- He scores! Yeah! - Hoo hoo hoo!
- She'll get it, won't she? - Yeah, she'll get it.
Our very own silk.
You know what I hated about the Major years?
- Leaving aside John for the moment. - Leaving Mr Major toone side.
That wedge of lime in the top of the beer bottle shit.
- That and Cecil. - I bet you voted Tory, didn't you, Peter?
- I'm not prepared to say. - In other words, yes.
She'll get it, won't she - Wendy?
If you suck on a lime,
you get that Cecil posh-Parkinson prick pained look.
- And here she comes! - Wendy de Souza, QC, as of tomorrow.
- You're looking... - Yes?
- Um... - Very...
Very silky, actually, Wendy.
Very silky.
♪ Don't you ever stop long enough to start?
♪ Get your car out of that gear
T- H-R-O-A-T.
Throat. Yeah, that's his name.
Yeah, all right.
Throat? Throat, Bob?
You don't seriously think my leak in the Lord Chancellor's department
is really actually called Deep Throat?
I'd like to speak to Mr Smith, please.
My name's Verdi. Giuseppe Verdi. V- E-R-D-I.
He's got a source inside.
Someone who'll tell us if Miss de Souza's gonna get silk ahead of the announcement.
Call Mr Throat, Bob.
Where is he? I need to speak to him.
He's supposed to have been ringing me back for days. Yeah, right. Bye.
- Big fat brief with my name on. - High-profile race attack with your name on.
- However... - However?
- Like I said, it's high profile. - How high?
High enough to boost a senior colleague's profile and profit this set of chambers.
By senior colleague I'm assuming you mean Wendy.
Mr Guthrie? Dog plays kiss chase with a small flock of sheep.
Twoo'clock in the Mags, 110'clock in chambers.
- I'm going to ask for 350? - Make it five.
- 5ooon the brief. Take it or leave it. - Hang on.
- You can have half a day with the baby. - Great. Bike the papers over.
- You're unbelievable. - I'm a force of nature, best there is. Trust me.
Unbelievable.
Ah, just the gifted brief I wanted to see.
GBH and false imprisonment. Solicitor asked for you specially.
- Anything out of the ordinary? - Not that I'm aware of.
- I need your answer in ten minutes. - You'll have it in five.
If she won't do it, I'll be delighted to be your second choice.
- Rose? - Stomach.
Birth muscles.
18, 20...
Ha ha!
Anything wild and outrageous planned when you get your good news on Thursday?
- Oh, sorry, you don't want to... - Everyone's presuming I'm home and dry.
What do you think?
I think you've got a good chance.
But you can never tell how the legal establishment really works.
Meaning?
Meaning old, white, male judges
might not think you're a good idea.
- Or... - Or?
Or they might think the Bar right now could do with a few more black, female silks.
Oh, sorry. That came out wrong.
I don't see how it could have come out not wrong.
- You're a dog. - Depends who you talk to.
You're a Scottie dog in a field of sheep. What do you do?
- I worry them. - Because?
- It's my doggy destiny. - To worry.
From the Middle Low German wurgen, meaning "to kill".
Try not to sound like every utterance is the product of weeks of revision. Naff.
Mediocre men often have the most acquired knowledge, according to Claude Bernard.
1813 to1878.
We rest our case.
What case would that be?
We're just trying to educate your pupil
against flaunting his intellect.
They're easily intimidated. I stick to words of one or two syllables when they're in the room.
Why Miss de Souza on the fat one, and Mr Guthrie on the dock?
Positive discrimination.
My greyhound, right.
- The racer. - The racer.
- He's disadvantaged by virtue of his birth. - What happened at his birth?
Not his birth. What he came into the world with.
He needs a bit of help so he spends time at the chemist.
- Doing what? - Getting help.
- What's his disadvantage? - Massive bollocks.
Slows him up, the size of his downstairs.
- What help? - Bucket loads of steroids.
