The Many Eggy Faces Of A Trainee Solicitor

Egg Photo

Before I started my training contract, I imagined that my days would go something like this:

6.45am – Alarm goes off. I jump out of bed. I feel great. Fresh. Alive. Pumped. 6.55am – I prepare and eat a nutritious breakfast. I take my time. I’m relaxed. Excited about the day ahead. 7.15am – I shower. I like to sing in the shower. So I do. 8.05am – I get a seat on the tube and everyone is smiling. No delays. 8.35 am – I arrive in the office. My secretary loves me and we high five. I rock. She rocks. We all rock. 8.47am – I open my inbox. Praise, praise and more praise. It’s embarrassing. Print for file. 8.45am – I review some evidence. I find something that proves a client’s case beyond all reasonable doubt and the managing partner books me a spa day. I won’t be working any weekend soon. 9.24am – “Tea?” I nod and my supervising partner asks if I want one lump or two? 10.02am – I stare at a contract and it stares back. 10.35am – I draft some amendments and email my opponent. 11.00am – My opponent calls and I dazzle him with some contractual charm. He backs down and I smile. It’s like stealing candy warranties from a baby. 1pm – I sit down for a lunch. Cocktails all round. I have a great view of London and everyone laughs at my witty anecdotes. I’m hilarious. 4pm – I stumble back to the office and everyone cheers. I hear a whoop and a whey hey! I love the enthusiasm. The dynamism. It’s just what the brochure promised. 5pm – The New York office calls. They want me to give a talk about adding value. In person. And the legal press wants a quote on how I ruddy well do it…..ok. 6pm – I skip off home. Not a minute later. I go to the gym. I meet a friend for dinner. I can’t wait for tomorrow and I sleep like a log.

In reality, though, my days tend to go something like this. Strike an eggy pose.

Wake Up.

Wing It.

Bill It.

Speed Dating By Numbers


“Show me?” asked my date. Speed not dinner.

“No,” I said.

“Show me.” Beads of tapioca sweat dripped from his forehead.

“No…are you sick or something?”


I looked at the bell. Ring, damn you, ring. “Well you look sick.”

“I’m not sick. All I want.”

“Oh no.”

“What?”’ He looked at the bell.

“I don’t want to know.”

“No…all I want is a woman who’ll show me what she wants to hear?”

He’d lost me. “What?”

“Like hold up one finger if I’m suppose to say, I understand.”

“A finger?”

“Two if I’m suppose to say, tell me more.” He coughed.

“You look awful.”

“I’m fine.” Mini huff.

“You’re sweating.”

“Thanks.” Monster sulk.

“Ok, ok…what’s three fingers for?” I asked.

“The solution.”

Red flag. “But there are no solutions.”

“There’s always a solution.”


“What?” He sneezed.


“Fox what?” he snapped, blowing his nose.

“What’s the solution to that?”

“No…that’s not even a problem.”

“Could be.”

“For who?”

“Chicken farmers.” Ding, ding. The bell rung and I stood up.

“Don’t go,” he said.

“I have to.”

“So go.” He looked away.

“But I do understand, you know.”

“Do you?” He smiled.

“And I’ll tell you more in a minute.”

“No…now.” He stood up.

“But I’m bursting.”

“For what?”

I held up three fingers, “The sol – loo – tion.”

Partner Says, Partner Means

Question Marks

Partner Says: “This needs more work.”

Partner Means: I can’t believe that English is your first language, that you actually went to law school and that you dared to think that this coffee-stained piffle was ready to be reviewed by me.

Partner Says: “Thanks for your note.”

Partner Means: How dare you challenge my authority you jumped up little legal pest.

Partner Says: “Any plans?”

Partner Means: Cancel them.

Does Your Face Match The Biscwit


The firm’s Biscwit Strategy:

1. Important clients are served expensive chocolate biscuits wrapped in foil. We love you.

2. Chocolate biscuits are also served during employee exit meetings. We know it’s sad, but here, have a biscwit.

3. In-House lawyers are given Jammie Dodgers. We too wish that we worked in-house.

4. Custard Creams are reserved for internal meetings and training sessions. We do value you, but not enough to feed you chocolate.

Forever Never Faithfully Yours

Forever Never

Dear Little Pond

We are instructed by Big Fish and we are in receipt of your perfume-infused letter dated 6 September 2010.

How many times? You have no case. Zip. No dee. No doo dah. Nothing.

Go away.

Forever Never Faithfully Yours

Nutt Kracker & Ball LLP