That was so TwentyThirteen

Farewell Thirteen

When I started this blog 365 days ago I didn’t think I’d survive until today with the new lodging arrangements. 
Sadly, my first man, Adam, is leaving me after a year of harmonious absence and the applications are rolling in for his room. 

Once again, I have to think about people in a way one never wants to, picking at personality traits that might set your teeth on edge or wondering at their bathroom usage. 

I can’t put it in the ad, but it’s only open to males, as they have to share a bathroom with my sons, who keep it surprisingly tidy. But still, I could be sued if I advertised for men only. Or could I? In contract law, is it an offer or an invitation to treat? Will their consideration be considerate or considered? In land law, will I be licensing the use of a room or providing a benefit – this was much easier when I was legally ignorant. 

In January '13 I certainly didn’t think I’d have covered first year Law by now, seeing as I only applied online after a few drinks with some barristers and decided I could do that job. Driving to lectures every night was the least appealing prospect, but that’s turned out to be a great way to dissect the day. Only problem is food havoc, not only eating before and after lectures, but snacking on jellybabies during them. 

Some male friends were perplexed at my decision; they thought it was absolutely bonkers ‘at my age’ and ‘what was the point?’ Lectures are a great pleasure, law touches every part of our lives and it's fulfilling to learn something new. Yet brushing with the law is what most of us avoid, while others live by litigation. 

That's all great, but then the first exam day came, and I knew what those men meant. The fear of the blank page, the trick questions, the memory failure, the fact that I might have studied all the wrong stuff. The big hall, the rules, the silence, the scarified looks. Then it was all over, and I had a cramp from writing for two hours, having done all the things we were warned not to, putting down anything that came into my head.

Is it any wonder I haven’t blogged in two months? That, and a defamation suit if I write about my student colleagues or, worse the lecturers. I even did a mooting competition, a mock trial, giving full expression to someting I only practiced on my children before, arguing that I am in the right...

The one thing about the legal world is it isn’t ageist, as such. People practice well into their seventies (I'm being very optimistic). The revered, former Supreme Court judge, Catherine McGuinness, qualified as a barrister at 42, that’s still young as far as I’m concerned. 

So when it came to the King’s Inns Christmas Ball I thought a good cross section of the class would go, not so. And being prevailed upon to go by the younger socialites, I just had to dust off the ball gown and tiara and step back into the 19^th century ballroom.  Then it was the vengabus to a nightclub til the early hours, gosh it’s fun being out with 20-50 year olds in tuxedos and gowns with one thing in common, exam anxiety.

So, once more into the breach we go, after a year that started in trepidation, living with strangers, coming 'out' about D v. Ireland, getting book reviews and opinion published, becoming a legal student, I know 2014 will be another hard slog for all of us, but we’ll get there yet. Please let it be soooooonnnnnn!!

A Free Speech is an anagram of Cheaper Fees

Life is not a bowl of cherries, but these look nice anyway

I’m two thirds through the first year of landladyhouse and life as I know it is about to cease. The daunting prospect of two strangers living in our midst is ameliorated as the decent gentlemen lodgers are hardly ever here. From next week on I’ll be missing every evening too; the house will become a veritable sea with five ships passing in the night.

I came home one summer evening from an art gallery party with a load of barristers at it and decided I’d give that a go (the law, not the art). Seeing as I wasn’t getting anywhere on the interview circuit, while painstakingly editing a novel and writing book reviews, I still needed to find work for the rest of my life. I got accepted to King's Inns a few weeks ago and my induction is two nights from now. I’ve been quietly panicked over this as it draws nearer, what with two years of night study and a further full-time year after that, then the devilling. Maybe the bank will look on me benignly and help with fees or at least count me as a good debt when I come up for review. If I could barter my future services for sponsorship now I would, only there aren’t too many takers with that kind of confidence in me, or indeed moolah.

A cluster of barristers got together last week for the launch of Brian Cregan's first novel on Charles Stewart Parnell, I had read the book for review, for once I knew the subject well.
All the bits of Irish history I missed on account of the miserable nun that taught me, were retrieved and pieced into the very large jigsaw of the party split and goes some way to explain  ‘why we are where we are’. It's hard to believe the Education Minister is proposing the dumbing down of history in our schools.

On political parties, I was to have an audience with Justice Minister, Alan Shatter, and confide I had a first edition of his racy book, Laura,  but held back, that tête à tête will have to wait as I have more pressing things to ask him. 

A few days ago I went to the RHA and stood in a huge, crowded, humid room listening to Fr Tony Flannery at the launch of his book, A Question of Conscience, an insight into the Inquisition-like conditions that prevail in the Vatican. It’s hard to believe in our supposed enlightened times that he is silenced and threatened with excommunication for speaking out about corruption in his Church. I bumped into a senior counsel there and told him of my impending studies. 

'Ah you'll be looking for a master then,' he asserted. 
'A mistress will do too,' I helpfully suggested.

Luckily, for the rest of us, speech is free, that and air. That’s what I’m going to live on….