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May 28, 2025 – Abbie Hoffman
One delight of the publicly funded Bar, one of the very few delights left, is that you have the privilege of being surrounded by congenial colleagues in a kind of touring common room not unlike the sixth form at school or similar gathering places at university. True, it is not what it was. Back in the day, it was accompanied by the provision of decentish food and beverages and, in one famous court, a glass of sherry on a Friday. But, even now, at least at the minority of courts that provide some refreshment, it gives you an opportunity to have reasonably intelligent conversation and unburden yourself from the woes of an irritating client, a jobsworth police officer, a bad-tempered judge and brown envelopes demanding tax.
Speech there is relatively free. There is a chance, if you say something completely outrageous, that you might be reported under the whistleblowing provisions or given a stern look from a colleague but, on the whole, we tolerate each other with amused detachment. When one of us ends up at the guillotine known as ‘a tribunal’ the rest remember perhaps some of the comments the deceased made during those breaks for lunch or while waiting for a verdict and think ‘perhaps we should have said something’, but such is the regard for freedom of speech or, alternatively, the fear of conflict and social embarrassment that we usually failed to do so.
Eating a nasty sandwich of white bread containing a slab of processed cheese last week, surrounded by police officers, defendants on bail and their friends and families, I found myself opposite Jonathan Rotter. One day, I may compose a diary entry about whether people’s surnames condition the way they develop. Rotter would be a prime example. He is enormously good fun but, I am afraid, lives up to his surname. One of his party pieces is to use a word or phrase that sounds remarkably offensive, incorrect and whatever ‘-ist’ you wish to apply to it, which usually results in a long judicial stare and more often than not a reprimand. He then delights in explaining to the judge the derivation of the word or phrase in question, demonstrating that it does not in fact mean what we might all take it to mean at first blush. Grinning, he then uses it again and again while the judge squirms but cannot find a logical reason to stop him.
Not surprisingly, he is a great proponent of free speech, at least as far as his own utterances are concerned. But, as he slurped through a surprisingly nice smelling cup of tomato soup, his mood was rather more reflective. He started in his usual vein by talking about some story in the papers concerning a fellow citizen having their house turned over by the police for tweeting (or is it X-ing now?) something which the local inspector, having too much time on his hands, suspected would upset a fellow citizen. It was doubly annoying to the suspect as in fact his tweet (or X) was in support of the principles of the person the inspector deemed likely to be upset. This misunderstanding occurred because the suspect had used the tool which we are warned as barristers to avoid when addressing juries – sarcasm. Most of us have deployed it at least once, only to find a jury taking it literally. It seems that the inspector had missed the sarcasm too.
‘We have never had free speech,’ said Rotter. ‘It’s a complete myth. We stumbled into a Parliamentary democracy by chance, aided by the power of a burgeoning middle class and have this completely bonkers narrative about being the home of the free.’ He reminded me of a case we did together when we were very young where a girl was wearing a T-shirt on which was printed a graphic image of a female chest and her boyfriend had a similarly offensive print on his shorts. Both were arrested for behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace and unsuccessfully defended by us in front of an outraged tribunal in the Home Counties. Rotter had me in stitches using his colourful vernacular to describe the offences but, before I could respond, a woman next to us put her face in uncomfortably close proximity to ours and said: ‘Do you mind not being so disgusting when I’m eating my dinner. And you both barristers too. And old enough to know better.’ Rotter put on his grin. ‘Told you!’ he said.
William Byfield is the pseudonym of a senior member of the Bar. Gutteridge Chambers, and the events that happen there, are entirely fictitious.
May 28, 2025 – Abbie Hoffman
One delight of the publicly funded Bar, one of the very few delights left, is that you have the privilege of being surrounded by congenial colleagues in a kind of touring common room not unlike the sixth form at school or similar gathering places at university. True, it is not what it was. Back in the day, it was accompanied by the provision of decentish food and beverages and, in one famous court, a glass of sherry on a Friday. But, even now, at least at the minority of courts that provide some refreshment, it gives you an opportunity to have reasonably intelligent conversation and unburden yourself from the woes of an irritating client, a jobsworth police officer, a bad-tempered judge and brown envelopes demanding tax.
