Have you ever wondered how life takes unexpected turns and you find yourself in a situation where your life becomes entwined with that of a complete stranger?
I first met K in her offices down in Duke Street, round the corner of Selfridges. As I entered the reception area I was met by a young male receptionist, the same guy I’d spoken to about an hour ago to make an enquiry. A male receptionist! This is quite a revelation if you’ve spent the last 12 years back in the dark ages of Spain! Receptionist SHOULD and are always female. This was my immediate thought, which is completely irrelevant. I’d always thought the best and most efficient receptionist would be a gay guy. I’m stereotyping? Not at all. Well, let just leave the gender out for the time being.
In the reception area, there were two thirty something black women speaking in broken French. I gathered that this law firm deals with a lot of immigration cases. I wondered, whether I had come to the right law firm! As I waited, a young oriental guy walked in wearing a tweed jacket with skimpy black jeans. His voice was quintessentially English. He was bringing in some documents and requested to speak to someone from the offices above. This teaches me never to make assumptions upon first sight! I have no idea what this law firm specialises in. As I sat patiently to see my solicitor, I chit chatted pleasantries with the young receptionist in between calls he took. What was obvious is that he’s very competent and dealt with great efficacy calls, which he forwarded to the relevant department or persons.
My solicitor, with whom I had had a 5 minutes conversation an hour prior, gave me sufficient assurance to say “I’m coming in”. So here I am. She walks in and immediately apologises for the delay in tending to me. She takes me to an interior box room where the heater was on maximum. It felt like a dry sauna. I began to strip whilst she turned off the heater.
She's a Punjabi woman in her mid thirties. She wore a cheap green pine coloured top which had bobbled from having been washed too many times. Her hair was messy as it been hadn’t brushed for a few days. I felt instantly that she was the right solicitor for me. Her un-kept appearance signalled a hard worker. Some one who worked instead of caring about their appearance. However, if you over look the green top, unmade face and fluffy hair, she was actually very attractive, with great bone structures.
She got straight to the point as time was of the essence. The meeting went over an hour and half, and as it drew to a close, she informs me that she will brief T. I will meet him at the preliminary hearing next Monday. She talks as if I knew him well. ‘Great’ I said. As I left the offices and skipped down Oxford Street, I realised that T must be the barrister. ‘Of course, in England, they have barristers!’
On the Monday, I was the first to arrive. I’d sussed out where the nearest ladies toilet was and that the mobile kiosk down the corridor sells tea, coffee and knick knacks. I had often passed the High Court on the Strand en route to my mum’s on the Number 15 bus. I have seen the façade of the building countless times and had always wondered what it was like inside. Never could I imagine that I would see the building in this manner. This building is a great landmark of London. So many historical cases have been won and lost here. Yet, at that moment, I can only remember the divorce case of Paul McCartney and his ex-wife, Heather Mills. A record £24mil settlement was paid. This payout was the largest amount ever paid in the world, though Heather wasn’t satisfied. Her original plead was £75mil or something similar. They were married for about 6 years or so, that’s £4mil per year. How the fuck can she be dis-satisfied? And last week, a Hindu priest/guru won the appeal to be cremated with wood when he dies, so that his soul is carried by the winds. Another historical win, which will pathe the way for followers. The building was truly breath-taking, yet, I was not in the frame of mind to enjoy its beautiful architecture.
K came strolling along the corridor outside court room 40. I hardly recognised her in the black suit and made up face. The busy beaver was now in the public eye and had dressed for the occasion. I did not recognise her until she was 4 ft away and called out my name.
T soon followed. He kind of crept up from behind. Well they label him the ‘Cat’s Whiskers’ for a reason. T is Bengali. His first question to me was “how many languages do you speak” to which I gave a modest reply of “two and half”. As we sat on the court's benches, it seemed like a fight between the third world against the west. The opposing barrister was a public school educated white young man. Before we'd entered the court room, he asked me how to pronounce the plaintiff’s name. An inexperienced barrister who didn’t know how to say the name of his client was a good sign. I gleed with delight!
The preliminary hearing was short and sweet, and we got everything we wanted. It has been almost three weeks since I first met K, and she has become my best email buddy. We have exchange probably a hundred emails between ourselves since. The last email I sent her, I said “Happy Lunar New Year”. Her last email to me was simply one word “Ace”.
She is to become the most important person in my life for the next few months. The trust between us will be implicit and irrevocable. My life will be entwined with hers, though her life will always remain hers. Whether she succeeds or fails, for her it will be, just another case. For me, everything depends on this complete stranger! A scary sensation. It’s like someone telling you to jump from a 30ft height, and the only assurance you have is a verbal “don’t worry, I’ll catch you”.