Gives him the whoompf to compensate for the downstairs birth disadvantage.
That makes the downstairs smaller, the steroids, by the by.
Think of Wendy as a brilliant greyhound with massive bollocks slowing her down.
So, what you got to do?
Go to the chemist.
Give her steroids.
Feed her bucketloads of big fat briefs and whoompf!
Off she goes.
If I got silk, I'd run topless round the square with my knickers on my head,
screaming my head off.
Sorry?
- Just talking about my knickers. - What about them?
Er, elastic's cutting me in half.
Rose, we are the same age. It could have been you up for silk.
I think two women applying at the same time from the same chambers
might not have been a good idea.
From the point of view of the fat, white, male judges.
Yeah.
I want to be kept out of court tomorrow.
- Why? - Daniel.
I want to spend some time with my son.
Yeah, all right.
I understand if Billy's tied up.
I'm simply voicing my unease at going with Wendy.
Adrian, she's top class.
Your tongue should be halfway up my arse in gratitude.
Setting aside the repellently unhygienic nature of that image,
I repeat, Wendy's excellence is not in question.
My client is an ideological racist
who wears his twisted little heart on his sleeve.
With Wendy for a brief, I'm worried the whole enterprise could get a bit too... theatrical.
Juries aren't entirely stupid, Peter.
They don't know her. She'll do anything, use anything to win a case.
A very brilliant and very very frightening woman. Trust me.
I thought we were all a little bit classier than this. Hello, Adrian.
You're the best and this charmer's going to need every gram of it. End of.
He broke into a black woman's flat, tied her to a chair,
and shaved her head with a cutthroat razor.
Allegedly.
Bit handy that he pitches up with a nicely-tanned counsel?
Like I said, he's going to need the best.
Promise me that's all this is.
Adrian requested you on repute and repute alone. Am I right, Adrian?
I like my clients to have the best briefs possible.
That way the recidivists amongst them keep coming back to me.
- I'll need a white, male junior. - Alex is free.
Have him meet us for a drink in ten minutes.
Don't ever be tempted to come to the Bar, will you.
If you had to be professionally sincere for a living, you'd starve.
Anyone nice?
Just a drink with Helen.
Helen?
She does exist as our friend in her own right.
- Alex? - I never said she didn't.
The fact of Stevie doesn't mean Helen has to disappear for the rest of us.
I haven't suggested it should.
Well, that's all right, then.
Have I suggested it should?
I've got a very flat tummy. I've just got a very fat cheque in.
You are gorgeous. Would you like a drink with Superwoman
before we go home to mashed bananas and projectile vomiting?
To think it used to be lager, curry and projectile vomiting.
Alice thinks you're being so nice to me because you're after something.
I'm being nice because you're going through a difficult time and I want to look after you.
- Thank you very much. - You're welcome.
- You're all right. - Rose...
Cut the niceness. Just tell me.
Do you think Wilson's going to let one punch go all the way?
He'd be crazy to.
He just wants to make you sweat a little.
Let's not waste another moment's thought on it.
What are you doing tomorrow?
Pet dog worrying sheep.
Pet dog? You?
I know, but it's a favour for Peter.
A favour for Peter? No.
I tell you what it is. It's a fucking cheek.
You didn't answer my question.
- I did. - Not really.
Not really.
The answer's no.
I don't think Wilson's going to stand up in court and end your career.
- You look shattered. - Thank you.
Sorry, you've just started an A&E rotation.
Lot of kids. Kids being sick, kids skidding on sick and twisting things,
kids falling onto things, falling off things, sticking things in themselves.
I put a raisin up my nose once.
Right. Did it come out?
- Yes. - Right.
- Drink? - Uh-huh.
Good.
Tom.
Can we please not go in there?
You haven't done anything wrong. It's him.
You shouldn't not do what you would do if he hadn't...
- Did that make any sense? - No.
No.
Come on.
- Tom? - Yes.
