As of today, The BabyBarista blog has moved to a new website. To read the further adventures of BabyBarista click here.

By way of background, BabyBarista is a fictional account of a junior barrister practising at the English Bar. The stories he tells appeared on this site for over three years and they also led to him getting two book deals with Harry Potter’s publisher Bloomsbury. BabyBarista and the Art of War was published as a trade paperback last year and will appear as a mass market paperback this August under the new title Law and Disorder. Book Two of the BabyBarista Files is provisionally entitled Law and Peace and, although a date hasn't yet been finalised, is likely to be published in 2011. The first book was described by broadcaster Jeremy Vine as "a wonderful, racing read - well-drawn, smartly plotted and laugh out loud" and by The Times as "a cross between The Talented Mr Ripley, Rumpole and Bridget Jones's Diary". BabyBarista is written by barrister and writer Tim Kevan.

BabyBarista and the Art of War is a legal comedy which was based on the blog which appeared on this site for over three years. It was published by Bloomsbury last year and was described by broadcaster Jeremy Vine as "a wonderful, racing read - well-drawn, smartly plotted and laugh out loud" and by The Times as "a cross between The Talented Mr Ripley, Rumpole and Bridget Jones's Diary". The mass market edition will be published in August 2010 under the new title Law and Disorder. Book Two of the BabyBarista Files will also be published by Bloomsbury and has the provisional title of 'Law and Peace'. Whilst a date hasn;t yet been finalised, it is likely to be published in 2011.

Well if I’m going to sort out the mess that is the Moldy litigation then I need two things: information from Ginny and an offer from the other side. Today I received knockbacks on both. First it was Ginny reporting on the dinner. All went well apparently but still no cigar in both senses. No compromising position for him and no information for me. However, she seemed at least optimistic that eventually he’d crack and told me that she hope to see him again in the next few days. I reminded her that time was tight. Tempus fugit indeed.

As for the other side, I engineered a chance meeting with UpTights today at lunch in Middle Temple Hall and I quietly asked whether there might not still be any chance of settlement. “Ah ha, BabyB!” she exclaimed loudly enough to get the whole queue for food looking around. “I thought you’d crack at some point. Your case has been hopeless from the start and with the offer we made you months ago we’re certainly not going to make you another now all those costs have passed under the bridge.”

Not really a surprise but at least worth the try as a fall back.

I took OldRuin out for lunch on Friday, having told him that I wanted to ask his advice. “It would be my pleasure, BabyB,” he had answered.

Over lunch I couldn’t quite bring myself to tell OldRuin the full extent of the compromises that I’d made with the Moldy litigation but I also got the feeling that perhaps it wasn’t necessary. That he understood. Instead I concentrated on what Arthur and Ethel had told us on Friday and what OldSmoothie and Slipperys’ response to that was. As has been so often the case, his reply was both oblique and yet perfect for my needs. “I don’t have any answers, BabyB. No plot or plan that’ll get you out of it. All I can tell you is to have faith and follow your heart.”

He smiled at me and his eyes wrinkled even more than usual. “Mystery is better imagined than described. Whispers of the soul. Echoes of the heart. It’s what we are. Poetry and music can evoke and give us rare glimpses. But even then you’re left grasping at air if you’re actually looking for answers. But follow those whispers and echoes and they'll guide you through the hard times of the soul.”

After Monday’s client conference, OldSmoothie was in a foul mood. “You see, BabyB, that’s the problem with taking clients’ instructions. Now we’ll have to find a way around them.”

“But there was nothing ambiguous about what they were saying. They want to settle in return for an apology.”

I looked over at Slippery and added: “And they’ve wanted that right from the very beginning. So we could have settled this  months ago. Now I know precisely what you meant by saying that you’d taken all the instructions you need. All the instructions you need to rip them off more like.”

Slippery’s whole demeanour changed and he said: “Get real, BabyB and don’t forget where your bread’s buttered either. Or your mother’s bread, at least.”

Then OldSmoothie stepped in thinking he was being diplomatic. “BabyB, whatever’s done is done. But as for now, don’t forget that there’s always ambiguity. If the other side aren’t prepared to negotiate then there’ll be no settlement. Understood?”

I understood exactly what both of them were saying but I left the conference determined that however much wrong I’d done in the last couple of years, I wasn’t going to let Arthur and Ethel down now.

Yesterday afternoon OldSmoothie, SlipperySlope and I had a meeting with the two main Moldy clients in the litigation, a wonderful couple called Ethel and Arthur. Arthur is a small man who is hunched over with age and other physical difficulties. But his single concern is Ethel who is in a wheelchair due to a car accident many years ago. It really was quite moving to sit and listen to them today and to figure that the strength and the stoicism they both manage is fed by a deep, underlying love. 

