Seemingly only moments after landing in Heathrow last week, I was off again.
Last weekend was spent with C having a girls' weekend in Seville. Seville is the capital of flamenco dancing and tapas. C and I enjoyed the latter far too much, and the weekend was spent largely moving from tapas bar to tapas bar, drinking and eating. We also tried to enjoy the flamenco dancing but, I must confess, it wasn't really my thing. I found it hard to take seriously the flamboyant costumes and jerky movements combined with the overly stern expressions of the dancers.
Monday I was back in London and then that afternoon was off to Oxford University, to conduct a recruiting talk for a bunch of eager students. Or that was the plan. In fact, only 12 students turned up and most of those were from Oxford Brookes (the former polytech up the road from Oxford University), rather than Oxford University. Monday night I was then off to the midlands to attend a trial.
There is a misconception that all barristers in England are wine quaffing, Telegraph reading toffs. My barrister (let's call him Joe) is the antithesis of this. In my defense, he came recommended to me. I was not warned that his personality is as big as his shiny bald head and 6ft 5 frame and as subtle as his navy pinstriped suit, waistcoat and clashing blue tie.
Joe is very proud to have been educated in the school of hard knocks. This being, he made clear, the infinitely superior school to any of the universities in which I and many other lawyers have been schooled. He calls all women "darlin'" and refers to himself in the third person. Within five minutes of meeting the man, I knew his life story. I knew that he hadn't gone to uni until his late 20s, and before his career in the law was a union rep. I had also seen photos of his wife, two children and even his dead dog (the photo, thankfully, was taken before poor fido died). I knew of the threats he made to his 16-year-old daugher's boyfriend to break his legs should he be so foolish as to expect the daughter to show an inch of flesh let alone remove her chastity belt. In short, I knew far more about the man than I know about many of my closest friends. Thankfully Joe didn't expect the same level of disclosure from me. He was too busy talking to ask me any questions. The only exception to that was when he asked me if I had or would have children. My response was the usual "no, and I have no immediate plans either" to which he responded "just as well, because I'm rather busy today."
It was an entire day that we had to spend together. Perhaps the worst part was lunch. Or at least it was my lunch - it turned out Joe is trying to lose some weight from his large frame. While I ate my cheesy tuna melt, wiping the excess oil from my chin, he happily told me about his diet, which consists of eating nothing whatsoever during the day and then eating whatever he fancies at night. It soon emerged that his evening meal contains more calories than most of us eat in a week, as he complained to me that the night before he had to send his burger and chips back to the restaurant, as he discovered his burger missing the requested bacon, egg and cheese and his chip portion to be rather small in size. I'm therefore not entirely sure how this diet works but had, by this point, realised that Joe was not fond of questions that might hint at criticism of his methods or madness.
It may not surprise you to hear that the trial did not go brilliantly. Our judge liked Joe as much as I did, and made that quite plain during the course of the trial. The rest of the week has therefore consisted of me, back in London, frantically trying to organise new counsel and an appeal.
Thankfully my feet are now again on London soil for some time. Admittedly the soil is rather damp and cold at this time of year, but nonetheless it is nice to have my feet firmly planted on it for a week or two. It is also rather nice to know that Joe and I are no longer in the same borough and that I have left him safely in the midlands.
Last weekend was spent with C having a girls' weekend in Seville. Seville is the capital of flamenco dancing and tapas. C and I enjoyed the latter far too much, and the weekend was spent largely moving from tapas bar to tapas bar, drinking and eating. We also tried to enjoy the flamenco dancing but, I must confess, it wasn't really my thing. I found it hard to take seriously the flamboyant costumes and jerky movements combined with the overly stern expressions of the dancers.
Monday I was back in London and then that afternoon was off to Oxford University, to conduct a recruiting talk for a bunch of eager students. Or that was the plan. In fact, only 12 students turned up and most of those were from Oxford Brookes (the former polytech up the road from Oxford University), rather than Oxford University. Monday night I was then off to the midlands to attend a trial.
There is a misconception that all barristers in England are wine quaffing, Telegraph reading toffs. My barrister (let's call him Joe) is the antithesis of this. In my defense, he came recommended to me. I was not warned that his personality is as big as his shiny bald head and 6ft 5 frame and as subtle as his navy pinstriped suit, waistcoat and clashing blue tie.
Joe is very proud to have been educated in the school of hard knocks. This being, he made clear, the infinitely superior school to any of the universities in which I and many other lawyers have been schooled. He calls all women "darlin'" and refers to himself in the third person. Within five minutes of meeting the man, I knew his life story. I knew that he hadn't gone to uni until his late 20s, and before his career in the law was a union rep. I had also seen photos of his wife, two children and even his dead dog (the photo, thankfully, was taken before poor fido died). I knew of the threats he made to his 16-year-old daugher's boyfriend to break his legs should he be so foolish as to expect the daughter to show an inch of flesh let alone remove her chastity belt. In short, I knew far more about the man than I know about many of my closest friends. Thankfully Joe didn't expect the same level of disclosure from me. He was too busy talking to ask me any questions. The only exception to that was when he asked me if I had or would have children. My response was the usual "no, and I have no immediate plans either" to which he responded "just as well, because I'm rather busy today."
It was an entire day that we had to spend together. Perhaps the worst part was lunch. Or at least it was my lunch - it turned out Joe is trying to lose some weight from his large frame. While I ate my cheesy tuna melt, wiping the excess oil from my chin, he happily told me about his diet, which consists of eating nothing whatsoever during the day and then eating whatever he fancies at night. It soon emerged that his evening meal contains more calories than most of us eat in a week, as he complained to me that the night before he had to send his burger and chips back to the restaurant, as he discovered his burger missing the requested bacon, egg and cheese and his chip portion to be rather small in size. I'm therefore not entirely sure how this diet works but had, by this point, realised that Joe was not fond of questions that might hint at criticism of his methods or madness.
It may not surprise you to hear that the trial did not go brilliantly. Our judge liked Joe as much as I did, and made that quite plain during the course of the trial. The rest of the week has therefore consisted of me, back in London, frantically trying to organise new counsel and an appeal.
Thankfully my feet are now again on London soil for some time. Admittedly the soil is rather damp and cold at this time of year, but nonetheless it is nice to have my feet firmly planted on it for a week or two. It is also rather nice to know that Joe and I are no longer in the same borough and that I have left him safely in the midlands.
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