Speech there is relatively free. There is a chance, if you say something completely outrageous, that you might be reported under the whistleblowing provisions or given a stern look from a colleague but, on the whole, we tolerate each other with amused detachment. When one of us ends up at the guillotine known as ‘a tribunal’ the rest remember perhaps some of the comments the deceased made during those breaks for lunch or while waiting for a verdict and think ‘perhaps we should have said something’, but such is the regard for freedom of speech or, alternatively, the fear of conflict and social embarrassment that we usually failed to do so.
Eating a nasty sandwich of white bread containing a slab of processed cheese last week, surrounded by police officers, defendants on bail and their friends and families, I found myself opposite Jonathan Rotter. One day, I may compose a diary entry about whether people’s surnames condition the way they develop. Rotter would be a prime example. He is enormously good fun but, I am afraid, lives up to his surname. One of his party pieces is to use a word or phrase that sounds remarkably offensive, incorrect and whatever ‘-ist’ you wish to apply to it, which usually results in a long judicial stare and more often than not a reprimand. He then delights in explaining to the judge the derivation of the word or phrase in question, demonstrating that it does not in fact mean what we might all take it to mean at first blush. Grinning, he then uses it again and again while the judge squirms but cannot find a logical reason to stop him.
Not surprisingly, he is a great proponent of free speech, at least as far as his own utterances are concerned. But, as he slurped through a surprisingly nice smelling cup of tomato soup, his mood was rather more reflective. He started in his usual vein by talking about some story in the papers concerning a fellow citizen having their house turned over by the police for tweeting (or is it X-ing now?) something which the local inspector, having too much time on his hands, suspected would upset a fellow citizen. It was doubly annoying to the suspect as in fact his tweet (or X) was in support of the principles of the person the inspector deemed likely to be upset. This misunderstanding occurred because the suspect had used the tool which we are warned as barristers to avoid when addressing juries – sarcasm. Most of us have deployed it at least once, only to find a jury taking it literally. It seems that the inspector had missed the sarcasm too.
‘We have never had free speech,’ said Rotter. ‘It’s a complete myth. We stumbled into a Parliamentary democracy by chance, aided by the power of a burgeoning middle class and have this completely bonkers narrative about being the home of the free.’ He reminded me of a case we did together when we were very young where a girl was wearing a T-shirt on which was printed a graphic image of a female chest and her boyfriend had a similarly offensive print on his shorts. Both were arrested for behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace and unsuccessfully defended by us in front of an outraged tribunal in the Home Counties. Rotter had me in stitches using his colourful vernacular to describe the offences but, before I could respond, a woman next to us put her face in uncomfortably close proximity to ours and said: ‘Do you mind not being so disgusting when I’m eating my dinner. And you both barristers too. And old enough to know better.’ Rotter put on his grin. ‘Told you!’ he said.
Update from the Chair of the Bar
By David Green
Mário Barroso, Head of R&D and Method Development at AlphaBiolabs, examines the forensic science underpinning hair drug testing, its evidential scope and limitations, and why it remains the gold standard for evidencing patterns of drug use in family proceedings
Unlocking your aged debt to fund your tax in one easy step. By Philip N Bristow
Clement Cowley, Partner at The Penny Group, discusses the upcoming changes to pensions and Inheritance Tax and the potential impact on your financial future
Save the Children UK is the latest charity to benefit from a £500 donation from AlphaBiolabs via the company’s Giving Back initiative
The Chief Legal Officer to the Metropolitan Police, barrister Brett Welch, tells Anthony Inglese CB about his mission and the work to turn the Met around
Barrister apprenticeships – shortly to provide the fourth pathway to the Bar – are an ideal opportunity to support local talent and ‘grow your own’, say Tim Coulson and Dr Jane Dennehy
Born from a grievance, their research project grew into a book and is now challenging the status quo. Emma Price and Emma-Louise Fenelon reveal the key findings – and the critical next steps
Grok around and find out – or not? Mariya Peykova investigates the nudification scandal, what the law has to say about sexually explicit deepfakes, and whether stronger regulation is needed
Oliver Lewis spotlights an overlooked yet rapidly evolving area of law – coercive and controlling behaviour within care contexts
