After graduation, Steve and Michelle moved to Snookington Village. Michelle got a job in SmogCity, while Steve attended Bar School. He learned how to write and speak like a lawyer, and practiced writing legal opinions and advocacy in court. The learning was intense and he spent most evenings in the library preparing for the next day’s activities. The library was covered from wall to wall in bookshelves filled with legal books. The old floorboards creaked when walked on and each study area had its own lamp. It smelled musty and everyone there huddled over papers and books, preparing legal arguments.
One of the compulsory elements of training was to attend a number of formal dinners at an inn of court. It was a medieval ritual held in a massive echoey hall, which had a marble floor and oak-panelled walls upon which hung heraldic shields. There were enormous oil paintings of old men wearing wigs. Huge chandeliers hung from above. It was a different world to his previous life of a soldier eating outdoors. The student barristers had to wear black gowns as they ate while sat on benches along long oak tables. On the high table, the senior barristers and judges ate and cast a discerning eye over the latest batch of potential barristers.
During his bar training, Steve applied for the final work experience stage of barrister training. He attended many interviews with crusty barristers in formal chambers. But the well heeled big-wigs in SmogCity merely laughed and rejected him time and again because he was clearly not well-spoken. These Posheys ridiculed Steve’s choice of University, his degree grade and even his service in the regiment. But Steve carried on attending interviews, hoping for a lucky break. Then one day, a prestigious set of barristers saw something in him and decided to give Steve a chance. They offered him a place to complete barrister training.
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2 thoughts on “Bar School”
Callum., I’ve been thinking and reading about style again and it strikes me that in tyour writing you don’t worry or think much about style. You just have a story to tell and you tell it direcvtly.
Thanks David. Substance over style as far as I’m concerned. It’s a bit like some advice I was once given: If you’re ever threatened by a gang, hit the biggest one hard and fast. I was in that situation once, and it works.