Peacock Chambers annual drinks party is almost upon us.

“Do we have to go?” Jane grumbles.  “Can’t we just go out and enjoy ourselves without hordes of irritating barristers about?”

“Not if we want to do it for free,” Liz points out.

“With pink champagne,” Alex adds.

She shoots him a despairing look. “Free champagne is not worth an evening of enforced socialising with lawyers, especially the barristerial kind.”

“You don’t have to speak to them,” he reasons.

“Of course we do, that’s the whole point: they labour under the mistaken belief that the best way to get work is to bore us with lies about great court victories, when, in fact, the best way to do it is to simply bribe us.”

“Bribe us?”

“Yes: slip us some readies; pay us off; tip us the wink; you know what I mean.”

“You can’t say that!” Liz gasps.

“Why not?  That’s how we keep our clients happy.”

“We do not!”

“What do you think the day-trips to Ascot and lunches at Quaglinos are?”

“Not bribes . That’s implies some sort of seedy, unpleasant dealing.”

“I rest my case!”

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