Outside of London the BPTC will set you back £12,000. Inside London, you're looking at closer to £15,000. Add a few thousand more on for living. The costs involved in pursuing a career at the Bar are frightening; but when you consider how many actually pass the course, the costs are enough to trigger a panic attack.
BPTC providers don't tend to publish their results. With good reason, too. See, according to one of my well placed sources, at one leading provider, twenty five per cent of students fail the BPTC. One in four of the mugs who have parted with upwards of £12,000 will fail. The Bar isn't so much a brave career choice, as a foolish one.
Of course, this is where the difference between big bucks corporate education providers and universities is most pronounced. University tutors remain in academia through a geniune infatuation with their subject. Tutors at the big bucks places turn to academia because they're tired of practice; teaching seems sensible. Universities flaunt their academic expertise- their results- because they want to attract the best students. Big bucks places keep schtum because they want to attract everyone. Big bucks places are about the bucks.
It is naieve to think that big bucks places will ever change their core values; plus, this would be an impossible thing to police. What would be easy to police, however, is a requirement that BPTC providers publish their results. Then candidates may make an informed decision about their prospects of passing the course and the quality of the provider's teaching. It's surprisingly simple: at every other stage of our academic careers we have been provided with league table after league table. Why? Because it allows us to make an informed decision; the past academic success of any institution is of direct relevance as we decide whether to embark on studies there. So, why, at the most expensive stage of our academic careers are we denied this information? And, what is more, why do we keep so quiet about it? It's time we started shouting. There's real- frighteningly real- money at stake.
Sunday, 4 December 2011
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
Pupillage Interviews: The Truth
They're not that bad. Not that I've secured a pupillage yet, mind. But, still, not that bad.
Non one's taken great pleasure in tripping me up, either in argument or, even, in a physical sense as I entered the room. Everyone has been pleasant.
Because I had, as I assume you have, heard the stories. The whispered tones, the way that the storyteller won't give you a straight answer when you ask 'at which chambers were you immersed, new suit and polished shoes, into the Temple fountain before being paraded along Fleet Street, wet and drowned and despondent?' I think, I fear, that my sources may have been exaggerating.
But 'not bad' doesn't mean 'not difficult'. The questions were difficult. They've tested my logic, pushed me (gently, though) on a point, given me an advocacy exercise (argue for X, argue against X) and even asked me some HR type questions ('when have you displayed leadership qualities?). That last one- leadership- was impossible. There was no way to answer it without making myself sound like I thought myself some kind of messianic diplomat or, in a simpler term, an arse.
And I know what you may be thinking. Oh, well, whoever is writing this clearly demonstrated the aptitude of- I don't know, you can fill in that- and the interviewing chambers felt sorry for the spectacularly poor applicant and gave them an easy time. This may, indeed, be true for some of my applications; but not, however, for all. I made it through to the final four or five candidates for half of my applications so far. My experiences of the pupillage selection process are, to a point, reliable.
Really, all I wanted to say was this: the interviews really aren't that bad. The interviewing barristers seem to be very nice people indeed.
None nice enough yet to offer me a pupillage. But, anyway.
Non one's taken great pleasure in tripping me up, either in argument or, even, in a physical sense as I entered the room. Everyone has been pleasant.
Because I had, as I assume you have, heard the stories. The whispered tones, the way that the storyteller won't give you a straight answer when you ask 'at which chambers were you immersed, new suit and polished shoes, into the Temple fountain before being paraded along Fleet Street, wet and drowned and despondent?' I think, I fear, that my sources may have been exaggerating.
But 'not bad' doesn't mean 'not difficult'. The questions were difficult. They've tested my logic, pushed me (gently, though) on a point, given me an advocacy exercise (argue for X, argue against X) and even asked me some HR type questions ('when have you displayed leadership qualities?). That last one- leadership- was impossible. There was no way to answer it without making myself sound like I thought myself some kind of messianic diplomat or, in a simpler term, an arse.
And I know what you may be thinking. Oh, well, whoever is writing this clearly demonstrated the aptitude of- I don't know, you can fill in that- and the interviewing chambers felt sorry for the spectacularly poor applicant and gave them an easy time. This may, indeed, be true for some of my applications; but not, however, for all. I made it through to the final four or five candidates for half of my applications so far. My experiences of the pupillage selection process are, to a point, reliable.
Really, all I wanted to say was this: the interviews really aren't that bad. The interviewing barristers seem to be very nice people indeed.
None nice enough yet to offer me a pupillage. But, anyway.