“We’ve been married fifty-six years this April,” Arthur said proudly.  

“And never a dull day,” added Ethel with a real twinkle in her eye.

“We’ve had our ups and downs, I’ll grant you,” said Arthur, “but I wouldn’t have made it this far without her. She’s the air that gives me life, you know.”

“Listen to yourself, Arthur, won’t you? You’ll embarrass the young man.”

“Never mind that Ethel. Doesn’t do any harm passing on a thing or two now and again.”

They’d called the meeting following a discussion they’d had with the other Moldy litigants. But before they started, OldSmoothie spent some time (billable, obviously) explaining where we were in the litigation and that whilst the case could go either way, there was a real risk we could lose. He then added: “However, there still remains a chance that we may win and if this happens then you could all be due substantial damages.”

“That’s what we’ve come to see you about,” said Arthur.

“I see,” said OldSmoothie, clearly not seeing.

“You see,” which he didn’t, “it’s never been about the money for any of us.”

“Oh. A point of principle. Hit the big corporation hard,” said OldSmoothie still not seeing. 

“It hasn’t even been about that either, actually. You see, all any of us have ever wanted from this litigation was to be acknowledged.”

“Oh,” said OldSmoothie, now seeing less and less.

“And if there’s a chance for us to settle where the other side acknowledge what they’ve done and say sorry, then, you know, we’d all be happy with that.”

“But what about the damages?” asked OldSmoothie, he mouth having dropped somewhat.

“I don’t think you understand young man,” said Arthur. “We don’t want compensation. I don’t want anyone else caring for Ethel and what good would the money do us at our age? All we all want to live what lives we’ve got, not accumulate figures in bank accounts.”

He paused and then reflected: “Tempus fugit, I think you’d say. I remember we were taught Virgil’s translation at school: ‘time flees irretrievably, while we wander around, prisoners of our love of detail.’” 

Arthur and Ethel looked at each other as if this was something they had very specifically discussed and upon which they were in full agreement. “More than that. We don’t want to bring down a big company and all the poor people and their families who rely upon its health. As I say, we just want to be acknowledged.”

Ethel then added: “You see, it’s like we are invisible. People think because we’re old that we somehow think or feel differently. That we don’t hurt when we are ignored. That we don’t matter any longer.”

She paused and looked at Arthur before adding: “We just want people to stand up and say that in fact we do matter. Not just us, but all the pensioners up and down the land. We want them to have a voice. Just for this moment.”

Arthur then said: “It’ll help us all. Not just old people. All of us. That’s what we want.” Then he turned to Slippery and added: “I mean that’s what we’ve been telling Mr Slope here from the start. Couldn’t have been clearer, so it shouldn’t be news to anybody now.”

They’d said their piece and a heavy silence fell upon the room. OldSmoothie looked very unhappy at the prospect of the case settling for a mere apology and what may well end up as no costs as a result given that nominal offers had already been made and duly rejected months ago. Words were failing him but he managed: “Well, let us have a think about this. I’m not sure whether we’ll be able to get any settlement. But let me have a think.”

With which he led the two of them from the conference.

With JudgeFetish about to give judgment quite soon in the Moldy litigation, I needed to get something on the expert we were using and specifically whether TopFirst had him stitched up all along. Given that he’s been working for me, he’s hardly going to make any confessions there and so I decided to fall back to a young lady called Ginny who I hired last year to snare TopFirst in a HoneyTrap. This has meant following him the last few days to see exactly where he hangs out at lunch and in the evenings and then getting Ginny to casually bump into him. 

I’d failed the last couple of days in my predictions but this evening Ginny once again  got her man. Not so difficult this time since he’s a lot older than TopFirst and therefore even more prone to the flattering attentions of a beautiful young woman. This evening they had drinks. On Friday they are booked in for dinner whilst his wife believes he’s away at a conference. We’ll see what she can get out of him, so to speak.

As I prepare for a showdown with TopFirst in the next few weeks over the Bar Standards Board complaint, I thought I’d soften him up today with a little opening salvo. Just a short email containing the following:

My Dear TopFirst,

Could you please confirm whether one of our clients is or is not the mother of your fiancée? As I’m sure you can imagine, I would not like you to fall foul of the professional rules and therefore perhaps you might explain how you have avoided a conflict of interest.

With best wishes as always,

BabyB

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s hardly a killer blow since I can only imagine that he’s been acting against TopFlirt’s mother in complete innocence and in any event there will probably be ways around it if he simply talks it through with his own clients. But it should at least serve to soften him up through giving him a scare and maybe also start him wondering how I know so much about his fiancée.

