Law and Disorder (14 page)

In the meantime, this week, TopFirst’s been trying to chum up to me. The only reason I can think of is that, like me, he’s realised that the other two are history and it’s a straight fight between the two of us. Plus maybe he figures that in a showdown, he’s not going to be second to draw. Not that I think he realises quite how the other two fell. But as OldRuin has often said, ‘instinct can be a powerful thing’. ‘Follow it, BabyB. It’s worth a hundred times more than the limited amount of evidence which ever makes it into a courtroom.’

Friday 2 March 2007

Day 107 (week 22): Porridge

Today I was sent to jail. Only for an hour, but nonetheless . . .

It all happened when I was accompanying Teflon to Maidstone County Court, which also happens to adjoin the criminal courts and, significantly as it turned out, the cells. Halfway through the morning a mobile phone went off and Teflon immediately turned to me and glared, after which the whole courtroom did the same. I reacted by checking my mobile phone, realising it had not been me and putting it back in my pocket. Whilst everyone was staring at me, I noticed Teflon quickly take his mobile from his pocket and switch it off. All well and good, were it not for the fact that the judge continued staring at me rather than Teflon.

‘Do you not know the rule against the use of mobile phones in this court?’

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘But . . .’

‘But nothing, young man. It only makes it worse that you were aware of the rule.’

‘But, it . . .’

‘Young man, do not interrupt me when I am speaking. You are only making matters worse for yourself. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘You are presumably also aware about how I deal with such an offence to the dignity of this court?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Well you are about to find out. Please stand up.’

I stood.

‘Young man, I hereby find you guilty of contempt of court and sentence you to one hour in the cell during which time you are to reflect on your lack of respect for the office of this court.’

He then telephoned for a security guard who immediately came to collect me and led me down to the cells, smirking as he did so. I wanted to shout out, ‘It wasn’t me’, or as many clients call such a plea, after the song by that name, ‘Taking the Shaggy’. But I was so utterly stunned by the speed of events and the scale of the escalation that I was silenced. I looked over to Teflon but he was staring at his notes. ‘Save the Maidstone One!’ I also wanted to shout. But again, nothing. Not even anything half witty. Do not pass go, do not collect £200. And then I was doing porridge. Time inside. No longer a free man. Not that I saw any evidence of oatmeal or gruel. I was put in a holding cell where I was able to catch up on the latest from Phillip Schofield and Fern Britton on
This Morning
.

I was collected by the security guard an hour later and led back to court and put behind Teflon. On the way, the guard told me that the judge had done this a few times. That I wasn’t to worry. Just ‘one of his foibles’. Some foible! When I arrived back, the judge made no further remarks. Worst of all, I never even got an apology from Teflon on the way back to chambers. Seems he’d decided to brave it out, figuring that I would decide that it wasn’t in my interest to tell tales around chambers or to make any challenge to the judge’s ruling. ‘Strange thing for the judge to do . . . funny little incident . . .’, was all that he said about it, before changing the subject. Well and truly stitched up. Though he was foolish. Even if I decide to let this one lie, he forgets quite how easy it is to cause trouble for barristers and their professional standing.

My real worry is whether I might be under an obligation to report this to the Bar Standards Board as we have to tell them of pretty much all crimes other than traffic offences. For the moment, I figured quid pro quo is that Teflon will also be wanting to keep it under his non-stick wig in case I am forced to defend myself at his expense. I have therefore decided it’s better for me simply not to ask the Bar Standards Board than to risk what I might be told.

Monday 5 March 2007

Day 108 (week 23): Laughing stock

I was wrong about Teflon. He is stupider than I thought. Not only did he fail to keep quiet about the fact that I was sent to jail, he has deemed it fit to broadcast to chambers in a mass email entitled ‘Pupillage just got tougher’, in which he has taken the picture of me on the chambers website and added a wig along with a black-and-white-striped jailbird top and some fake prison bars. Cheap courtroom big lie tactic. If he hits me hard enough some of it will stick and any suggestion that fault lies elsewhere will fall on deaf ears. By now, he’ll have deleted the records on his phone and without getting full details from his mobile company (no chance), there will be no way for me to prove it was him. So I’m left just to grin and bear it and hope the embarrassing episode passes by as quickly as possible. Needless to say it has led to many an amused look from members of chambers. Worst of all, I am the laughing stock of the library community of pupil skivers, who have been rattling their keys whenever I pass by their tables. Very funny, I must say. Forget the art of war, more like the art of making a complete prat of yourself. Something I seem to have mastered rather well.

Thankfully, at least HeadClerk called me in this afternoon and told me not to worry. He told me he’d once had to bail out one of his barristers from a local police station after a long and very boozy lunch which had ended in the barrister standing on the steps of the High Court in full court dress and suggesting an end to judicial tyranny and a call to revolution, before mooning for a TV camera which had been waiting for some big case or other to finish. OK, so they’ve got some perspective on the matter. Nevertheless, Teflon has damaged my chances of tenancy and he will pay. I haven’t told anyone that he dropped me in it. That way, when I strike, no one will suspect other than (possibly) him, who will, of course, be unable to point the finger without at the same time incriminating himself. So far, I have set up Hotmail and Yahoo accounts in his name. I also have his home phone number, home address, date of birth and obviously his work address. Enough to be getting on with.

Identity fraud is so very easy.

Tuesday 6 March 2007

Day 109 (week 23): At what cost?

TopFirst came round to gloat today.

‘So what was it like spending time in jail?’ he asked with a smug grin.

‘Oh, you know . . .’

‘Must have been really cool. Did they give you a bowl of porridge?’

‘Yeah, and black-and-white-stripey pyjamas as well. You’d just never believe it.’

