Hello… Is it me you’re looking for?
You’ve arrived at my blog, and I want scandals. Big ones, small ones… Any will do. I want to uncover the naughtier side of the bar. Today, on my very first day of bar school, i was told that the bar is an honourable profession. Babybarista (www.babybarista.com), whilst being a fictional blog, has taught me that this may not be the case. There are mischievious people everywhere, and I’d quite like to uncover the world that precedes being called to the bar. It may be that I’m bitterly disappointed, and infact, everyone is very respectable. If this is the case, then my blog will simply document my life at bar school for the year. It will not be scandalous. To misquote Oscar Wilde: I enjoy gossip, as long as it’s not about me. (I couldn’t be bothered to google the quote, I’m too drunk, but I read it on a fleeting fancy’s favourite quotes on facebook. I don’t remember who that person is now. That is how much I fancied them).
Irrespective of the quote, if none of you write in with scandals, or if i don’t hear about them myself, you’ll get stories about me going to lectures (called LGS’s according to my course documents) and seminars (apparently called SGS’s). The choice is yours.
When you get to law school, everyone seems to love three letter abbreviations. When I was but a history undergrad, the only abbreviations I had were UG and SU. Doing the GDL up north, I became more acquainted with slightly longer abbreviations. Now that I’m in the big smoke, it seems everything is abbreviated.
Anyway, please send scandals (old and new) to: firstname.lastname@example.org
In the meantime, you’ve got me to tell you of my life at bar school.
This morning, with my empty suitcase in hand, I embarked upon my first day of bar school.
Whilst I’ve been living in The Smoke for over a month now, I’m still finding it difficult to get used to how crowded the tubes are. I just about managed to squeeze onto a packed central line train (not the easiest thing with a suitcase in hand), and was hit with the fragrance I faced most mornings with my commute to work as a temp; Au du sweat. All those fans of AnchorMan (and residents of London) will know that the smell on the tube is not too disimilar to SexPanther- it’s a formidable scent, it stings the nostils.
As I walked to law school from the tube, I pass a starbucks and as I’m early, decided to grab a latte. Unsuprisingly, it appears half of bar school had also decided to arrive early and get a caffeine buzz. I looked around, sadly no good looking guys around, which is, I suppose, typical. Of course I came to bar school to become a barrister, but if there’s good looking guys to look at whilst doing it, then good. If not, then the rumours I heard were true- guys who do the BVC are unattractive. The only reasonable (reasonable being only just better than average) looking men on the GDL with me, went to do the LPC. I almost believe it’s part of the criteria for city law firms: must go to a good uni, must be reasonably competant, must be attractive to entice clients (into doing deals with us, rather than anything else… But any stories you’ve heard are more than welcome!!). The more attractive, the more likely to get into a magic circle firm. Those guys doing the acceleration LPC must be yum. I will look out for them in due course.
After getting a take away coffee, I get into law school. Everything’s shiny and corporate looking, and not quite how I expected it (I chose this law school having not looked around it on the basis that I was told it was the best).
The day itself was fairly uneventful. I collected my books (the heaviest books ever. If you haven’t seen professional law books before then you’ll have no idea how heavy they are) and placed them in my lovely new suitcase, which once filled no longer looked so lovely. The suitcase zips strained as I attempted to force all the books in. I hoped the suitcase would last the whole day. I met my tutor group and we had to reveal 3 facts about ourselves. I was glad to discover they weren’t all jumped up wankers (but of course there’s always the exception, so when we were asked to say three things about ourselves, one of them told us he owned x acres of land as one of his facts). I also went to lectures, and spotted someone I befriended at my Inn’s scholarship interview before the GDL, so stuck with him generally.
We then had the drinks evening.
To be fair, not many people went, which was a real disappointment. I thought i’d have more of an opportunity to meet new people. This meant more wine for me, and more of an chance to speak to tutors.
Wine + tutors = not good.
One of the tutors who lectured us that day was rather funny (by that I mean entertaining rather than weird). Infact, he’s so entertaining it made him attractive.
He spoke to me and I began to drawl on ‘oh, you’re SO funny!’. He graciously said ‘that’s nice of you to say’. I continued complimenting. It got embarrassing. My new pre-GDL scholarship friend felt uncomfortable and left. I got nervous, so kept speaking, and digging more and more of a hole for myself. He eventually said ‘will you excuse me a minute’.
My BVC tutor now undoubtably believes that I fancy him. I then somehow managed to insult a perfect stranger by talking about pupillage interviews and then complaining about this horrible question about euthanasia (which before the interview I hadn’t formed an opinion either way) and told him that in the interview I said it was terrible. He asked my reasoning for my response, which i admitted was incoherent at best. He then told me that his grandfather had gone abroad when he was in the latter stages of cancer and in unbearable pain to end his life. I didn’t know where to look or what to say.
So all in all, a successful day at bar school!
Despite making an utter fool of myself i merryily got the tube home, and swayed whilst standing up, with my suitcase filled with thick legal books. I walked from the station over-enthusiastically, over the cobbled pavement. The suitcase jumped slightly, my suitcase came down with a crash and I succeeded in breaking a wheel on the first day I used it. Finally I was at the flat and I pressed for the lift. I wait a little while. I was still swaying. I pressed the button again. Still nothing. The one day I was going to be carrying Michelle McManus’ weight in books, the lift was fucking broken. And I live on the top floor. So in a drunken stupor, I dragged my broken suitcase up the 6 flight of stairs. I vowed never to drink again, even though i was sober by the 6 flight.
So here I am now in my bed, on my laptop, feeling sorry for myself. And rightly so!
Was your first day worse or better? I would like stories please, and I may publish them. Devillesadvocate24@gmail.com