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Making It: The Trouble with Social Mobility
'Prejudice' is a dirty term. 'Social mobility', though, much better. Although I do realise that you will be looking at this and thinking, how can I make such a blunder in the opening sentence of my latest blog? Of course, I realise what that blunder might be. To say that 'prejudice' is a dirty term but 'social mobility' is good is to state the obvious; social mobility (a good thing) is the antagonist of prejudice (a bad thing) and vice versa.
Not so. The Bar is appearing to do all it can to combat prejudice and increase social mobility; it's something that the Bar Council and the Inns pride themselves on. Disadvantage should never be a bar to the Bar. But social mobility is a troublesome term. Inherent within it is the problem I'm getting at. The term contains that idea of 'mobility', movement, between classes. Which we all accept, don't we. But that movement is the very problem.
In saying that there is movement, or indeed a need for mobility, one says that the two things between which one is moving are in separate locations. There are separate. We all accept that the Bar has, traditionally, attracted a certain kind of applicant- a description so well known I shan't revive it now. Social mobility, and the need for it at the Bar, posits the Bar and barristers in the higher echelons of the class system. It is only by 'movement' from one kind of class to another that the 'un-traditional' barrister might enter the profession.
Therein lies the problem. In order to encourage applicants from disadvantaged backgrounds the Bar has had to enter into a dialogue that makes use of that awful term, social mobility. In using the term social mobility the Bar reasserts its status as a career well placed within the higher echelons and attracting people from those higher echelons. This is the difficulty. In saying the Bar is no longer prejudiced, or exclusive, or elitist (though the latter is something that the Bar must always, in a meritocratic sense, be) the Bar is, in using that term social mobility, saying that it still is exactly those same things. In saying that the Bar is something that people from disadvantaged backgrounds must be welcomed up into, the Bar is saying that the Bar is located somewhere up there.
And here it is. Being 'up there' intimidates prospective applicants who between reading the implications contained in that awful term and turning to the alarming pupillage statistics in the back of the Bar Council's, It's Your Call, decide that they'd rather just watch Silk instead. That won't land them £20,000 further in debt with nothing to show. And so, rather than try, they give up.
But that is by no means to say that the Bar's efforts are, in any way, wasted. It's just rather than 'social mobility' another less problematic term is needed. Rather than improving social mobility why don't we forget about class and say this: if you think you've got what it takes, try.
Not so. The Bar is appearing to do all it can to combat prejudice and increase social mobility; it's something that the Bar Council and the Inns pride themselves on. Disadvantage should never be a bar to the Bar. But social mobility is a troublesome term. Inherent within it is the problem I'm getting at. The term contains that idea of 'mobility', movement, between classes. Which we all accept, don't we. But that movement is the very problem.
In saying that there is movement, or indeed a need for mobility, one says that the two things between which one is moving are in separate locations. There are separate. We all accept that the Bar has, traditionally, attracted a certain kind of applicant- a description so well known I shan't revive it now. Social mobility, and the need for it at the Bar, posits the Bar and barristers in the higher echelons of the class system. It is only by 'movement' from one kind of class to another that the 'un-traditional' barrister might enter the profession.
Therein lies the problem. In order to encourage applicants from disadvantaged backgrounds the Bar has had to enter into a dialogue that makes use of that awful term, social mobility. In using the term social mobility the Bar reasserts its status as a career well placed within the higher echelons and attracting people from those higher echelons. This is the difficulty. In saying the Bar is no longer prejudiced, or exclusive, or elitist (though the latter is something that the Bar must always, in a meritocratic sense, be) the Bar is, in using that term social mobility, saying that it still is exactly those same things. In saying that the Bar is something that people from disadvantaged backgrounds must be welcomed up into, the Bar is saying that the Bar is located somewhere up there.
And here it is. Being 'up there' intimidates prospective applicants who between reading the implications contained in that awful term and turning to the alarming pupillage statistics in the back of the Bar Council's, It's Your Call, decide that they'd rather just watch Silk instead. That won't land them £20,000 further in debt with nothing to show. And so, rather than try, they give up.
But that is by no means to say that the Bar's efforts are, in any way, wasted. It's just rather than 'social mobility' another less problematic term is needed. Rather than improving social mobility why don't we forget about class and say this: if you think you've got what it takes, try.
Saturday, 4 December 2010
Debating: How to Survive
I do have a favourite debating stereotype. I remember during my undergraduate days I attended the university debating society. There was something remarkably odd about most of the participants; myself, of course, excluded. They all seemed at first glance fairly quiet. Irritantingly quiet. So quiet it was exhausting to keep a conversation going beyond 'so, have you debated before?' which everyone kept on spitting out at regular intervals.
