Business class

When do I get to fly business class? ... Is it true that as barristers' incomes grow, they lose touch with the early years of poverty? ... Why is that small licks of money are spent as though the good times never end? ... Junior Junior ponders these and other questions, as she prepares for an economy flight on China Air 

I WAS booking a holiday - if you call flying for 24 hours to spend 10 days in a two-room cottage with your in-laws a holiday - and asked a colleague for suggestions on airlines.

Mr Whingermus said that I absolutely could not fly Qantas and that I must fly business or first class on Singapore Airlines.

I was treated to a detailed exposition on stopovers, airports and the best restaurants in London. Actually, the two-room cottage was in England, but nowhere near London - but no matter.

It was one of those interminable outpourings of information and opinion from which it is difficult to escape. So I listened.

Imagine being able to fly business class. What a treat.

Looks like I'm in economy on Air China.

I cannot guarantee I will arrive in one piece, but at this point in my career I can't afford a good safety rating. 

It got me to thinking about how long it takes before a barrister loses touch with the difficulties of the early years. 

Mr Whingermus wasn't that senior and wasn't from family money, as far as I could tell.

So could it be that 10 years at the bar is enough to erase the memories of the mental, physical and financial anguish of the junior junior barrister?

I have been reliably informed that a junior junior doesn't start to see a payoff at the bar before at least five to seven years.

This means that you are likely to experience a good half a decade of poverty before the massive gamble you took might return dividends.  

Once barristers start making enough to lift themselves above the poverty line, surely it is longer than a few more years before first class air travel is the norm.

While living and working in a broom closet it is difficult to contemplate the importance of personal comfort, but it is utterly fascinating how quickly that can morph into a frenzy of spending.

This happens on a smaller scale when I get paid on a big matter. 

Suddenly the bank account goes from $256 to $10,256 and I feel like a millionaire.

Naturally, I do not fix the eight pairs of high heels awaiting urgent repairs, or pay the electricity bill that is likely to see the power shut off in the next seven days.

Instead, I shoot out to David Jones for a completely unnecessary handbag - a reward for managing to get paid. 

Perhaps my colleague's first class fever is not so strange after all.

The mind is carefully tuned to quickly forget hardship in the face of growing comfort, and therefore it will allow us to spend like the good times will never end. 

Until then, Air China it is.

I suppose 10 days with the in-laws may make me wish I had died in a plane crash, so it doesn't matter that much.