- Thanks. - Pleasure.
What's your favourite definition of recklessness?
Caldwell recklessness or Lawrence recklessness?
I thought I might find you here, Miss.
A nice little industrial tribunal case for you.
Sexual harassment. Halifax tomorrow morning.
- Thank you very much. - You don't have to thank me. It's my job.
Anything for me?
If something comes in, yeah.
Well, that came in.
- Better chance of a result with Miss Black, sir. - On the case or you?
I don't know what you're talking about, sir.
I think Johnny Boy's a little smitten with you, Morag.
Don't be ridiculous.
Favourite death row song. Anyone?
- Tough. - Very tough.
But...
- Tom or Terry. - Got to be. Obviously.
- Which? - Terry.
Goodbye, Michelle, it's hard to die. When all the birds are singing in the sky.
- Terry Jacks. - Tom.
♪ Then I awake and look around me
♪ At the four grey walls that surround me
♪ And I realise that I was only dreaming
♪ There's a guard and there's a sad old padre
♪ Arm in arm we'll walk at daybreak
♪ Again I touch the green, green grass of home
Hey!
- Tom Jones. - Deeply moving. But which?
- Jacks or Jones? - It's so hard.
So hard.
- Fuck it. - Fuck it.
Jones.
Favourite pope. Anyone?
I'd better...
- Yeah. - Favourite Bee Gee? Anyone?
No witnesses.
Effectively it's our client's word against hers.
On balance, I'd take hers, wouldn't you?
Wouldn't anyone outside the Third Reich?
A well-known local racist breaks into the home of a well-known local anti-racist
and hacks off her dreadlocks.
There's a limit to everyone's stupidity, Alex.
Whatever else he is, Gary Booth is not stupid.
And he'll be mild mannered and well dressed with a very sensible haircut.
Have a bit of fun with him.
I want to see how easily he'll be rattled if and when he goes into the box.
De Souza. It's Portuguese in origin, which would root your family in Ceylon
and then west via Tanzania, Uganda. Yes?
Hey, you're really good.
If you ever get fed up running a Fascist bookshop you should set up as a travel agent.
Family self-sacrifice to send you to private school
where you overcame significant prejudice to prove yourself equal to, if not better than,
your indigenous peers.
Very impressive. You couldn't tell us who's going to win the 2:30 at Kempton Park?
Or the odds on me meeting a tall, dark stranger, or even a short one. I'm not fussy.
Preferably female.
You're quite a cliché, Miss de Souza.
The complete embodiment of immigrant overachievement.
And you know all this how exactly?
Intelligence.
There must be more constructive ways to spend your free time, Gary.
Think of all the charity work you could be doing.
Meals on wheels, reading to the blind,
helping inner city Bangladeshi kids with their English.
Free time is an alien concept to me.
The white Englishman's struggle to survive in his own country is ongoing.
Tell me about it. There's Indian restaurants all over the place, Chinese restaurants,
tapas bars, bistros, fantastically well-stocked groceries open all hours.
Multi-culturalism is such a bad thing.
So you do accept the concept of non-white English people?
I accept the laws of this land as they stand.
I also accept my right to challenge them, as I see fit.
What about Kate Josephs' right to have hair on her head?
Cheap intimidation may be your style but as my record plainly shows, it is hardly mine.
The good cop, bad cop routine is getting tiresome.
I'm a proper grown-up. Don't fuck me about.
Seems like a nice man, Wendy's client. Suit and stuff.
- Is she all right? - Think so.
Why this case now, Peter?
The old farts sit down on the Wendy question.
They can doone of two things.
Put the Q and the C at the end of de Souza cos the Bar needs black doris silks.
- The greyhound thing. - The greyhound thing.
Or the old farts go noon her cos they don't like black dorises on account of their old fartness.
So why this case now?
Because either way, yes or no, she has to know.
She's not a black barrister. She's a barrister.
That's what the Nazi in the suit's going to teach you.
