'Tis the season

Boxes of chocs ... Snowglobes ... Commemorative royal wedding paraphernalia ... The 'staves agonise over what to get their judges for Christmas ... Tippy on the search for something credible

What does one get the judge who has everything?

'Tis a vexed question to which 'staves are turning their minds as law term end looms.

Trapped under the watchful eyes of our respective associates one afternoon, Gus and I are warding off Chambers Fever - a potentially fatal strain of Cabin Fever - by compiling a Judicial Gift Guide for the credulous in our midst.

(Mindful of the proper use of work email systems, we will be printing it out on the floor and distributing it as an official memo).

"Jumbo Cadbury Milk Tray?", Gus suggests in the subject line of an email.

I had toyed with a giant block of triangular Toblerone, or a personalised assortment of Pick 'n Mix treats, but I think mass-market milk chocolates strike the right note of credible gauchery.

"It's got gravitas, G", I shoot back.

Already on the list are: snow-globe paperweights, a dancing Santa for the doorway, and a careful (some might even say judicious) selection of those In a Nutshell... guides that are a must-have for any serious legal library.

The rapidity with which Gus and I tap out suggestion and enthusiastic reply gives the impression of great efficiency in attending to our official duties - save for the odd snicker, which cannot be attributed to readings from AustLII.

Not that we use that unreliable source for legislation, mind you.

Of course, G and I are serious about getting the big wigs something by which to remember us.

Something that softens the memory of sour milk and broken mugs and endears us, in retrospect, to our respective employers.

Briefly, I floated tickets to the Oprah taping at the Opera House as a non-serious offering, before I logged onto Facebook and discovered Gus' boyfriend had triumphantly posted on his wall: "Got tix to Operah [sic]!!! BIG BIG BIG!!! :)))"

I considered it behoved me to hold my tongue about his boyfriend's deficiencies in the spelling department, to say nothing of the deranged punctuation.

"It wouldn't be fair if he could spell, really," chambers mate Emma counsels wisely. "He's very pretty."

Emma is one of the lucky few who has real, engaging discussions with her judge on intellectual topics, sometimes even straying into the law.

It helps if one has the intellectual curiosity and the learning: Plastic Man has a touch of the former - mostly feigned - but none of the latter; Gus and I have neither in measurable quantity.

I see Emma's type in the lift on occasion. While HH and I have an awkward respect for one another, along with utter incomprehension, some judges and their 'staves have riotously jolly times chatting away about everything from equitable maxims to Big Willie and Babykins' engagement.

Ooh, which reminds.

"Commemorative royal wedding mug?", I email Gus.

"Bidding for one on eBay. How do you reckon KM gets her hair so bouncy and shiny??", he sends back.

Right then. Back to work it is.