Something strange, though, happened as soon as they stood up to speak. They were loud, they were brash, they were rude, they were impassioned, they were automatons, they were titans, they were lions. Yes, lions. They were confident to the point of, not so much arrogance but, rather, frightening delusions of grandeur.
The thing that most alarmed me was just how fast they talked. I didn't understand this. Five minutes of talking seemed, to me, a lot. I didn't understand how one might feel that they needed to speak faster in order to cram more in.
I suppose you might attribute their frenzied tempos to nervousness. But it can't have been. They seemed to genuinely believe that they were gifted orators. I couldn't understand a word they were saying.
The moral here is that one shouldn't feel intimated by undergraduates with delusions that they are capable of rhetorical grandeur. Regardless of how well versed an opponent might seem you must not allow that to bother you. The tactics by which the society's members, on the whole, seemed to pursue success were little more than clumsy bullying; they were rude- they attempted to laugh, rather than reason, their opposition out of the debate; the rate and volume at which they spoke served only to humiliate and intimidate their opponents.
You, I trust, on the other hand are a gifted orator. You do not need to resort to rudeness (for which you will get marked down), shouting (too loud and you will get marked down) or being an insufferable twit. What tends to intimidate/impress peers tends to irritate/amuse judges.
As far as the debating spheres are concerned being a nice guy pays off- it's survival.
Something strange, though, happened as soon as they stood up to speak. They were loud, they were brash, they were rude, they were impassioned, they were automatons, they were titans, they were lions. Yes, lions. They were confident to the point of, not so much arrogance but, rather, frightening delusions of grandeur.
The thing that most alarmed me was just how fast they talked. I didn't understand this. Five minutes of talking seemed, to me, a lot. I didn't understand how one might feel that they needed to speak faster in order to cram more in.
I suppose you might attribute their frenzied tempos to nervousness. But it can't have been. They seemed to genuinely believe that they were gifted orators. I couldn't understand a word they were saying.
The moral here is that one shouldn't feel intimated by undergraduates with delusions that they are capable of rhetorical grandeur. Regardless of how well versed an opponent might seem you must not allow that to bother you. The tactics by which the society's members, on the whole, seemed to pursue success were little more than clumsy bullying; they were rude- they attempted to laugh, rather than reason, their opposition out of the debate; the rate and volume at which they spoke served only to humiliate and intimidate their opponents.
You, I trust, on the other hand are a gifted orator. You do not need to resort to rudeness (for which you will get marked down), shouting (too loud and you will get marked down) or being an insufferable twit. What tends to intimidate/impress peers tends to irritate/amuse judges.
As far as the debating spheres are concerned being a nice guy pays off- it's survival.
Friday, 5 November 2010
Do Believe the Truth: Getting to Grips with the GDL
Important message there: believe the truth. Believe what you hear. All of it. The GDL is intense in the exactly the same way as an invasive medical procedure: uncomfortable, immediately strange but, in the long term, of benefit. Unquestionable benefit. This qualification is the thing which will set you off along your journey to the Bar. It is, as invasive medical procedures are, absolutely vital.
There is much work to be done. Even after gaining a degree from a prestigious university I was a little put out by the amount of work involved. It is not that the GDL requires the breadth of thought that a degree does, nor does it foster the an idea of the sanctity of thinking in the way a degree does, or should. It is that there is much to read. Pages and pages and chapters and chapters. And this reading is not something that can be missed: if you don't do it then you don't have a hope.
The answer to this, of course, is to just do the reading. At the beginning of the course allow a little more than the time your provider allocates you. Take your time with it. Trusts are never going to make sense if you only give them half an hour on the train in. Make notes; not reams; bullet points. Arm yourself with stationary. Tag things. Highlight things. Make a table of cases for each chapter or unit; that is, case names and then a few bullet points of explanation. These tables will be like rather plain looking deitites come exam time. Keep on looking over the work that you've covered: half an hour consolidation will really benefit you when revision comes. Be organised. if you come across any extra reading sections then get hold of a recommended article. You'll learn more than your classmates whilst consolidating the work that you've already covered. Extra reading is always a win-win. Make the time.