- Brilliant. - It's brilliant.
It's top-class clerking.
Ha ha. Wooh.
Wooh!
Eh? Eh?
Boo.
How do you expect me to feed him when you're making him laugh?
He likes mealtimes to be fun. Boo!
I do know. I do know what my son likes, Billy.
- I just meant... - What?
- All I meant was... - I think the words you're searching for are...
"Bye-bye, Rose, I think I'm going to work now."
Bye-bye, Rose. I think I'm going to work now.
Bye, Daniel.
Be gentle with her.
I'll give you a fiver if you eat this.
All right. A tenner.
Would you do it for a tenner?
- You're a little Scottie dog. - If you say so.
- You chase sheep, but... - But?
...you make no attempt to bite them.
- I'm a dog with an identity crisis. - Or?
I'm a dog with no teeth and terrific self-awareness.
- Or? - Just a very very stupid dog.
£350.
My final offer.
Daniel.
Oh, thank you.
Bugger.
- Tom Mitford's plea's turned into a fight. - So?
He's booked into two courts at once at twoo'clock.
- Bugger. - Hang on.
Let me see that.
- Bollocks. - What is it?
Looks like Billy's going to trial.
North Square.
Peter, I think you'll want to take this. It's Mr Throat from the Lord Chancellor's office.
OK, what do we think?
Does he or doesn't he go into the witness box?
Juries like their racists to be thick and wearing big boots.
Charming and articulate will scare the hell out of them.
But it's his word against hers.
If he doesn't, the judge will instruct the jury to infer what they like from his silence,
- from which they will... - Infer that he's guilty.
- Have you heard yet? - The list hasn't been announced yet.
- It's merely a formality. - There's a time and a place. This is neither.
Sorry.
All I'm saying is, he isn't just a racist.
He's the updated version of Mein fucking Kampf.
If he opens his mouth in court, the prosecution will jump down his throat
and tear out the cold stone that passes for his heart.
What time is it?
Ten.
We'd better start talking to him.
Mr Booth, our job is to defend you according to your instructions.
I hope you didn't mind my thumbnail portrait of you. I was merely making a point.
I'm not paid to concern myself over your personal opinions.
I genuinely admire you,
and people like you, who integrate with and enrich the wealth and spirit of my nation.
I can't instruct you not to go into the witness box.
The world is a smaller place than it was.
A degree of ethnic amalgamation is inevitable.
I'm a realist.
My argument is against crude racial mixing, not selective racial blending.
I'm telling you going into the box would be against your interests.
You hold certain views the prosecution will be keen to explore
and that would finish you.
I advise you to take my advice.
I'm entitled to my moment in court.
And if you insist on having it,
your moment in court will probably turn into many many moments in prison.
Even though there's no hard evidence to convict me?
If they hear you speak, the jury won't need any.
This isn't the Oxford Debating Chamber. It's not for or against.
It's guilty or not guilty. Whatever that means to them.
And they'll be talking about their jury service for years to come
while you're in Armley Prison.
What do you suggest?
- Billy's summons, who tells him? - You.
- No. - Rose.
- Yeah. Why? - Why?
- Cos she's great. - No.
Cos she'll be deeply pissed off being dragged in from domestic bliss to cover for Mr Mitford.
So?
So, when Rose gets here, she stamps her foot and stares me in the eye, which I soak up.
When she's full blast, my face collapses into sadness
she so misread the warmth of the cockles which is in my heart.
What?
"I called you in here, Miss, 5% because of Mr Mitford. I admit that.
But really, truly, because you need to be the one to tell Billy, who we all love,
about his summons."
Clerking lesson. Heart on sleeve whenever possible.
Brilliant.
Wendy - no silk. Now or later? When's she told? During her trial or after?
- She didn't get it? - She didn't get it.
- Shit. - Shit.
Call Marlowe. Set up a meet.
I need to find out if he's got a leak on the new silks too.
