fun is that? I’v heard it mentioned over the last six months or so but chalked it up as just another friends reunited type site and so ignored it. But then I got invited to join by a friend the other day…..there are soooooo many people I know there. I’m having so much fun. Ahem…..enough of that. I know I’m coming over rather childish but it really is fun…..I’m sure I’ll be bored of it by the end of the month.

Been thinking about the wig and gown some more. I suppose it makes sense to wait until the second sixth to buy them. It’d only gather dust between now and then anyway…..that and bore a huge hole in my bank account. Though, I am planning to dine at the Middle Temple before then, and its always nice to have your own gown, rather than use the ones they have on stock in the gents cloakroom. Longer sleeves for one thing. I know…..I’m being pedantic.

Torture in IKEA

2007-07-09T09:51:00.000+01:00

It remains to be seen how often I will add posts to this blog but, as this is the first such posting, I will endeavour to describe what its purpose is.

I am due to be starting my pupillage in Autumn of this year and, whether it be catharsism or just plain old boredom, this blog is a record of events during and running up to pupillage. A word of warning for purists: in all likelyhood, there will be little related to pupillage until Septemberish....cripes, thats barely (I don't believe it....I actually wrote that last word as "bearly" before catching it!) 6 weeks away.

I have not yet bought a wig and gown as I can't bring myself to spend £700 (actually less than that but, after all the trimmings, it bumps up the price somewhat) on what is basically an archaic and unecessary extravagance......Ok, I admit it; I LOVE the idea of owning and wearing them and it whats most of us in bar school were working towards, but its a novelty which I know will last for precisely one hot, humid, itchy and sweaty day of court. More to the point, I won't actually need them until my second 6th (for those of you non-lawyers I really cannot be bothered to explain what this means....I have had to do this orally sooooooooooo many times before, so please don't take it as a reflection on my character. Other pupillage blogs that I have read have already tackled this anyway. Ironically, it would have been quicker and easier to just explain what it was than write the preceding couple of sentences. No matter). In any event, not sure I can justify spanking 700 squid on something that I shant even be using for over 6 months, but then I probably won't have the cash by then......suggestions?

Now to address the title of this blog. I was always under the impression that every hetrosexual man (possibly homosexual too; I'm sorry, i don't know, so I'll have to take that one under advisement) feels precisely the same way i do when it comes to being dragged to IKEA by one's partner. Think the caveman stereotype of the hunter-gatherer being led on a leash around a shopping arcade. Now change the leash for being clapped in irons and change the shopping arcade for IKEA. It seems not. I witnessed, with my very own eyes, countless males merrily meandering (is that not the best illiteration you've heard this year?) about, pointing out various chez lounges that may match the curtains. Sigh. Does this make me the last remaining bastion of male old-fashioned stubborness and pigheadedness? If so, fine. Thats a title I'll gladly take if it means no more trips to IKEA.

Now, I'm no human rights lawyer, but I'm pretty sure I could make a decent argument for these sorts of trips being contrary to The Human Rights Act. Don't believe me? Take a look. Article 3 provides that:

'No one shall be subjected to torture or to inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment'.

Have you ever been instructed by your [better?] half to bounce up and down on a bed with thousands of people looking on? Or worse still, lie down on it and try to get comfortable?!?!?!? Then there's the "sit on the sofa and look like you're enjoying it" command. I'm sorry, but if that isn't degrading treatment then I don't know what is. It might be a bit of a stretch, but I think you could also argue that its torture. You walk around and around the maze that is the standardized IKEA floorplan, its hot, its always packed, there are always screaming babies and, erm, am I the only one to notice this? THEIR STUFF IS CRAP!!! If you do make the mistake to buy a piece of furniture, you have to lug the box[es] to your car and load them up, which is always fun, and then unload them and assemble them yourself. Now call me a traditionalist, but isn't it easier on all our souls to just go into a normal shop, choose an item that grabs your fancy, pay them and have it delivered to your house already assembled. Before you mention cost, think how much time you would have saved and think how much money you would have saved on divorce settlements as a result of the ensuing arguments that always originate whilst walking around IKEA but last so, so much longer.

Hmmmm, I seem to have gone off on somewhat of a tangent. Sorry. Its purely because I genuinely do consider trips to IKEA to be torture. Worst of all, its always on a Saturday or Sunday. And why is it always sunny outside? Has anyone else noticed that? It was just like the glorious early summers of GCSE and A Level years 94 and 96. As I wander around the plywood beds and the glass sinks, all I can think of is: I could be at home right now with my feet up in my glorious [non-IKEA] recliner, in my underwear watching a movie or [come footy season] something on Sky Sports 1. That and...."why is she doing this to me? I'm so nice to her, why does she feel it necessary to hurt me so?.....heavy sigh.....