I first met K in her offices down in Duke Street, round the corner of Selfridges. As I entered the reception area I was met by a young male receptionist, the same guy I’d spoken to about an hour ago to make an enquiry. A male receptionist! This is quite a revelation if you’ve spent the last 12 years back in the dark ages of Spain! Receptionist SHOULD and are always female. This was my immediate thought, which is completely irrelevant. I’d always thought the best and most efficient receptionist would be a gay guy. I’m stereotyping? Not at all. Well, let just leave the gender out for the time being.
In the reception area, there were two thirty something black women speaking in broken French. I gathered that this law firm deals with a lot of immigration cases. I wondered, whether I had come to the right law firm! As I waited, a young oriental guy walked in wearing a tweed jacket with skimpy black jeans. His voice was quintessentially English. He was bringing in some documents and requested to speak to someone from the offices above. This teaches me never to make assumptions upon first sight! I have no idea what this law firm specialises in. As I sat patiently to see my solicitor, I chit chatted pleasantries with the young receptionist in between calls he took. What was obvious is that he’s very competent and dealt with great efficacy calls, which he forwarded to the relevant department or persons.
My solicitor, with whom I had had a 5 minutes conversation an hour prior, gave me sufficient assurance to say “I’m coming in”. So here I am. She walks in and immediately apologises for the delay in tending to me. She takes me to an interior box room where the heater was on maximum. It felt like a dry sauna. I began to strip whilst she turned off the heater.
She's a Punjabi woman in her mid thirties. She wore a cheap green pine coloured top which had bobbled from having been washed too many times. Her hair was messy as it been hadn’t brushed for a few days. I felt instantly that she was the right solicitor for me. Her un-kept appearance signalled a hard worker. Some one who worked instead of caring about their appearance. However, if you over look the green top, unmade face and fluffy hair, she was actually very attractive, with great bone structures.
She got straight to the point as time was of the essence. The meeting went over an hour and half, and as it drew to a close, she informs me that she will brief T. I will meet him at the preliminary hearing next Monday. She talks as if I knew him well. ‘Great’ I said. As I left the offices and skipped down Oxford Street, I realised that T must be the barrister. ‘Of course, in England, they have barristers!’
On the Monday, I was the first to arrive. I’d sussed out where the nearest ladies toilet was and that the mobile kiosk down the corridor sells tea, coffee and knick knacks. I had often passed the High Court on the Strand en route to my mum’s on the Number 15 bus. I have seen the façade of the building countless times and had always wondered what it was like inside. Never could I imagine that I would see the building in this manner. This building is a great landmark of London. So many historical cases have been won and lost here. Yet, at that moment, I can only remember the divorce case of Paul McCartney and his ex-wife, Heather Mills. A record £24mil settlement was paid. This payout was the largest amount ever paid in the world, though Heather wasn’t satisfied. Her original plead was £75mil or something similar. They were married for about 6 years or so, that’s £4mil per year. How the fuck can she be dis-satisfied? And last week, a Hindu priest/guru won the appeal to be cremated with wood when he dies, so that his soul is carried by the winds. Another historical win, which will pathe the way for followers. The building was truly breath-taking, yet, I was not in the frame of mind to enjoy its beautiful architecture.
K came strolling along the corridor outside court room 40. I hardly recognised her in the black suit and made up face. The busy beaver was now in the public eye and had dressed for the occasion. I did not recognise her until she was 4 ft away and called out my name.
T soon followed. He kind of crept up from behind. Well they label him the ‘Cat’s Whiskers’ for a reason. T is Bengali. His first question to me was “how many languages do you speak” to which I gave a modest reply of “two and half”. As we sat on the court's benches, it seemed like a fight between the third world against the west. The opposing barrister was a public school educated white young man. Before we'd entered the court room, he asked me how to pronounce the plaintiff’s name. An inexperienced barrister who didn’t know how to say the name of his client was a good sign. I gleed with delight!
The preliminary hearing was short and sweet, and we got everything we wanted. It has been almost three weeks since I first met K, and she has become my best email buddy. We have exchange probably a hundred emails between ourselves since. The last email I sent her, I said “Happy Lunar New Year”. Her last email to me was simply one word “Ace”.
She is to become the most important person in my life for the next few months. The trust between us will be implicit and irrevocable. My life will be entwined with hers, though her life will always remain hers. Whether she succeeds or fails, for her it will be, just another case. For me, everything depends on this complete stranger! A scary sensation. It’s like someone telling you to jump from a 30ft height, and the only assurance you have is a verbal “don’t worry, I’ll catch you”.