- Peter, why didn't she get it? - Call Marlowe!
- Mop and a bucket. Where? - In the kitchen. Why?
My client's just shat himself on the floor.
Bob? All yours.
It's not a problem. I'll clean it up. It's what Bob does.
Mr Roberts, even though this has been explained to you at length several times,
let me goover it once more.
Your dog is not being hounded for hurting Mr Ward's ewes, but for worrying them.
How could a dog like Charlie worry animals five times his size?
That, Mr Roberts, is for the prosecution to prove, and they will scarcely break sweat proving it.
You were on agricultural land.
Charlie slipped his lead, and although only a small dog
became at large in an enclosure in which sheep were present.
Setting aside the two lambs that were miscarried three days after the incident,
in that scenario alone, Charlie is deemed to have worried Mr Ward's livestock,
for which you will be held liable, and Charlie may be punished.
Me and him's been together 16 years.
Still fetches my paper in the morning and my slippers at night.
Still licks my face when I come home of an evening.
Amazing.
Amazing. Look, Mr Roberts, it's not unknown in cases like these
for a particularly punitive bench toorder the dog in question to be put down.
- I won't let 'em! - It's not in your power to stop them.
But if you listen to me very very carefully
I'll explain why I believe the best defence for Charlie
is tooffer no defence whatsoever.
Just look me in the eye and tell me you haven't heard.
If I do at this speed, I'm liable to fall over and break my neck.
- Have you heard any news? - Not yet. Jesus Christ. Not yet!
Billy said you were being Mummy this morning.
I was. Then Peter had another idea.
Whatever happened to free will?
The concept breaks down when god is a senior clerk.
- Alex! - All right.
Wait.
We both know he's a good man - Billy.
Yes, we do.
But it was not right of him to hit Wilson.
No, it wasn't.
All this going to court, getting ugly with each other,
press all over it is not a good thing.
That's a decision for Leo Wilson.
QC.
You're very good at inscrutable, Peter,
but I saw your cheek twitch.
I saw you shift in your chair.
Leo Wilson, QC.
You not heard about Wendy, then?
Goon. Ask me.
Put your pride away and ask the question.
Did Wendy de Souza get silk or not?
Peter?
And the rest is silence.
- Where's Wendy? - She's in court.
- Where's Billy? - Court.
Why am I here, Peter?
- Have a seat. - Why am I here, Peter?
Tom's double-booked, twoo'clock.
- And? - Have a seat, Miss.
Leo Wilson's prosecuting Billy's dog.
And?
He offered his services free of charge to the CPS.
It's all getting a bit childish, prosecuting a dog just to get in Billy's face.
Speaking of which...
- God. - Yeah.
He's going through with it.
I thought it would be better coming from you.
- From me? - To Billy.
- He'll be all right, Rose. Trust me. - You can't bung Billy out of this.
- I know. - This is serious.
Yeah, I know.
Choose your moment, Miss.
Johnny Boy. Get this over to Wendy straightaway.
She has a right to know before the world gets hold of it.
I will not pass Go, I will not collect £2oo.
Choose your moment. Stay with her.
Did you attend an identity parade
at which you were asked to try and identify the man who attacked you?
Yes.
And were you able to make a positive identification?
- Yes, I was. - Thank you, Miss Josephs.
- Can I say something? - By all means.
I knew him straightaway.
I've never been more sure about anything.
I'll never forget.
Thank you, Miss Josephs.
Would you like a few minutes to compose yourself or do you feel able to continue?
- I'm OK. - Are you sure?
Yes.
Miss de Souza?
The bookshop owned by Mr Booth, Miss Josephs, Spearhead Books.
- Do you know of it? - "Bookshop" is overstating it, isn't it?
More like a sick little private library.
But you've been there?
As an active disseminator of racist literature in the region
it's one of our primary targets.
You haven't answered my question.
I've been there many times, picketing.
Over the course of how many years, would you say?
