‘I DO HEREBY call you to the Bar and do publish you utter barrister.’

The Master Treasurer of the Honourable Society of Gray’s Inn took my outstretched hand, shook it limply, and turned to the next student.

Poor old buffer, not long for this world, I thought, as I made my way back to my seat, hot and uncomfortable in white tie and tails, and looking for all the world like a tailor’s dummy.

In spite of the heat and discomfort, I was barely able to contain my excitement. In those few short words, I had been transformed from chrysalis to butterfly.

A question fluttered briefly through my mind – cabbage white, or red admiral?

But I dismissed it. I had no doubts. The legal profession, one of the oldest and most revered in the civilised world, was about to be shaken to its very foundations. How I envied those whose good fortune it would be to instruct me in their cause, to fight the good fight and emerge triumphant or, tant pis, to be comforted in the knowledge that their life savings had been well spent.

Only dimly aware of the ritual unfolding around me, my thoughts wandered back to that fateful day when I had taken my first hesitant steps on the path towards a career at the Bar.

I was in the lower sixth at school when old ‘Tripod’ Biddle, the Head of Physics who also doubled as the Careers Master, had organised a Careers Day in the Great Hall. Various stalls were set out to promote suitable careers for the sons of gentlefolk, and we washed around aimlessly in the best traditions of gormless adolescents without a single creative thought between us.

It must have been a depressing sight for all those old boys who had taken the time and trouble to sell their wares in return for drinks and luncheon with the Headmaster and Governors.

I was about to resign myself to an agreeable life of debauchery when Tripod bounded over and took me gently by the arm.

‘Hello, Potts,’ he said. ‘Seen anything you fancy?’

‘Frankly, sir, not a lot.’

‘Then take my advice. If you can’t find a proper job, how about the law? According to Jean Giraudoux, there is no better way of exercising the imagination than the study of law. No poet ever interpreted nature as freely as a lawyer interprets the truth.’

He chuckled, and bounded off in search of another lost soul.

During the holidays, I mentioned my nascent interest to my father.

‘Splendid idea, my boy,’ he said, with an indulgent beam. ‘A good solicitor is the pillar of his community, and highly respected.’

‘Well… actually, I was thinking of becoming a barrister.’

‘Good God,’ he spluttered, the beam disappearing in an instant. ‘Whatever for? They’re pompous idiots in fancy dress, who talk the hind leg off a donkey and charge the earth for saying bugger all. What you need is a proper job.’

And that was his last word on the subject.

To be continued…………………


Excitement mounts to fever pitch!  In response to popular demand, there is now talk of reprinting my first humorous book on the law, fetchingly entitled May it Please Your Lordship.  For those of you who missed the original print, my book recounts the trials and tribulations of Toby Potts, a young and aspiring barrister fresh from Bar School, clutching his graduation diploma and intent on becoming the leading criminal advocate of his time.  He can hardly wait to get on his feet and impress the jury with his incisive cross-examination, his mastery of all things legal, and his spellbinding final speeches.

Sadly, reality kicks in, and Toby finds the path to fame and fortune far from smooth and uneventful.  His trials and tribulations take him from his Call to the Bar, his experiences in pupillage, his first brief when he represents the wrong client, through to his great tour de force at the Old Bailey when he goes head to head with the Honourable Mr. Justice Boniface, known to one and all in the profession as Old Sourpuss, and many adventures in between.

Chambers politics, strange clients, solicitors who come and go on a whim, and even stranger and eccentric judges, all have their part to play in Toby’s climb up the greasy pole.  Moments of courtroom drama, and many more moments of high fiasco, mark Toby’s initiation into the heady world of the Criminal Bar.  So much to learn, so little time.  Will Toby succeed where so many have failed?  He has the determination, he has the self-belief, but does he have what it takes to reach the pinnacle of the profession?  Only time will tell.  One thing is certain – never a dull moment!  Why be ordinary, Toby was once told, if you have it in you to be extraordinary?