I'm delighted to announce that Bloomsbury Publishing (of Harry Potter fame) have now agreed to publish Book Two of the BabyBarista Files. It is is a sequel to BabyBarista and the Art of War and is provisionally entitled 'Law and Peace'. It will follow BabyB's progress during his second year in chambers and the various shenanigans which inevitably arise. Whilst a publication date hasn't yet been set, it may well be some time in 2011.

“You’re always rushing around, BabyB. Chopping up your life into hours, minutes, seconds. It’s what you lawyers are about. But if you’re not careful BabyB, you’ll turn into one of them and your whole life will be lost onto some dusty, meaningless timesheet.”

It was my mother and I didn’t argue because she was right. “Take the time to stand and stare. Look out your window at the cherry blossom in April or watch the girls go by in the Summer. I don”t care what it is but just take a little bit of pleasure in being rather than doing.” She looked at me softly and added: “I do worry for you, BabyB.”

I was at a meeting this morning with Slippery, ScandalMonger and Smutton. Slippery looked in a particularly self-satisfied mood and mused: “You know, I was reading a story the other day in which the world became so technologically complicated that when a glitch occurred there was no-one left who knew how to fix it. They all ended up back in the stone age. You see, that’s what I love about our glorious profession.”

We all looked at him blankly, wondering where this was going. “It’s simple. The harder we work at complicating everything the more essential we become to being able to fix it. A wonderful, money-making virtuous circle.”
“The first thing we’ll do is kill all the lawyers,” quoted Scandal.

Smutton was not looking quite her flirtatious self today and even looked a little sad. She looked at Slippery and said: “I remember so clearly when you arrived in our firm all those years ago. All bright eyes and talking about your love of movies. What happened Slippery? Where did it all go wrong?” We all looked at her surprised at her change of tone. “Who hurt you?” she added.

OldSoak the resident chambers alcoholic was in chambers today and lecturing a couple of ridiculously earnest mini-pupils which have appeared with the holidays upon us. “You know, you kids should all slow down”, he said.  “You’re all in far too much of a rush to be getting on these days.  It’s all work, work, work.  Careers advisers and goal-setting.  Why not let fate take a hand for once?  Let life flow a little more easily.”
TheBusker joined in with: “You know, I would definitely suggest doing a few more things outside of law whilst you’re at college.”

The worst of the two I’ll call KeanieBeanie since he’s been pestering pretty much every member of chambers through his offers of help and would make even TopFirst appear like a stand-up comedian replied: “But how will that help my pupillage applications?”
The walking talking irony that is UpTights then waded in with: “Don’t you have a life other than the law?”
“No.”
“Well you need to get one, young man.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Well, er, I don”t know. Er,…” 

That had her stumped.  Then OldSoak piped up: “Drinking and fornication, young man. Don’t they teach you anything at Oxford these days?”
HeadofChambers added, “You know, I always thought the word venery summed up what youth should be about. The thrill of the chase in all sense of the word. Fillies, firm young limbs and the huntsman’s horn.”

By this time KeanieBeanie had turned the colour of his brand new bright red braces and had sidled over to stand next to TheCreep who is the one person he’s been getting on with in chambers. As they stood next to each other, all shiny faces with rosy cheeks like a couple of cup-cakes fresh from the baker’s oven, TheVamp commented: “Mini-me, you complete me.”

OldSmoothie was boasting last night to just a couple of us in the clerks room about his latest sexual conquest. Apparently she was not only his opponent last week but is also twenty years younger than him. UpTights walked in on the conversation and said: “You really are a sad, lonely and dirty old man. What is it they say? Only two things are certain in life: death and a certain fat old barrister who’d get up on a crack on a plate.”
“That’s a bit rich coming from someone who’s been cocked more times than Davy Crocket’s musket.”

This seemed to hit home as her face turned into a boiled fist and she started shaking with what I can only assume was pent up rage at the pompous silver fox who was looking particularly irritating and smug today. But has completely lost it and was unable to speak and so just stood there stamping her foot and shaking some more. Then OldSmoothie took on a nasty look and bent down towards her and whispered: “I had a dream the other night UpTights. I saw a young girl building a gilded scaffold. Somewhere she could climb up and hide from the world behind her empty smile. I saw her clambering ever higher, her bony fingers stretched to the sun. Then I saw the noose tightening around her neck and heard her solitary scream as she jumped from the same scaffold she had erected to help her survive.”

UpTights had stopped shaking and was silent. Then she started crying uncontrollably. OldSmoothie looked at her and as if it was the most natural thing in the world took her in his arms and hugged her. UpTights by this point had turned catatonic and OldSmoothie pushed her away slightly, held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. He then smiled almost flirtatiously and said: “You know, I could charge good money for therapy like that.”

With which he was gone.

Awkward silences today as a chambers meeting sat waiting for TheCreep to arrive since he was scheduled to be making a presentation. After a couple of minutes of strained conversation, TheBusker said: “A bit like Waiting for Godot.”