Since it started up six years ago.
And in addition to merely picketing Spearhead Books
you've tried putting Gary Booth out of business several times, haven't you?
We have repeatedly tried to have the bookshop lawfully closed down, yes.
We wouldn't be very effective if we didn't.
But how effective actually are you, Miss Josephs?
After all, you haven't lawfully put Mr Booth out of business in six years.
- Must be pretty frustrating? - Sometimes.
Knowing what Gary Booth believes and stands for?
The disgusting and dangerous material he is lawfully able to disseminate
day after day and seemingly not a thing you can do about it.
Are you asking me a question?
Must make you want to take the law into your own hands.
- No. - It's what you live for, isn't it?
You're obsessed. It's what you are.
- Anti-racism is you. - This is ridiculous! How...
When you don't get your own way, your obsession takes you over the limit,
even to trying to lay this apparently racist assault at Gary Booth's feet.
"Apparently racist?
How can you stand there as a woman of colour and tell me it was apparently racist?
I don't stand here as a woman of colour or even a woman.
I stand here as a barrister at law.
Miss de Souza, however you intend to continue with this witness,
Miss Josephs appears to have suffered a terrifying ordeal.
I would suggest it would serve your cause better to treat her accordingly.
The salient words being: Appears to have suffered a terrifying ordeal, Your Honour.
But as we all know, appearances can be deceptive.
If you have a point of law, we should discuss that in the absence of the jury.
The entire case rests on this witness's word against my client's.
She claims to recognise his voice and his eyes.
I did!
She picked him out of an ID parade on the strength of this supposed recognition.
- Miss De Souza... - She fitted my client up.
Her motive is bitterness. The bitterness comes from failure.
I will not have you deliberately making speeches during evidence.
You are vindictive, narrow-minded, dangerous...
- Wendy. - That's not true.
- The truth is you staged this, didn't you? - Wendy.
How can you say that? It was him!
It may have been dark but I recognised his voice, his eyes. He could have killed me.
You have to believe me!
I think we'll adjourn for lunch.
As one law professional to another, what the hell was that?
- Leave it, Adrian. - Hey, I'm talking to you.
Just leave it.
Leave it? Did you not see what just happened?
We agreed Wendy should go after Kate Josephs.
Which we can safely say she did.
Not smack her around so much she breaks down in open court
and secures the total sympathy of the jury.
We were aware that line of questioning carried risk.
Spare me the rhetoric.
We both know Gary Booth's a nasty spec who deserves everything he gets.
Except that kind of defence from his brief.
It was reckless, bordering on negligent.
You've heard?
Of course you've heard. Everyone's heard. It's the talk of the square.
All I can say is that you thoroughly deserved to get it.
I thoroughly deserved to get it?
Every judge I speak to is extremely impressed by you.
But did I thoroughly deserve to get it more or less than Leo Wilson?
Being a prick in private and an effective barrister in public are not wholly incompatible.
If they were, the Bar would be stuffed with...
...very pleasant but largely useless individuals.
So he got it on merit?
It doesn't matter what he got it on.
Of course it matters.
If he got it on merit then why didn't I?
Conversely, if he didn't, why didn't I?
Look, you're understandably upset.
But let's not do this now.
Come and see me this evening after court and we'll talk it through.
- You should have hit him harder. - No, he shouldn't.
- I hit him as hard as I could. - You should have broken something.
- He shouldn't. - I nearly did. My knuckle.
- I meant of his. Smug bastard. - Smugger bastard now he's got silk.
A united display of hypocrisy, boys and girls, after two.
One, two.
Wanker.
Piece of crap.
Creep.
I hardly know him. I'm in no position to judge.
At moments like this you take your lead from your pupil master.
Oh, right.
Creep.
Absolutely. Well done.
- Oh. - What is it?
Supplying fake Es.
- Pleading? - Probably.
- Definitely. - Definitely maybe.
I am going to blow him away.