  *   *   *   *   *

I have decided to offer you excerpts from the book on a daily basis for you to read and enjoy.  Register for comments and feel free to leave as many as you wish, and I will pass them on for the attention they deserve.

Don’t forget, dear readers, that my book is copy-written, so read and enjoy the excerpts but you can’t reproduce them.  But don’t despair.  With thousands giving positive feedback, May it Please Your Lordship will be back on the bookshelves  before you can say actus non facit reum nisi mens sit rea.

Watch out tomorrow for Chapter One: Cometh the hour, cometh the man.


David Osborne is a successful English barrister, author, public performer and public speaker.

Some years ago, he hit the headlines nationwide and made legal history when he delivered his final speech to the jury entirely in verse. For this tour de force he was dubbed the Barrister Bard by the popular press.

He followed this with the publication of a short humorous book on advocacy entitled No Holds Barred written under the pseudonym of Ivor Bigg-Wigg QC.

He has appeared on radio and television as a legal commentator, and has written a number of articles for the national and regional press as well as various journals.

In the recent past, David has also written and presented two legal revues.

He is regularly in demand as a Public and After Dinner Speaker, and has written a short book entitled The Art of Public Speaking

He is married with four children and lives in Somerset.


It is not for me to comment on the particulars of criminal proceedings where I was not present, as much can be lost in translation, especially in Birmingham.  It is foolhardy and often dangerous to sound off when not in possession of the full facts, as appears to have happened recently in a trial involving ‘drug barons’ who turned out to be nothing of the sort.

What concerns me the most is not the quality of the adversarial cut and thrust of the advocates, conspicuous by its absence, but by the extraordinary behaviour of the judge, whom I shall not name to preserve the dignity of his office.  Suffice it to say that Judge Francis Laird was so exercised by the monumental incompetence of  the prosecution, nothing new there I’m afraid, that he called prosecution counsel to go into the witness box (or stand as the cub reporter was fond of calling it) and give evidence on oath.  Counsel promptly fainted, but notwithstanding, having been allowed a few minutes to compose himself, tried to argue the unarguable.

There are several problems about the judge’s decision to victimize prosecution counsel.  The first and most obvious was his insistence that counsel go into the witness box.  This is improper and unheard of and irresponsible.  The second is that this kangaroo court was in public, so counsel’s discomfort was plain for all to see.  Quite how he is going to repair the damage to his reputation is a matter of conjecture.  The third problem was the wholly improper suggestion by defence counsel that prosecution counsel had deliberately misled the court. In fairness to him, this conduct was rather forced on him.  If the judge felt this was a proper way to behave, he should have assumed the responsibility himself and not palmed it off.

Whatever happened to the Honorable Profession to which every barrister must belong before he can practise at the Bar?

What Judge Laird seems to have forgotten, if he knew it in the first place,  is that by convention, counsel act on instructions given to them by their solicitors, in this case by the Clown Prosecution Service.  If those instructions give rise to professional embarrassment, then counsel must withdraw and return the brief.  This is basic stuff learned in pupillage.  If the judge insists that counsel go into the witness box to be cross-examined on oath, counsel should politely decline to do so, and if the judge persists, he should leave court and refer the judge’s conduct to the Bar Council and to the Lord Chancellor’s department.  This is the way grown ups behave.

This whole farrago reflects very badly on all parties.  The judge should go on a refresher course, as should counsel, and the CPS, at fault once again, should never have permitted their counsel to fend off this hostile judge without coming to his aid.


Google is back in the limelight, for all the wrong reasons, and by all accounts they are struggling with even the most basic form of protection for their many users.  Their latest problem is the ease with which surfers can discover the identity of rape ‘victims’, aka complainants, if they choose to do so, thereby circumventing the protection afforded to them by the courts.

Anonymity for rape victims, whether their complaints are real or fabricated, remains a lively topic as it has been for many years.  The arguments are well rehearsed, the main one being that rape victims are less likely to report the offence if their identity is known.

