Bon Vivant

Revelry has played a large role in the entertainment activities of the Inns since medieval times, writes Anthony Arlidge QC.  

The Inns of Court have a long tradition of entertainment. Revelry has played a large part in their activities since medieval times. The word “revel” in fact derives from the latin rebellare – to rebel. In the Middle Ages, it was common at Christmas time for the natural order to be upset – the lowest governed the highest. Thus within the church boy bishops were appointed. Christmas revelry also included gender swapping. The world was literally turned upside down. 

Mark Pallis, Legal and Historical Consultant to “Garrow’s Law”, on how he has used his legal background to good effect 

The origins for “Garrow’s Law: Tales from the Old Bailey”, shown on BBC One in November 2009, date back to April 2008. Having tried for several months to get some human rights type programmes off the ground (the feedback from channels was “Great and worthwhile idea, but I think I’ll pass on it”), I was asked to come up with ideas for a legal drama based on real people, real events and real cases. The time period I was given was broadly 1600 to 1900. I was drawn to the late 1700s because they were a time of change: the American Revolutionary War, the French Revolution, the beginning of the campaigns for the rights of man, to end slavery and to reform Parliament. Legally, it was it was a time of great change too. On the very front lines of this, dealing with the cut and thrust, and dirt and grime of the Old Bailey, I found the barrister William Garrow. There was very little information about his personal life. In his professional life, Garrow fought to give a bigger role for defence counsel in criminal cases. He had an incredible number of credits to his name, but somehow he missed out on his place in history. This seemed crazy given that he was the first person recorded as saying “Every man shall be innocent until proven guilty” in an English court, and because, by virtue of the sheer force of his personality, he practically singlehandedly invented the modern form of harsh and penetrating cross-examination. Coupled with the fact that he had a “somewhat irregular”’ relationship with the wife of an MP I thought I’d struck drama gold. 

21 December 2009: “Humor is reason gone mad” — Groucho Marx. 

I  have always tried to keep this diary cheerful. Who knows, my hard drive may be discovered in a time capsule 100 years hence. Given the problems caused by global warming, it may only be possible to read on rationed electricity when the flooding in one’s house has receded sufficiently. 

Counsel’s reviewers partake in the fare provided by the Inns of Court’s bars and restaurants.  

St Clements Cafe & Bar, Middle Temple 

All Souls’ Day, 2009: “For a dream cometh through the multitude of business ...” (Ecclesiastes 5:3) 

The day began with that dream. I was arriving at the Bailey. The fact it was a bronze gothic castle did not strike me as incongruous. Despite efforts to get to my courtroom via the lift, the machinery kept depositing me in some bizarre attic. Eventually, I had to crawl through what the Star Trek series called a “Jefferies Tube” (aficionados – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jefferies_tube) until I entered my courtroom through the roof. Then I noticed that I was dressed in my ceremonial Silks’ costume with crucial bits, such as my breeches, half my tights and one buckled shoe, missing. 

Patricia Atkinson explains the joy of being a winemaker in the Dordogne.  

On the morning of 3 September as your alarm clocks roused you from your beds for another day at the office or in court, over here in South West France I had already been up since 4am. It was the first day of my vendange (grape harvest) and the culmination of a year’s hard work in the vines. 

16 October 2009: “One of the signs of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.” — Bertrand Russell 

I have become very concerned about swine flu or Influenza H1NI, to use its proper name. First, I dislike the name: it sounds rather “dirty”. I prefer geographical names, such as Spanish Flu, which have a dash of romance to them. Guadalajara Flu would sound much better in my view. However, this is not my real concern. It is the way in which anyone who succumbs to the illness, or indeed nearly any other politically inconvenient medical emergency, is said to be suffering from “underlying health problems”. 

Nigel Pascoe QC shares his personal highlights from this year’s Edinburgh Fringe. 

Aficionados of Fringe theatre will recognise two useful tips: scour the Traverse programme and see what Guy Masterson has on the stocks. This year he had ten shows under his belt, acting in one and producing and/or directing the others. Austen’s Women was the ideal warm up to what was my fifteenth year in Edinburgh. Rebecca Vaughan, demurely changing in front of her dressing table, gradually progressed to her ball gown, taking a dozen or so characters in her stride. Enchanting stuff and excellent characterisation. Then Masterson himself in a very atmospheric two-handed thriller: The Sociable Plover was remote bird watching with a difference; homicide, to be precise. Unsurprisingly, it has already been a television film. Masterson is always worth watching and his pedantic and scary psychopath did not disappoint, splendidly supported by Ronnie Toms. 

Max Hardy reviews The Legal Mire, a fundraising event for the Kalisher Scholarship.  

Not withstanding the manifold challenges that face the criminal Bar enduring reassurance can be drawn from the ever growing numbers wishing to join its ranks. Those who embark on the daunting path that leads to the Bar do so because they acknowledge the value that barristers can and do add to society. The spiralling costs associated with making a bid for the Bar will be well known to younger practitioners but by way of example a place on the BVC at City Law School for 2008–2009 costs £13,250. 

16 September 2009: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Henrietta, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”—Hamlet, Act I (adapted). 

What is it about the Bar? You only have to see someone, or even think about them, to find you are involved together in a case. No sooner had Henrietta Briar-Pitt launched her misguided exocet and Alexander Twist trimmed and tacked, at our chambers’ meeting, than I found we were all conjoined in litigation. It might not be a form of telepathic magnetism yet to be discovered by Stephen Hawkins nor proof that there is a creator, but it surely exists.