- What? - This afternoon. He's prosecuting my dog.
I'm going to wipe the floor with him.
3:30. No earlier. Bye.
Fuck it.
I've not seen him this pissed off in a long time.
It's the lost revenue.
With QC after her name, Wendy's fee would be worth at least an extra 15%.
Not to mention the bigger clients she'd attract.
- How bad, Miss de Souza? - Bad bad.
Fuck it. I'm going to court.
Oi.
Ta.
- What you doing? - Preparing a closing speech.
- Why? - She's a bit gone.
You can stop because she's coming back from gone.
I've watched you all along.
I keep a good eye on all my boys and girls, but on you, maybe a better eye.
- Because? - Because of my hopes for you.
You're the one, you're the class. I've always known.
- Thanks for... - No, not thanks. Thanks isn't in this.
What do you want to say to me, Peter?
You make a choice, you lot.
You sign up.
You say: I am a barrister.
Everyone is entitled to have me represent them, whatever they are, and I will do it properly,
professionally,
despite whatever the stink is coming off them.
Which is what you're going to do now because I believe in you.
Get in, get your head up, make a speech, blow 'em away.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, look at Gary Booth.
What do you see?
A man, an attractive man.
An attractive, intelligent man
who happens to want to return every black and Asian immigrant and their progeny
back from whence they came.
In short, a racist.
Look at him.
This is what a racist looks like.
What you imagined?
Where's the crew-cut, the bovver boots,
the scars on his knuckles from a hundred violent demonstrations?
Not there.
Gary Booth is a racist, yes.
But a thug? No.
He runs a bookshop. He's a man of words.
Albeit words most of us would find distasteful, to say the least.
But he is not, and there is not a shred of evidence to say he is,
a man of violence.
You might not bring him home to meet your mother
but you wouldn't worry for her safety if you did.
He thinks unpalatable stuff.
He doesn't do unpalatable stuff.
Before you can convict this man,
no matter what your feelings about him may be,
you must be sure beyond all reasonable doubt of his guilt.
That's the law.
It's my job, and yours, to apply the law.
Go to the jury room, do your job.
Come back with the only possible verdict.
Gary Booth is not guilty.
Have you reached a verdict upon which you've all agreed?
Yes.
Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?
Not guilty.
Mr Booth, you're free to go.
- Mr Booth. - Yes?
I just wanted you to know...
What?
Well done, Mr Booth. The right result.
Thank you.
What did you promise the old guy? Change your plea and I'll save your wee doggy?
I'll have the Mags weeping buckets.
They'll think they're listening to the death scene in Lassie Gets Bone Cancer.
They're tenant famers. Under the cosh, like most farmers at the moment.
These guys are angry, looking for something to vent it on.
It beggars belief you'd do this for nothing simply to go up against me.
I want to see your face when they order that dog to be destroyed.
I want to see you humiliated in public.
I want you to know what it feels like.
See you in court.
Taking into consideration the miscarriage of two lambs three days after the incident
I should like to point out it is the Crown's view that dogs such as Mr Roberts'
are a menace to farmers already struggling to survive under crippling economic conditions.
Yes, thank you, Mr Wilson.
If only to deter future thoughtlessness on the part of urban dog owners
we would like to see an example being made of this beast.
Thank you, Mr Wilson.
Dog killer.
Mr Guthrie.
I'd like to get one thing straight.
When my learned friend talks about "this beast",
we should make it clear we are not talking about the Hound of the Baskervilles,
but Charlie.
16-year-old incontinent Scottie dog with a dicky pelvis, half a dozen blunt teeth
and an arrthymic heart of furry gold.
But look even closer at Charlie and you'll notice something else. He doesn't really look back.
Unlike the Mona Lisa, Charlie's eyes do not follow you around the room.
Why? Because he has cataracts in both eyes.
To Charlie the world is a blurry fog.
Sheep, your worships, a large hedge - all the same to him.