For my part, I have never been persuaded of the wisdom of this approach.  The ordeal of reliving the dastardly act in court is the main reason why victims do not come forward, it’s got nothing to do with identity, and on that score, I doubt if the ordeal is made any easier if the jury know the victim as Miss ‘A’ rather than Dolores del Rio.

Men and women regardless of their sexual proclivities are supposed to be equal, and this applies at all levels of life, whether in the workplace or out and about. But in relation to rape allegations, this equality does not apply, as the accused is routinely named and shamed, and has no protection from exposure in the Press, or Social Media, or in a court of law.

The recent cases where wholly innocent men were falsely accused of rape have been fully documented.  The Clown Prosecution Service has, as always, come up with wholly implausible reasons for charging these men in the first place, and I have already commented on this in an earlier blog.  But until these men were formally acquitted, they were paraded in public as rapists, a classic case of guilty until proven innocent.  This public parade was permitted because these men were not afforded the same anonymity as their accusers.  In one case, the young man in question abandoned his university career because of the unbearable strain of being falsely accused and having to wait an eternity before the injustice was righted.

I therefore fully support the lobby which advocates equality in allegations of rape between the alleged victim and the alleged perpetrator until the legal process has run its course.

The other thing I find uncomfortable is the fact that in most cases where the complainant admits lying, nothing is done about it, despite the fact that on any view, she is guilty of attempting to pervert the course of public justice. And to make matters worse, her anonymity runs for the rest of her miserable life, pace such help as Google can unwittingly provide.

This approach cannot be right, it certainly cannot be fair, and it brings the criminal justice system into disrepute.  I therefore propose that a senior judge should consider the question of continuing anonymity, and it will be for the ‘victim’ to show cause why this protection should remain.  Were I in loco judiciaris, I would need a lot of persuading.


I used to rate Cambridge University as a centre of academic excellence.  I even considered taking up a place there, many years ago, but common sense prevailed and I opted for McGill. A wise choice as it transpired.

Cambridge University recently became the University of Cambridge, a distinction without a difference, and it has gone badly downhill ever since.  The latest absurdity making waves is the demand from insufferable little children, also known as students, to lower the burden and standard of proof in sexual assault cases from the criminal to the civil.  This means that any allegation is proved if it is more than likely to have happened, otherwise known as the balance of probabilities.  The criminal standard requires proof of the allegation beyond a reasonable doubt.

In an open letter to the Vice-Chancellor signed by more than 800 students, clearly being educated beyond their natural intelligence, they say that “upholding the criminal standard of proof actively discourages survivors and victims of sexual harassment, rape and assault from engaging with the disciplinary procedure.” Why, I ask rhetorically?

The letter goes on. Changing the system, they say, “will give survivors more confidence to access it.” Why, again I ask rhetorically?  Even at the University of Cambridge, there must be support staff and counsellors and tutors ready to help and advise.

The key to this absurd statement is the word ‘survivors’, an emotive word designed to generate an emotive response. From the outset of my career as a practising barrister, I was taught that emotions have no part to play in the criminal process, for obvious reasons.  Emotions cloud clear and analytical judgment, which is the bedrock of a sound and impartial legal system.

What these students fail to appreciate is the very real damage that false allegations from ‘survivors’ can do to those innocent young men falsely accused.  They should look back only a few months to the string of false allegations made by ‘survivors’ and which were proved to have been false.  Remember Oliver Mears and Liam Allan and Isaac Itiary and Samson Makele, who hit the headlines nationwide, and there are many others besides.  If the students of the University of Cambridge have their way, how many other innocent young men risk being falsely accused, and, perish the thought, convicted and sentenced to lengthy terms of imprisonment?  For Oliver Mears, the strain of awaiting trial caused him such stress that he left his college, with his life and his future in tatters.

As somebody once said, better that ninety nine guilty men go free than one innocent man is falsely convicted.

I have some words of advice for these insufferable little children: grow up and shut up, memorise the lines from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice that begin: ‘The quality of mercy is not strained…” and read, learn and inwardly digest.