Oh Flower of Worthing

Dear Diary,

Nick Brown (now with added De Lacey) has been basking in his new found fame. I confess that I remain fascinated. In some ways it is a tribute. Rarely does one person, on one programme for one hour, make such an impression. But now that Nick is off to Crown Office Chambers (although curiously absent from the section headed ‘Latest News’) I thought I ought to examine what they are getting.

In his own - doubtless well-chosen - words, and in his own special colour:

• On Alex and his ‘Boyband’ mates: ‘Whereas the rest of us, you’ll have noticed, were more unusual. It was him that made that split. He should have had me on the stall all the time if he wanted me pricing, rather then sending me off to sell in solicitors’ offices.’ Dear Diary - blissful is the only word. It seems to have escaped Nick’s notice that he would be doing quite a lot of selling in solicitors’ offices in the future…
• On his performance in the Board Room: ‘I wasn’t stumbling, not because I’m rubbish at arguing, but because it was so difficult to phrase the divide in words that would please Sir Alan. It was almost impossible, because he himself is the gritty salesman type.’ Aha. The argument wasn’t rubbish because Nick was rubbish, but because the argument was rubbish. A fine distinction (some might say invisible) but excitingly expressed.
• On being told that Katie Hopkins (a previous contestant) had been rude about him: ‘Err, has she looked in the mirror? I think she should look in the mirror, although if she does, she should be aware that it might crack, which might give her seven years’ worse luck than she has had already’. Dear Diary - a gentleman without compare. An ornament to his Chambers.
• On Alex: ‘If I was to do it all again, I would choose myself as project manager. I would probably be better in an organisational capacity.’
• On what Nick ‘Organisation’ De Lacy Brown would have done differently: ‘I’m not sure that I would have delegated the pricing to one person; I think I probably would have had two people on it because it’s very complex; you’re doing these mathematical sums in your head, at the same time as trying to write them on the sides, at the same time as selling.’ Crown Office Chambers do a large amount of personal injury work. I am sure they are sympathetic to one who finds working out the sums at the same time as writing them down difficult.
• On Sir Alan Sugar - a man from the East End of London (where barrister’s clerks come from): ‘Some of the stuff that I said in the boardroom, I look back at now and I cringe! It was such a ridiculous…You could tell that I was stumbling at the time…and especially in front of a man like Sir Alan who is a typical barrow boy businessman.’  I look forward to Nick’s first brief and would have a small wager that Penrith Magistrates Court is beckoning.
• On himself: ‘I find the reputation I’ve gained on The Apprentice hilarious! By no means do I dislike it - the whole posh/snob thing - I’m not really from that at all. To a certain extent, I’ve made myself. I’ve climbed the ladder in society. Call me a social climber if you want to, I don’t have a problem with that.’ Dear Diary, I wonder Crown Office Chambers are laughing. Indeed, I am told they are not and that the Pupillage Committee is being called to account.
• On why his performance in the Board Room was so dire: ‘But I think the main reason for me was that I just could not be bothered at that point.’ Dear Diary, clients everywhere will be saying, ‘get me that man’.

Perhaps the last word ought to go to Nick on his future: ‘I’m also starting my pupillage as a barrister in October so I’m well on my way to becoming what I trained, and always wanted, to be.’ And, ‘I’ve actually obtained a pupillage now, at a very pre-eminent Chambers in London’. 

Dear Diary, Mystic Victorian Maiden predicts that Nick wil be every good a clairvoyant as he was an apprentice…

Jackie

Dear Diary,

In my youth, despite Mama’s protests I took that wonderful magazine Jackie. I was particularly fascinated by Cathy and Claire, even though I had to tell Mama that I had not the faintest idea what they were talking about.

The magazine is supposed to have been named after Jacqueline Wilson, but this is obviously an error. In a jounalistic scoop I can reveal that it was named after our esteemed Home Secretary, Jackie Smith. This must be so, because Jackie’s behaviour and attitude is still redolent of the days of her youth, as is clear from the following letter (written pseduonymously to Cosmo, but plainly bearing the marks of its author). How the letter found its way to me is very much to be kept on the down-low (as QV is spelt nowadays): suffice it to say that Tucker’s little tool came in very handy.

Dear Ed,

Gosh but I’m not sure what to do. Hope you can help! I’ve got quite an exciting job really and I’ve absolutely smashed the glass ceiling. Mummsy is so proud!

The trouble is that people are saying that my boss and I are out of touch. It’s all codswallop really but people believe it which is just such a pain! Then they say nasty, horrible, mean things about me which is just so unfair, because I only do what my boss and the people who work for me tell me to do! It’s not as if these things are my ideas after all.