“Or as ClichéClanger always put it,” said OldSmoothie, “waiting to pass go.”

To which TheVamp replied, making reference to TheCreep’s lack of height: “Waiting for Frodo more like.”

OldRuin’s hospital case started in court today which means that it’s been all hands on deck working on that as well as everything else. Neither of us are terribly optimistic as to the outcome but we both believe that it’s at least worth making a stand against what has become abundantly clear is a gross injustice. A lot of people, particularly the elderly population of OldRuin’s Hampshire village, would have to travel a significant distance to get to their nearest hospital. It’ll also affect various parts of the local economy which have built up around the hospital. Anyway, these and many more points were put not only by OldRuin but also by the campaigners outside of court as they played to the press. The case is due to finish on Wednesday after which we will wait a while for judgment.

The one piece of good news to emerge from today came from OldRuin who whispered to me that a friend of his who is a “very senior civil servant” in the Department of Health had whispered to him that in the unlikely event that our court case succeeds, then the minister has indicated privately that the hospital will not close.

TheVamp reported at chambers tea that she had been against TheBusker today and had been cross-examining a male witness rather vigorously when he’d suddenly lost his rag and said: “I know what your problem is, young lady. All these aggressive questions. What you really need…”
The judge interrupted at this point with: “This case isn’t about counsel. Please simply answer the questions which are put.”
The witness apparently looked a little put out and replied with: “M’Lord, you see, the thing is, all that attention. It goes to their heads, it does. She’s a tease.  I saw them young lawyers in the waiting room. All gathering around her like flies round…”
Before the witness could finish his sentence, TheBusker quickly stood up and interrupted him with: “Honeypots…bees…surely?”
“Quite so,” smiled the judge.

I went along with OldRuin to a negotiation over his local hospital today with the other side’s lawyers. They were pointing out a couple of technical deficiencies in our case which appeared to have no merit other than us not having ticked quite the right boxes before the lawyers got involved. “You know,” said OldRuin, “sometimes I look at what we do and think we’re no better than the prisoner’s in Plato’s cave.” Both the other side and I have to say myself looked a little non-plussed. OldRuin continued: “Plato imagined that all these prisoners saw of the world was its shadows. Sometimes it reminds me of what we do. Yet, when I meet the people who will be affected by the hospital closure, it’s like coming out of the cave and being blinded by the bright light of reality.” He looked at the other side’s lawyers and then turned to me and said: “Come on, BabyB. Sometimes I tire of a profession to which I have devoted my life. The sun’s shining outside and it’s time to leave the cave.” He paused and then gave a wry smile at the other side: “For today, at least.”

“What would be your dream life, BabyB?” asked OldRuin over coffee this morning.
“I’ve no idea,” I replied. “But I guess it’d have to involve having financial security for my mother. Maybe pay off her debts, get her a bigger house.”
“And what would you be doing?”
“I don’t know. I never imagined I’d be a barrister but I can’t imagine doing anything else now that I’m here. Sounds sad but the security thing’s the only bit I’d change.”
“Will you grant me a wish, BabyB?”
“Of course. What?”
“That you try to stop making plans and start dreaming again. Dream like you were a child once more.” He hesitated before adding: “Boundless.”

I’ve no doubt that I looked more than a little perplexed and he fell back into a voice I’ve heard him use before, only just above a whisper. “It’s in the everyday that you forge your character…” Again he looked at me, this time a little wistfully before finishing with: “But it’s your dreams which give it shape.”

It’s now three years since I did my first case in court and as I sized up my opponent this morning, I considered how appropriate it was that April Fool’s Day should be the date set for the official release of the pupils into the wild. April, the cruellest month delivering this one fresh from his pupilmaster’s cocoon complete with sparkling white bands, unused wig and ram rod straight back as if his mother was somehow at his shoulder reminding him not to slouch

Despite it being a small claim, he approached me carrying not only two huge volumes on court procedure but also a skeleton argument and a three inch thick bundle of authorities on car cases. He drew breath: “Do you accept,” he said, “that a car driver owes a common law duty of care to another when driving on one of Her Majesty’s highways?”
“Er…”
“And do you accept that breaches of the Highway Code constitute negligence?”
“Er…”

He’d obviously been told to be forceful since despite the obvious and wholly uncontroversial points he was making, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways as he pretty much recited his skeleton at me. Then, I spotted SlipperySlope across the other side of the waiting room who was obviously here on a different case. He was clearly in high spirits and as I approached he put his hands on his hips and pushed out his chest somewhat theatrically before saying: “You smell that? Do you smell that? Pupils, BabyB. Nothing else in the world smells like that.” He paused and then added: “I love the smell of pupils in the morning."
“Er…”
“Smells like…victory.”

Which in my case turned out to be right.

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