Hit the ground running for dear life. Debating competitions? Enter them. Mooting competitions? Enter them. Even without any legal experience and if you have never debated before and the thought of asking for a 'point of information' brings on a migraine, enter them. If you lose it doesn't matter. You haven't actually lost anything. What you've gained is far more important: experience in public speaking, thinking on your feet etc. And next time you stand up in a debate to submit an argument it will be better. It's surprising how quickly you improve with things like this. The most difficult thing is making a start.
Another place to start is the career's service. Book yourself in for an appointment. First week. No excuses. Find out what you need to be doing.
Sensible advice. Obvious, too. But it works.
There is much work to be done. Even after gaining a degree from a prestigious university I was a little put out by the amount of work involved. It is not that the GDL requires the breadth of thought that a degree does, nor does it foster the an idea of the sanctity of thinking in the way a degree does, or should. It is that there is much to read. Pages and pages and chapters and chapters. And this reading is not something that can be missed: if you don't do it then you don't have a hope.
The answer to this, of course, is to just do the reading. At the beginning of the course allow a little more than the time your provider allocates you. Take your time with it. Trusts are never going to make sense if you only give them half an hour on the train in. Make notes; not reams; bullet points. Arm yourself with stationary. Tag things. Highlight things. Make a table of cases for each chapter or unit; that is, case names and then a few bullet points of explanation. These tables will be like rather plain looking deitites come exam time. Keep on looking over the work that you've covered: half an hour consolidation will really benefit you when revision comes. Be organised. if you come across any extra reading sections then get hold of a recommended article. You'll learn more than your classmates whilst consolidating the work that you've already covered. Extra reading is always a win-win. Make the time.
Hit the ground running for dear life. Debating competitions? Enter them. Mooting competitions? Enter them. Even without any legal experience and if you have never debated before and the thought of asking for a 'point of information' brings on a migraine, enter them. If you lose it doesn't matter. You haven't actually lost anything. What you've gained is far more important: experience in public speaking, thinking on your feet etc. And next time you stand up in a debate to submit an argument it will be better. It's surprising how quickly you improve with things like this. The most difficult thing is making a start.
Another place to start is the career's service. Book yourself in for an appointment. First week. No excuses. Find out what you need to be doing.
Sensible advice. Obvious, too. But it works.
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Nosiness: Sitting in the Public Gallery
Some of us have never entered a courtroom; this, for many, is considered to be a good thing. However for the aspiring barrister, it seems a little silly to decide to pursue a career at the Bar having never entered the place where much of your career will pan out. The obvious danger here is that one might have what is, unfortunately, a common misconception of what a day in court entails. This common misconception usually has the characters that you would expect: judge, jury, defendant, witnesses, clerks etc. In this particular misconception the defendant, upon assuming the stand, begins to give his account in the elevated medium of popular song. Suddenly the jury, overcome with what appears to be a surprising amount of glee for a bleak looking crown court, begins to sing and freestyle dance; the witnesses, too, sing along and even the judge is taken by the occasion. A rising string section accompanies the brittle tenor of the 'gritty' looking defendant who, it turns out, is known by the name of 'Plan B' and is in court, presumably, for crimes against soul, pop, the misrepresentation of a Crown Court, and, in that misrepresentation, his creation of a whole generation of would-be lawyers who think that the most important thing one needs for a successful career is a handful of bad rhymes and a basic sense of rhythm.
Though, forgive me, I am told by people 'in the know' that Plan B's ballad 'She Said' and his accompanying video is a searing exploration of the degeneration of the heterosexual ideal.
But there is some method in this madness: embarking on legal studies is not sensible if you have not had a previous foray into musical theatre, sorry, court. One can have, thanks to any number of sources, an incorrect impression of what court entails. Thankfully, first hand experience of court is perfectly possible without having to go about finding a mini-pupillage. Courts are open to the public and you can sit in on trials and see for yourself.
You can, technically, sit in on cases the House of Lords, Court of Appeal, High Court of Justice and County Courts and watch; but doing so is tricky. Cases will often be closed to the public and you must be organised and check the relevant websites for information. The Magistrates' and Crown Courts are much simpler; in fact, all you have to do is turn up.
It doesn't matter, as Jagger would say, what clothes you wear, just as long as you are there. Unlike mini-pupillage there is no need for formal dress. Although, perhaps, your PVC catsuit would not be appropriate. Once inside you will be greeted by a friendly, or not so friendly, person in a security uniform who will ask you to place your bag and anything metal that might set an alarm off on a table. There will then be an embarrassing moment when the security person looks inside your bag. They then, providing you haven't tried to smuggle in a video camera and tripod (no recording equipment allowed), will ask you to walk through a detector. Once through, you will be directed to the usher at reception where you will say soemthing along the lines of 'I am a student and want to watch a case'. You are then pointed towards the appropriate court.