Just as an example I’ve got a problem at the moment about making sure that the people I have to look after are safe. Obviously, I can’t tell you the true situation or you’d be able to say who I was, and that would never do! So let’s just say that I have to look after some sheep. And some nasty sheep are coming to get the sheep I am looking after. And the nasty sheep look the same as my nice sheep, so it’s a bit difficult to know who is nice and who is nasty! So what I thought - and my boss and the people who work for me - is that is we thought someone was a nasty sheep we should just lock them up and check it out! Simple and brilliant don’t you think? That way, the police sheep would be able to investigate the locked up sheep to see if they were nasty sheep.

My old boss wanted to lock up the nasty sheep for 56 days but I thought that was jolly mean! So I said 42 days because they should get time off for good baaah-haviour (gosh - isn’t that funny! My sister practically wet herself when I told her that). But now, everyone is saying that it’s really unfair on the sheep we think are nasty but turn out to be nice and they’re being really mean to me. I keep trying to tell them that we’ll all end up in the cottage-pie (sorry! Just can’t stop my GSOH from coming out, even in difficult times - that’s just how I am!) but they don’t listen to me!

And, to make it worse, this really horrid group of people are saying they’re going to Court to stop me locking up the shep who may be nasty. And I keep trying to tell them that the most important thing of all is not to be made into lamb casserole (sorry!) by the sheep who might be nasty so it’s important to be able to lock up any sheep that might be nasty in case they turn out to be nasty which will save lots of nice sheep from being hot-pot (sorry!) and that even though the people who work for me might not know exactly who the nasty sheep are they are being very careful when they choose the sheep who might be nasty and are making sure that they only chose the ones who have nasty books or pamphlets or friends or family or who once wrote a letter to someone whose uncle definitely was a nasty sheep or who are absolutely the last person at the end of the ipp-dip-doo and they just won’t listen!

Please help me, ‘cos I don’t know what to do and it’s making me sad. I’m sure you’re all nice sheep and I love the Mag!

J

The Apotheosis of my Profession

Dear Diary,

How long it is since I have seen my ink spurt forth on to your virgin page. I am afraid that, as I age, it becomes more difficult to summon the tide of literary output which once, without effort, flowed tumultuously across your pure cream face, like a skier carving a turn on softly fallen powder, or a city solicitor carving a noseful similarly.

Also, I have been rather busy.

But, dear Diary, tonight I have been privileged to see an example of what a barrister can be like. From his penetrating stare to his delightful little soul-patch, Nicholas de Lacy-Brown shines forth as something to which all can aspire.

Nicholarse has the lot. From the time at which he put the boot into his team leader and allowed Raef to take responsibility for it; to his last-ditch insistence that being unable to work out 30% of a total and then add it on to the original price to produce a profit was not his fault but someone else’s, Nick was supreme. Never mind that commercial work would appear beyond our boy - Nick can sneer with the best. And, of course, Nick ensured that the viewer knew he was a barrister. This, apparently, gave him an edge. Other contestants quailed at the thought of facing Nick in the Boardroom.

Thus it was that when Nick appeared to fight for his survival I leaned forward in my chair and drew a deep breath. Dear Diary, I must report that if I were ever on trial at the Bailey (say for allowing Tucker to go and see Mr Greeklawyer and discuss how to preserve Mistress Ruthie’s honour), and (as will all too soon be the case) the government kindly picked my barrister for me, whether I wanted him or not, I would pay a very large sum of money to ensure that Mr Nicholas de Lacy-Brown was engaged in a case in the Isle of Mull Sheriff’s Court. Better still, Nick could prosecute. Even Sir Alan’s sidekick (female version) was moved to remark that he ‘did not make a very good job of defending his position’. Compared to what was being said chez Maiden that ranks as a generous tribute.

Nick has a website. It is not, of course, as interesting or thrilling (or even literate) as this one. However it reveals the following exciting information: “However there is much more to Nicholas than could ever be ‘revealed’ in a ‘reality’ TV show; he is a brilliant musician, fluent in Spanish, a successful property developer and business man, has a pupillage at one of London’s most prestigious barrister chambers and, of course, is an artist.” Dear diary, I have left the text in its original colour to allow you to appreciate the true genius with which we are dealing. I entirely agree that Nick, ‘of course, is an artist’.

Apparently Nick feels that his ‘outstanding’ achievements and his ‘allergy to chavs’ qualify him for a brilliant career at the bar. He says that from the moment of his birth he was destined to be noticed. Dear Diary, I have noticed him. If someone would kindly inform me of the location of his pupillage I will also notice that set of Chambers. And I shall continue to notice Nick as he continues his one-man experiment to ascertain whether self-confidence and academic merit can stand in for humility and self-knowledge. I may, of course, have a view about the outcome for, in a remark which enshrines his personality, Nick’s response to being given the Order of the Spanish Archer (I put the matter this way in deference to his mastery of Spanish) was to say, “I am glad to have saved my reputation which I will need to become a lawyer.” Or not.

