If you had told me a year ago that I'd ever consider becoming a barrister, I'd have laughed straight out to your face (nicely and politely, of course). The idea of standing up in front of a courtroom (wearing a powdered wig, of all things) and attempting to crush the poor unfortunate soul in the witness box to bits deliver long spiels of law to stern-looking judges is so not my cup of tea, its coffee (runs away before getting hit by bricks).
But yesterday, after a perfectly lovely afternoon of lunch at Earl Canteen (pork belly and apple sandwich!) and 2 serves of chai latte (1 of them free!) at Mr. Tulk's, I found myself at an event called... 'Coming to the Bar' - yes, THE bar, not that other, more... relaxing ...one.
One of the major reasons I signed up to go are - okay, actually, there are a few:
1. It's FREE.
2. There's FREE food and wine.
3. I've never been in barristers' chambers before and I just want to see what it's like.
(For those who don't know, all barristers have an independent practice which they manage like a business, and they have to rent a set of chambers - other people just call this an 'office' but NO, why have such mundane terms when you can have quaint and completely archaic turns of phrases?)
I had no trouble at all locating the Owen Dixon Chambers, as it was right across the Supreme Court and had a huge sign on the building. What I did have trouble with though, was locating 'The Essoign Club' where the event was held. I walked in through the glass doors and immediately attracted the suspicious glare of the security guard. I guess, being a young, Asian female in a world dominated by old/middle-aged white males, it was just too apparent that I didn't belong. Immediately distrustful of anybody who is immediately distrustful of me, I decided not to ask for directions from the guard (considering as I had no idea how to pronounce 'essoign' anyway). So I wandered in through a set of lifts which proceeded to take me straight up to the 8th floor, then to every single floor except the one I wanted to get onto - level 1. After much ado, I finally made it after a kindly cleaner swiped me onto the right floor. Whew. Level 1 - Passed.
As soon as I walked in, I realised that I was obviously not the 'target audience' of this event. Everyone else was in business attire, and after a few chats, I gathered that they were all practising solicitors. I was the only student there. But no matter, I had come, and the food and wine was mine for the taking, mwahahahaha!
I ingratiated myself with a small group of women, who turned out to be majorly interesting. One of them was a judge's associate working at the county court, one was a solicitor at a commercial firm, the other was a public prosecutor! It was interesting to hear why they developed an interest in becoming a barrister - it all comes down to this: 'I heard the 'call', and I thought if I'm thinking about it I might as well do it.' To which I nodded, half uncomprehendingly.
The talk itself was extremely interesting. A panel of speakers gave a practical rundown of how to become a barrister, how to find a mentor (previously called a 'master', now re-named due to its un-PCness... imagine a woman barrister saying 'my master'... just not... right), how to get yourself a set of chambers, how to get a clerk (who apparently wield great influence, as they are able to help you find work by networking with other solicitors, help pay your phone bills if you run out of money, teach you what to do when you run into ethical dilemmas etc.), how to stay alive for the first 1-5 years when you have no work etc. etc. etc.
I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, 'twas all so strange and fascinating! There were all these obviously modern people speaking in so old-fashioned terms and revering archaic practices. And yet, everything was supposed to be done in a brisk, businesslike manner. What I never realised was that being a barrister is definitely an entrepreneurial endeavour, as there are no fixed wages, and everything is contingent upon financial management to stay afloat through the peaks and troughs. I'm definitely not sure whether that's for me, but it was good to know, all the same.
As the event wound down and we gathered our bags to leave, my chirpy neighbour turned to me and said brightly, "Well, I hope to see you in court one day!"
I guess that would be one of the very very few times in my life when that line - said by a public prosecutor - doesn't seem at all like a threat :)