But he's guilty as charged. I accept that. Our client accepts that.
If he didn't have a brain the size of walnut, I'm sure Charlie would accept it too.
This isn't about guilt
but proportionate punishment within a civilised judicial system.
Congratulations.
Pleasure to watch a barrister in top form.
Albeit on such a trivial case.
That wasn't top form.
Against Leo Wilson I only ever need about lower middle.
Did you see his face when Charlie got a conditional discharge? Wanker.
I tried talking him out of taking it on.
The man does have a bee in his bonnet where you're concerned.
You've noticed that as well, have you?
The offer still stands, Billy. Come back to my chambers.
- I know you're tempted. - I'm no such thing.
Why've you made no mention of these chats to Peter?
Who says I haven't?
If he got so much as a sniff I were trying to poach you back
he'd be in my office through t'fucking window.
Last chance, Billy. Come back.
I'll have Leo ditch the trial.
Trial? He's just strutting around while his pride reconfigures.
What do you mean, trial?
I'd check your mail if I were you.
The knob saw your summons posted yesterday.
- Mrs Fitzgerald. - Mr Marlowe.
I need a drink. A big one.
And then another. And then another. Until I can no longer say, "And then another".
Hello, North Square chambers.
And how do we like industrial tribunals.
As long as I keep winning them, very much indeed.
Would you like to do shoplifting, Miss?
Now I'm receiving a small salary, I thought I might knock that on the head.
Tomorrow morning, Pontefract Mags. I've got it for you.
- Very classy bit of clerking. - Love to.
4ooon the brief.
Sorted. Fax the papers over.
Morag, could I have a word?
Um... Yes.
Keep it zipped, Johnny Boy. It all stays professional.
- Zipped? - Your zip zipped.
I just wanted to apologise for my remarks in the library yesterday.
I was crude. I didn't mean to embarrass you.
I wasn't embarrassed.
A little confused perhaps.
I'd hate for you to think badly of me in any way.
You hate for anybody to think badly of you.
Johnny Boy seems to prefer you to me.
- You think so? - Yes, I do. As a pupil.
- As a pupil. - Which is fine.
Yes.
We're a bit alike, you and me.
- Are we? - Outsiders.
He apologised about something in the library.
Three day affray for next week. Whitby Mags. Asian gang thing.
- I'll see you later. - Yeah. See you later.
- Quite a result, then, considering. - Reasonable doubt is a wonderful thing.
- Where's Wendy? - Still at the courts.
Coming for a drink? I'm meeting Stevie.
- How's it going between you two? - Good, I think.
Well, fuck her around a little.
She's not the settling type. She'll get twitchy if she thinks you are.
Twitchy's no good to any of us.
Right.
If you'd got silk at your age, the youngest ever thing,
people will always have wondered.
Was it because of the colour of her skin?
And when you do get it in five years' time, no-one will say it.
Merit and merit only.
I could ask you something, Peter.
And are you going to?
No.
Did I put you up because of the colour of your skin?
No.
Pope Joan. 1122 to 1124. My favourite pope.
And Barry. My favourite Bee Gee.
You did ask.
I'd like to say, from the bottom of my heart...
...I don't give a fuck about not getting silk.
You're a wonderful woman, Wendy de Souza.
Hey. Good to see you.
What would you like to drink?
- Just bought a new car. - Well done.
Mercedes 200, coupé, SLK class.
Great.
Two litre, S-08-C, SMPI, 24 valve, aluminium alloys,
and, of course, ABS, ASR, ESP.
- Extrasensory perception? - Yeah. Brilliant.
A message from your mum. You're out of fun-size.
Fun-size?
Can you get an eight-pack on the way home?
And don't forget those funny-shaped chocolatey ones, cos you love them so much.
You and your mum.
All right?
It'll be all right, right? You're my best mate.
You're mine, too.
To Wendy.
Wendy de Souza.
Want a glass? Thank you very much.
Anybody want a top up?