Just a perfect day

Ruthie is relieved to once more be at home after having her nerves shredded as junior counsel for the past 5 weeks. The experience can be compared to being sent to the front; every day one wonders whether something will happen to your leader and you will be required to go over the top. There may be those who consider that “over the top” is a expression that might be applied to Ruthies style of advocacy. Ruthie thinks that such people should be shot at dawn.

After 5 weeks of seemingly spending my every waking moment, either with my leader or otherwise occupied with aspects of the case, never has lying on the sofa, drinking Lapsang Souchong and reading real literature (the Golden Compass by Doris Lessing) seemed so decadent and luxurious.

And excellent TV for once: Chopin Etudes on BBC Four, and Mozart’s requiem at the Albert Hall.

And just to be extra naughty, a Kir Royale.

Only the arrival of an unsolicited pair of Jimmy Choos could possibly make the day any better

Keep the shiny side up

As Ruthie’s trial is slowly steered like the QE2 through choppy waters into safe harbour by her handsome, erudite and charming leader (who incidentally is a keen reader of this blog) Ruthie took the opportunity to have some time out over the weekend honing her biking skills on a motorbike skills enhancement course. The biking season is now warming up, and Ruthie is busy practising her slow riding and counter steering to avoid a repeat of last years incident..

VM has been amusing herself somewhat worryingly with a hamster, a roll of sellotape and a vaccum cleaner, thus clearly making the point that more work should be opened up to Silks to ensure they are kept occupied at all times and to prevent curiosity seeping into those vast intelligences. Ruthie has however managed to direct VM’s hamster fetish into a more wholesome direction. http://gizmodo.com/gadgets/gadgets/hamster-powered-paper-shredder-251224.php

Normal posting should be resumed once Ruthie’s verdict is in, but in the meantime dear readers, as they say in biker school, keep the shiny side up.

Court Dress III

Ruthie thanks regular readers for their patience whilst she continues through a lengthy trial in a location with intermittent internet access. VM is also currently occupied with weightier matters than dress shopping.

Ruthie finds herself as the only woman and the only solicitor-advocate in her current trial. Following the recent changes in court dress Ruthie is now resplendent in her wig, courtesy of the kind generosity of VM, but marked out as a solicitor-advocate by her gown which is identical to the usher. Ruthie is convinced that wig wearing does achieve parity of status in front of the the people who really count during the trial, namely the jury and the defendants, but the difference in her gown does not pass un-noticed by members of the bar who can on occassions be overcome by the aroma of cash whenever passing within a couple of metres of a solicitor.

Ruthie would prefer that her dealings with her fellow advocates were not potentially coloured by her status as a solicitor. One method of avoiding this would be by introducing complete parity of dress. Whilst her fellow advocates would eventually discover her status, it would avoid scenes in the robing room resembling starving sharks circling fresh meat.

Forensic fantasies

No, not the one where VM is stripped naked in the robing room and forced to perfom unspeakable acts upon a High Court Judge, but rather more troublingly the one where Ruthie’s Leader is struck down with food poisoning from the court canteen and Ruthie is forced to continue the four week trial in which she is currently engaged alone. The files in the case naturally stretch away to infinity, the Judge is 8 feet tall, the jury a mile away and Ruthie speaks but the words don’t come out. Oh and she is naturally naked under her robes.

Fair trial my arse

Ruthie was chuffed to bits, and indeed her bits were chuffed to receive today a pair of Vivienne Westwood’s limited edition “fair trial my arse” underpants. Said underpants have been produced to highlight the work of Reprieve, a human rights organisation set up by the eminent human rights lawyer, Clive Stafford Smith. Reprieve provides frontline investigation and legal representation to prisoners denied justice by powerful governments across the world, especially those governments that should be upholding the highest standards when it comes to fair trials.

Whilst Ruthie is reluctant to undertake pro bono work on the basis that it has a tendancy to expand to fill the time available, if every lawyer was willing to give say two hours a week to an organisation such as Reprieve a huge impact could be made. At the very least, spread the word… and rush out and buy a pair of new underpants.

The Thoughts of Chancellor Charlie

Dear Diary,

A new terror is to be added to life if Lord Falconer gets his way. It is proposed that previous reports of the facts of cases currently being tried should be removed from the internet for the duration. Not to do would be a contempt.

