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I misunderstood my instructions and applied for (and was granted) a warrant for the arrest of my own client. Fortunately sanity (not mine) intervened before the warrant was issued, but it’s fair to say that was a pretty humiliating second week on my feet.
“Are you sure that this is your application...?” the judge asked softly with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh yes,” I reassured him confidently. For I was now a proper barrister, and justice was safe in my hands.
“Oh yes,” I reassured him confidently. For I was now a proper barrister, and justice was safe in my hands.
“Well I’ll grant it if you insist,” the judge said, “but I’ll stand the case down for five minutes so you can confirm your instructions with your solicitor.” He nodded pointedly.
Why would I want to do a thing like that? I thought. I know what I’m doing. For I am a barrister.
Why would I want to do a thing like that? I thought. I know what I’m doing. For I am a barrister.
Nevertheless, I dutifully made the phone call. I proudly told the solicitor what I’d done.
Suffice to say, it was a phone call that will never leave me, to the day I hang up my wig.
Suffice to say, it was a phone call that will never leave me, to the day I hang up my wig.
I shuffled back into court. The clerk grinned. I sheepishly informed her that I no longer wished to pursue my application to have my client arrested.
She went to see the judge in his chambers, and returned to court a minute later. “He says to consider the warrant withdrawn.”
She went to see the judge in his chambers, and returned to court a minute later. “He says to consider the warrant withdrawn.”
“Was he cross?” I asked nervously.
“Oh no,” she reassured me. “He said it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week.”
“Oh no,” she reassured me. “He said it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week.”