It is that easy.
You can then mention that you have gone to the trouble of nosing around, I mean seeing, the inside of a courtroom in law school/university applications, mini-pupillage applications, and at interviews.
You will also have some idea of whether a career at the Bar is for you.
But you will also, and most importantly, draw the conclusion that successful advocacy does not depend on a aptitude for doggerel, nor for the elevated couplets that our gritty troubadour, Plan B, is so skilled in.
Though, forgive me, I am told by people 'in the know' that Plan B's ballad 'She Said' and his accompanying video is a searing exploration of the degeneration of the heterosexual ideal.
But there is some method in this madness: embarking on legal studies is not sensible if you have not had a previous foray into musical theatre, sorry, court. One can have, thanks to any number of sources, an incorrect impression of what court entails. Thankfully, first hand experience of court is perfectly possible without having to go about finding a mini-pupillage. Courts are open to the public and you can sit in on trials and see for yourself.
You can, technically, sit in on cases the House of Lords, Court of Appeal, High Court of Justice and County Courts and watch; but doing so is tricky. Cases will often be closed to the public and you must be organised and check the relevant websites for information. The Magistrates' and Crown Courts are much simpler; in fact, all you have to do is turn up.
It doesn't matter, as Jagger would say, what clothes you wear, just as long as you are there. Unlike mini-pupillage there is no need for formal dress. Although, perhaps, your PVC catsuit would not be appropriate. Once inside you will be greeted by a friendly, or not so friendly, person in a security uniform who will ask you to place your bag and anything metal that might set an alarm off on a table. There will then be an embarrassing moment when the security person looks inside your bag. They then, providing you haven't tried to smuggle in a video camera and tripod (no recording equipment allowed), will ask you to walk through a detector. Once through, you will be directed to the usher at reception where you will say soemthing along the lines of 'I am a student and want to watch a case'. You are then pointed towards the appropriate court.
It is that easy.
You can then mention that you have gone to the trouble of nosing around, I mean seeing, the inside of a courtroom in law school/university applications, mini-pupillage applications, and at interviews.
You will also have some idea of whether a career at the Bar is for you.
But you will also, and most importantly, draw the conclusion that successful advocacy does not depend on a aptitude for doggerel, nor for the elevated couplets that our gritty troubadour, Plan B, is so skilled in.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Putting Yourself About: Law Fairs and Mini-pupillages
These are wonderful events at universities that happen in the Autumn term. Law firms pitch up at your university for the day with a stall and enough pens to keep you out of W. H. Smith for life. There are many varieties of pens on offer from ball points to fountain pens to highlighters to rainbow highlighters (these are many different coloured highlighters in one pen) and then a plethora of other indispensible items such as alarm clocks to small diaries to mugs. The other indispensible items to be found at the law fair are two usually expensive, but a law fairs free, publications: Chambers Student Guide and the Pupillage Handbook. Pick up both, even though they will put your back out. Each contains invaluable advice for all elements of your path to the Bar.
But apart from the stationary, and an alarm clock whose mechanism you never be able to fathom, there are people, real live people, working in the law who can offer you advice and if you are very lucky, or pushy, work experience. So do make the effort to talk to everybody you can there: you never know what will come of it.
Of course work experience for aspiring barristers isn't called work experience but, instead, mini-pupillage. Mini-pupillage is when you spend a couple of days to a week in a barrister's chambers. You will sit on in conferences, go to court, read skeleton arguments and perhaps, if you are again very lucky, get taken for a coffee.
Word of advice now. The night before you begin mini-pupillage go for a walk and make sure you know how to get there. There is nothing as embarrassing as being late on your very first day. Wear a dark suit. Chambers' websites do normally dictate a dress code for mini-pupils but that dress code doesn't normally deviate from a dark, sober suit. Also wear comfortable shoes. On my first mini-pupillage I spent a significant amount of time ducking in and out of toilets putting plasters on my bleeding, blistered feet. If anything can be gained from my misfortune, it is that you and your feet can be spared it.
On the morning that you arrive you will be directed to the clerks. Clerks are very important. They are not receptionist. They are not diary handlers. They are not tea ladies. They are the men and women in whose hands your early career rests. They can make your career by ensuring that work comes your way. Do be nice to them.
The clerks will tell you who you will be with that day. It is rare that you will be with one barrister for an entire day, let alone for your entire mini-pupillage. You will be shunted from tenant to tenant and, as I found on one mini-pupillage, from court to court.
