Today was the day that the new Queen’s Counsel were made up. The Temple was full of shiny black vehicles carrying men and women dressed like this:
The patent leather shoes with silver buckles are, I think you will agree, cutting edge. Each new silk (As QCs are known – after the material that their gowns are made of) holds a party and at this time of the year one’s desk is thick with invitations on heavy card. The tradition is to move from one gathering to the next, politely sipping champagne and liberally doling out the congratulations. As each drink slips down the whole thing seems less absurd and the congratulations become more effusive until by the end of the evening the “big wig” is being dropped on a dog’s head and drunken millionaire commercial silks are recounting their school days to junior solicitors too polite to dart away or lapse into unconsciousness.
At the moment I am engulfed in the most hideous case I have ever encountered. Were it not for the fact that the Bar Council would grate my privates like nutmeg if I so much as breathed a word about it on this blog I would have such stories to tell … I decided, therefore, to attend only one party. It was held in the Sir John Soane Museum (one of my very favourite places) on Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Surrounded by leather-bound books and looted Grecian artefacts I mingled and small-talked till I could bear no more. A friend and I resolved to leave and whilst he fetched his coat I stood outside in the autumn evening.
A man approached me, fresh from the soup kitchen in the North East corner of the fields. “So” he said, apparently already in mid-sentence “you must be careful”
“Excuse me?”
“One of de mummers is missink”
“Murmurs?”
“Mummies, de Egyptians, there is one of dem aroun here. It has escaped!”
“Oh dear, well you be careful then”
“Do you know museums?”
“I know some museums”
“I am from Hungary. When I am dere I work in a museum. We have no mummy but we have a giant” He raises his hands dramatically into the air.
“An d’you know what?”
“No”
“He had a two foot long willy! What do you think to dat?!”
“I think I am going to have trouble getting to sleep to night with that image in my head.”
With that we parted company. He seemed satisfied his work was done and I shuffled away to the station and for home.
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I’d like to be you for just one day… It seems such a weirdly wonderful life …. full of mummies, willies, and mysterious wigs.
HHHAAA!!! I love it! Not the thought of a two foot willy…that would scare any gay man…at least THIS gay man. But loonie-random interactions like that? I live for them…and now I’ve done it vicariously, Moobs…thank you. I feel rather satisfied.
Thank you for giving us a small peek into the english legal and class system…..it is fascinating and em, very english!
That must be some case you are working on – even the mummies are running wild.
I am without wit today, Moobs. Completely running on empty. It’s one of those days when I should only comment with the aid of a nice Zinfandel. And yet I feel compelled to comment anyway… to say that I’m glad I didn’t wait for the morning to read this. It would have been very hard explaining to coworkers that I was giggling to myself over a wig and a two-foot-long willie.
Dang! My husband is an attorney and he never gets to meet drunk Hungarians who know giants!
Thanks for the sneak peek. I had no idea such things went on, what with the wigs and the buckled shoes. Here in the US, a guy would be kicked out of most jobs for such…fancy. I want to move to England!
Bonkers. Brilliant. It is encounters like these that make life so rich.
Yup – what Gamba said.
Oh – and I know you’re not allowed to say anything about the case but … um … is it breaking the rules to let me know if it’s in the newspapers?
I know. I’m a nosy caaaaah.
You ever wonder if God puts these random people in our path to see how we will deal with them? Personally, I think you did well, giant and willie and all!
Happy English Celebration, Moobs!
2 feet? Yeouch!
I used to live in Holborn, and yes, it is true, you do get a truly wonderful imaginative brand of loony round there. Seriously, I miss the comments I used to get. Not the boring old “Excuse me miss, I have missed my train can you give me a dollar,” stuff I get here. Don’t they realize that a funny story is more likely to get you to hand over the dosh than some fib about missed trains?
Those shoes are remarkable. Really. They are perhaps not so impressive as a two-foot long penis, but they are shiny.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I lurve when crazy people talk to me about jibberish….I always egg them on.
So is that you in that wig, moobz??
I love, love, love crazies! Love them!! I seriously miss them now that I live in a nice, normal neighborhood.
Oh and “grate my privates like nutmeg”????? That visual will stay with me all day. Thanks.
Aw, isn’t that man pwetty! 😉 I love drunk crazy people and aspire to be one myself one day!
Cranks – You’re right – It’s a wonderful life … Way to go Clarence.
KC – In London it is easier to identify crazies. Most Londoners are taught from birth never to catch your eye and that initiating a conversation with a stranger is as sure a sign of madness as hairy palms (or is that masturbation?). So as a general rule anyone who speaks to you other than in an official capacity or at your express invitation is either a tourist or bonkers.
Crunch – the Bar is deliberately kept as though it were an 18/19th century theme park. However, thanks to the odious Dan Brown the Temple is now crawling with crazies running around Temple Church looking for the Grail.
Claudia – I wonder if they are Nike swoosh brand Dri-fit Mummy bandages they are wearing then. They can’t look any more terrifying than I do in my running kit.
Catherine – I have the same problem explaining to my pupil what’s going on every time I hit Kevin’s site.
Joz – tell your guy to come out here on an Exchange trip – I’ll give you both the lawyer’s tour.
Gamba – Exactly, everyone should have a daily moment of surreality
Poggy – It has been in the papewrs and will be from about the first week of November.
Christina – I was raised on stories as Jesus disguising himself as a poor man to test the charity of others. I didn’t think it altogether likely that he had branched into Hungarian Museum curators with penis-fixations but it’s best to play on the safe side and be nice anyway.
OTJ – Think of it as a catering pack
Emma – People live in Holborn? I’m trying to think of a way of working all this into a plotline for your new book.
HBM – and the buckles the beautiful shiny silver buckles. You know that if anyone played the fiddle you’d have to dance in those.
Maniac. Nope This is my wig:
But size is not important. THe picture is of a silk called Phillipe Sands
Pickles – Just be grateful it didn’t come with audio.
Bec – you can study part-time at Merton Community College
Aha. I shall see if I can work out what it is (just for myself, y’know).
is that you, with the shiny shoes on?! 😉
Buttons, it is Philippe Sands.
am i bad for not knowing who that is?
I don’t know either. Some lawyer or other. But Moobs said it was him.
Thanks Moobs, you’re giving me some good ideas for my novel.
Yeah, people do live in Holborn, actually I have a place in Bloomsbury, it was a council flat and I bought it. It’s a nice boring area where nothing much happens and convenient for staggering home drunk from Soho. Where do you live? I’m going to guess Hackney. Although I don’t think you are a Guardian reader….I dunno, it’s hard to get a real feel for someone from a blog. Or are you rich enough for Islington?
Buttons – I would not be surprised if you didn’t know who Phillpe Sands is. He is an environmental and Human Rights Lawyer who, by all accounts, is brilliant. His was the only picture google would turn up of someone in Silk’s ceremonial garb. As a general rule, the fewer lawyers you know the happier your life is likely to be.
Emma – I have lived in Rotherhithe, Mile End, Golders Green and Clapham and now live in what I think of as Merton Park but the estate agents try to pass off as Wimbeldon. I’ve never managed to live in the city centre and rather regret it. I have friends who live or have lived in Soho and back streets near Charing Cross and I have always loved the fact that even in the heart of the city there are residential areas tucked away.
I notice that Moobs ducked the Guardian reader bit though….
Do you have to be a Guardian reader to live in Hackney? I tick both of those boxes. Argh, I am a stereotype.
well i do tend to steer clear of lawyer types now. my ex tells people he’s a lawyer. in fact, he’s a legal secretary…somehow, i don’t think they’re quite the same