‘No, but seriously, did they take your fingerprints, add you to the national crime database and all that?’

‘Only after they took me off the “most wanted” list, TopFirst.’

Once again, I only hope that he gets up other people’s noses as much as he does mine. As I’ve noted before, he has a tendency to jump the gun when the smell of blood is in the air. That he becomes a gossip when it can damage a fellow pupil is not in the least unusual. That he becomes breathless with the exhilaration of it might be fatal. Vanity. Hubris, even. Enough for me for now. But planning will be essential – and, ultimately, a little luck.

After that, Worrier also came for a visit.

‘Hi, BabyB. How do you like my new deadly weapon for my first day in court?’

‘Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.’

‘My new glasses, silly.’

‘Oh. But I didn’t know you needed glasses,’ I answered, looking at the thick-rimmed pair that now adorned her face.

‘I don’t,’ she said in the tone of one of those dandruff ads.

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t you get it? They’re great. They’re just filled with plain old glass.’

‘But why?’

‘Well, not only do they make me look more intelligent, kind of Lois Lane style, but they’re also going to work a treat when I cross-examine and spin them around and about.’ She took them off and gave me a lingering and slightly mad stare as she rabidly spun the glasses around in her left hand. I think I must have looked just a tiny bit sceptical.

‘According to my life coach, taking off the glasses and spinning them around will not only intimidate the witness but also distract them from their story.’

Suddenly I had a vision of armies of Worriers entering the courts up and down the land wearing the same silly glasses and brandishing them at anyone who got in their way like a Worrier sword. But then it got worse.

‘He’s a genius, BabyB. I’d highly recommend him. Made me realise that my little difficulty with HeadofChambers is simply an opportunity for me to show my character by turning the situation on its head.’

Well she’s certainly losing her head. Sounding more and more each day like a member of a cult. ‘You know, I can now see that the reality is that pupillage is a gift,’ she went on. ‘I love it the way they challenge our patience. Despite first impressions, it’s all a wonderful, life-enhancing experience.’

I needed to get out and I gave Claire a ring and arranged to meet her for a drink.

‘I’m absolutely sick of this whole pupillage exercise,’ I said after I’d told her about Worrier’s latest episode.

‘It’s not good at all, BabyB. I think it’s the time of year, you know, with court just around the corner and the pupillage game starting to hot up.’

‘But it’s no different to bear baiting or cock fighting. They plunge us into debt before we get here and then leave us to fight it out, Deathmatch style.’

I stopped, as I feared I had already said too much. I’d told Claire about BusyBody’s YouTube episode but had stopped short of admitting my involvement. Don’t get me wrong, I’d wanted to tell her more than anything. To confess. To seek forgiveness, even. Maybe also to plead in mitigation that I was driven to do it by my desperate home life and financial position. But shame had always prevented me, and even now its heavy burden held down the words I so wanted to say. She gave me a look of concern and then, somehow perhaps recognising my internal conflict, she let it go with, ‘Maybe it’s just a ruthlessly efficient way of working out who will make it at the Bar. After all, for all its airs and graces the courtroom is just as much of a low-down, dirty free-for-all as pupillage.’

At that moment I loved her for her patience, her gentle kindness as she held back the instincts pushing her to interrogate further. Then her look of concern returned and she added almost wistfully, ‘But at what cost, BabyB? At what cost?’

Wednesday 7 March 2007

Day 110 (week 23): Revenge

Teflon was looking rather tired today. According to TopFirst, the pizza delivery company woke him up in the early hours of the last two mornings. Silly them. I hope he enjoyed his Margerita on Monday and his Hawaiian on Tuesday. Even better, I sent him an email yesterday under a false identity pretending to be a member of the public dangling a big personal injury case in front of him. I sought his preliminary advice on the merits of my case before approaching a solicitor. All I needed was a few lines telling me if I had a case or not. If he thought I did, then obviously the case would be his down the line. Maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe he’s simply even more reckless than I thought, but he fell for it hook, line and sinker with the following reply:

‘Dear Jane, Thank you very much for your email. Whilst strictly I am not meant to advise you directly without a solicitor, I have read what you have to say and can certainly tell you that you have a good case.’

Too right he’s not allowed to advise without a solicitor. But greed can be good and it can be bad and for Teflon today, it sank him. I forwarded his email to the Bar Standards Board with the subject heading ‘Professional Conduct Complaint’.

Thursday 8 March 2007

Day 111 (week 23): Introductions

I introduced Claire to my mother last night. Always a risky business as she does have a habit of embarrassing me in one way or another. Thankfully, though, there was nothing too disastrous this time round.

‘I’ve tidied up the house, BabyB,’ she said in a stage whisper loud enough for the next street to hear if they’d wanted.

‘Oh, I hope you didn’t do that on my behalf,’ said Claire politely. ‘It looks lovely, though,’ she added, having more than a little nosy around our kitchen and then the living room.

‘Well I hope you like cottage pie, Claire. I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you. BabyB’s told me so much about you.’

‘All good, I hope?’

‘Definitely. In fact it’s not just what he tells me. It’s also what he doesn’t tell me. You’ve been a good friend to him, Claire.’

‘Gee, shucks. My little bit of charity for the year. Watch out for another long-suffering pupil.’

‘I do worry for all you baby barristers,’ replied my mother.

‘I worry too,’ Claire said.‘Particularly when I look at some of the older ones. Wouldn’t want to turn out like them.’

‘Yes, guard against that, I would. Though BabyB here doesn’t seem to mind, the way he’s been practising addressing the court in front of the mirror . . .’

‘Yeah, thanks Mum, I don’t think Claire wants to hear about . . .’

‘Oh, but I do,’ Claire smiled, in full-on tease mode now. ‘Does he dress up for the practice sessions?’