The joys of the duty barrister

Our reader learns how to deal with real people ... Humanity waits at the door of the duty barrister ... It's a shock ... Nut cases and whingers abound ... Junior Junior is skaken 

There's nothing quite as exquisite as cancelling paid work to hang out at the Drowning Centre and work on the fly.

I know it is considered one's civic duty, but sometimes it is enough to drive a barrister to drink (as opposed to many of clients, who do it the other way around).

In the morning, I am accosted by various characters that come from far and wide to visit court 5.1.

Everyone, from regular affray-ers to parking tickets dodgers who are objecting on principle.

There is no set character type. From mums to grandpas, from bogans to businessman. 

They can be readily catagorised into one of two types: too poor or too cheap to pay for a lawyer.

The too poor I don't mind. The too cheap deeply irritate me.

Of course, we help them all as good little semi-civil servants should.

The morning onslaught normally peters out by lunchtime. Occasionally lunchtime will be spent preparing for an afternoon hearing.

This is the holy grail of duty barrister-ing for a reader. You get to do real work. Real examination and cross-examination. Something rarely encountered by most readers.

However, if you haven't had the good fortune to pick-up a very last minute hearing, the afternoon holds something quite horrible.

These "clients" are usually always mature-aged law students with a grievance.

They wait outside until you arrive back from lunch, knowing the duty barrister is alone and vulnerable.

They range from the slightly aggrieved seeking advice about putting in a claim, to the full-on vexatious nutter who demands someone agree that their life is a series of tragedies, all of which can sound in damages.

I know their stories: the woman whose dentist failed to sufficiently whiten her teeth ... the student who didn't pass a subject because the lecturer harboured a secret hatred of him (entirely understandable).

They are a nightmare. I listen to their irritating stories for a couple of hours before occasionally having to use physical force to remove them from the duty barristers' room. 

The truly obsessed have followed me down in the lift to maximise their whinging time.

I have discovered an effective way to terminate these monologues is to give them the phone number of a plaintiff firm that does spec work. 

Then they have another person they can complain to for hours, for free.

Yet, the duty barrister scheme is a brilliant learning experience for Junior Junior. If nothing else I've refined the skill of cutting people short, and locking the room before 2pm.