On this particular mini-pupillage my A-Z was invaluable: I would never have made any court sittings without it. Even with it, I still had to ask every body from school children to the person next to me on the tube (yes I broke the unspoken rule of silence on the tube) where whichever County Court was. Buy an A-Z. And always leave as much time as you can to get from one place to the next.
Conferences are tricky. Conferences are where a barrister will meet either in person or talk on the phone with clients or other legal professionals. During a telephone conference shut up. During a conference-conference, either video or in person, acknowledge those attending either with a handshake or smile. Whilst you do not want to try and start running the show, neither do you want to be seen as socially inept or, worse, just plain rude. Don't start offering advice during the conference: your opinion is totally irrelevant not to mention, I imagine, totally uninformed. Remember even though you aren't affiliated with the chambers you are, for your time with them, to a certain extent, representing them. One of the aspects of conferences that I enjoyed most was the biscuits; although the quality of these differs from chambers to chambers.
Take notes- though not during the conferences. Chambers will ask you at the beginning of your mini to sign a confidentiality agreement so I really don't think that clients will appreciate an upstart in a suit noting down the intricacies of their private matters. make a couple of notes afterwards (that don't mention names) so you can talk about what you learnt during your mini at pupillage and scholarship interviews.
At the end of your mini-pupillage say thank you to those very important people I mentioned. What do you mean "who?" The clerks.
Then leave and take yourself and your blistered feet back to your hotel room or friend's back room and pass out, exhausted, at 6pm in the evening.
.
But apart from the stationary, and an alarm clock whose mechanism you never be able to fathom, there are people, real live people, working in the law who can offer you advice and if you are very lucky, or pushy, work experience. So do make the effort to talk to everybody you can there: you never know what will come of it.
Of course work experience for aspiring barristers isn't called work experience but, instead, mini-pupillage. Mini-pupillage is when you spend a couple of days to a week in a barrister's chambers. You will sit on in conferences, go to court, read skeleton arguments and perhaps, if you are again very lucky, get taken for a coffee.
Word of advice now. The night before you begin mini-pupillage go for a walk and make sure you know how to get there. There is nothing as embarrassing as being late on your very first day. Wear a dark suit. Chambers' websites do normally dictate a dress code for mini-pupils but that dress code doesn't normally deviate from a dark, sober suit. Also wear comfortable shoes. On my first mini-pupillage I spent a significant amount of time ducking in and out of toilets putting plasters on my bleeding, blistered feet. If anything can be gained from my misfortune, it is that you and your feet can be spared it.
On the morning that you arrive you will be directed to the clerks. Clerks are very important. They are not receptionist. They are not diary handlers. They are not tea ladies. They are the men and women in whose hands your early career rests. They can make your career by ensuring that work comes your way. Do be nice to them.
The clerks will tell you who you will be with that day. It is rare that you will be with one barrister for an entire day, let alone for your entire mini-pupillage. You will be shunted from tenant to tenant and, as I found on one mini-pupillage, from court to court.
On this particular mini-pupillage my A-Z was invaluable: I would never have made any court sittings without it. Even with it, I still had to ask every body from school children to the person next to me on the tube (yes I broke the unspoken rule of silence on the tube) where whichever County Court was. Buy an A-Z. And always leave as much time as you can to get from one place to the next.
Conferences are tricky. Conferences are where a barrister will meet either in person or talk on the phone with clients or other legal professionals. During a telephone conference shut up. During a conference-conference, either video or in person, acknowledge those attending either with a handshake or smile. Whilst you do not want to try and start running the show, neither do you want to be seen as socially inept or, worse, just plain rude. Don't start offering advice during the conference: your opinion is totally irrelevant not to mention, I imagine, totally uninformed. Remember even though you aren't affiliated with the chambers you are, for your time with them, to a certain extent, representing them. One of the aspects of conferences that I enjoyed most was the biscuits; although the quality of these differs from chambers to chambers.
Take notes- though not during the conferences. Chambers will ask you at the beginning of your mini to sign a confidentiality agreement so I really don't think that clients will appreciate an upstart in a suit noting down the intricacies of their private matters. make a couple of notes afterwards (that don't mention names) so you can talk about what you learnt during your mini at pupillage and scholarship interviews.
At the end of your mini-pupillage say thank you to those very important people I mentioned. What do you mean "who?" The clerks.
Then leave and take yourself and your blistered feet back to your hotel room or friend's back room and pass out, exhausted, at 6pm in the evening.
.
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