The fear is that jurors go searching for material which they then utilise despite their oath not to do so. It seems that Lord Falstaff takes the view that this is ok and that the focus ought to be prevention rather than responsibility. As Karl Marx said, controlling the means of production is the important thing.

Dear diary: my own view is that, rather than attempting to redraft the Contempt of Court Act, Bunter LJ could try and redraft the directions to the jury in order to emphasise the need to try a case on the evidence presented in Court. No one is more dedicated to the jury system than I, but if people cannot keep a promise, they are unlikely to judge a case properly. In fact, I suspect that most jurors simply do not have it stressed to them enough that the evidence upon which they are to decide the case is that presented in Court. What is required, in appropriate cases, is what is known in the trade as a John Deed direction. I offer a draft for the attention of His Lordship below.

“Members of the jury: it is not impossible that you will have watched television programmes in which Judges sit on juries and inevitably spot the obvious injustice to which the actual Judge in the case, and all counsel, have been blind. Without informing anyone, those Judges have gone away and solved the crime on their own, entirely unaided by the Police, the forensic science service, or anyone on the witness list for the trial. In order to do so these Judges have utilised the internet, especially such reliable sites as Wikipedia.

Please do not be misled by such fictions. As this case has progressed it may, I know not, have become obvious to you that, whilst such television programmes portray counsel with a degree of accuracy which you may find impressive, such a comment cannot be made about a real life Judge. Consequently, when I sum the case up to you and suggest that the Defendant is guilty, you may rely on that suggestion although you are, of course, at liberty to disregard my comments if you feel self-confident enough to substitute your own amateurish thoughts for my well-honed professional view.

The evidence is that presented to you by Mr Getthebastardatallcosts for the Prosecution, whose abilities, you may feel - although it is entirely a matter for you - do slightly exceed those of Ms Maiden. I suppose that in fairness I ought to say that Ms Maiden has less to work with, her client being so dishonest as to fail to reliably give his own name. Anyway, there is absolutely no need to trawl the internet for further evidence of guilt. Or innocence, not that there would be any of that.

Well, there it is. We can sit here all day, or you can be sensible and we can all be home by teatime. Except the Defendant obviously. It is entirely a matter for you.”

False Trails

Dear Diary,

A fascinating email from a source close to Jack Doyle and Robbie Graham, who are the two private dicks in the Madonna of the Yardwinder case.

Our source says, “They had successfully returned goods before with the endorsement of the local police. They were offered the chance by an intermediary, who contacted them because of their website, to return the painting. They were told the picture had changed hands many times and have no idea who originally took it. They turned to two members of your honourable profession and a negotiator from the insurers for advice and assistance on returning the painting legally. They were told this could be done legally without revealing their sources. A contract was drawn up for them by the above mentioned lawyers. Having delivered the painting safely into the hands of a legal expert at the offices of a respected law firm in Glasgow and fulfilled the terms of the contract, the police burst in and arrested four. It seems that the police are not as convinced as the lawyers about the legality of the contract - which begs the question, who does one turn to if one wants a legal contract drawn up?”

Dear Diary, Victorian Maiden says ‘cobblers‘.

If goods had been successfully returned with the endorsement of the local police before then what was this painting doing in Glasgow?

Which local police? What goods? Stolen art tends to be handled nationally.

If legal assistance was sought, then why did they approach one rather shady solicitor and one partner of a large Scottish firm? Why was assistance not sought from those with expertise in the field of insurance?

Given that the original painting was stolen, which lawyer told them that a stolen item could be returned for money without revealing who had previously possessed it. And, given that such advice amounted to a guarantee that the offence of handling stolen goods would be overlooked, why did Robbie and Jack believe it?

Why talk about a legal contract when this contract was about returning illegally acquired property for payment?

The same source refers us to http://www.stolenstuff-reunited.com/. As you can see, there is an unexplained picture of the Madonna on the website. If you enter the site you get to the index page which has an exciting array of categories from which to select items with which to be reunited. From that page nothing works and all clicks lead to the little blue screen of failure. I assume this is a mistake. However, if one clicks on the How it Works button one gets a page from which all the categories may be accessed. Dear Diary, I have clicked on every single category and sub-category and the cupboard is bare. There is nothing to be reunited with. Yet the site is copyrighted 2007, refers to a donation to the Children in Need appeal taking place on 16th November 2007, and was referred to by our anonymous informant in an email dated February 8th 2008. Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said.

On balance, I would rather that my considerable intellectual talents were not abused in the hope that I would prove gullible enough to assist a defence. I may, of course, be wrong. In which case my correspondent might oblige me by answering the questions in the last post and those posed above. They could perhaps also tell me how much money Sly and Robbie were going to get, and how much of that would be travelling down the long and winding road to Ireland. I will then be delighted to eat humble pie.