The Anxious Counsel

MARTIN HINTON QC, DIRECTOR OF PUBLIC PROSECUTIONS

Don’t do it! Don’t! Don’t look at your phone. It’s the early hours. You know it is. You need to sleep! Stop thinking. Think of the colour black, the darkest shade of black. Think a deep, dark black hole that you are gently passing through. Think fl oating, like Major Tom … in a most peculiar way … No. No ! Now you’re really thinking. Stop. Think fl oating on a calm sea, with a gentle breeze and a blue sky. Close your eyes as you drift. Dark, black, blackness ... calm.... fl oat ... sleep, sleep. But it’s just no good. There’s that feeling again. In the middle of your chest. It’s not a burning feeling. And it’s not like you want to be sick. Nothing hurts. But you cannot shake it. Your breath is thin and your chest tight and bubbling. It is diffi cult to breathe deeply without a concerted effort. It’s consuming. Older generations would say it’s your nerves. Nothing a cup of tea won’t cure. But tea is no good to you in the middle of the night. Tea will not shift this feeling, this allconsuming beast. You are not in control of yourself. You, the high-achieving, logical, rational, stable human being. In a few hours you will endeavour, yet again, to persuade a court, that your client should succeed. But how? Right now you can hardly command yourself. You have put in the hours working this matter up. Tomorrow you must be at your best, your sharpest. Your own professionalism demands it, not to mention the people relying on you.

It does not interest me who you are, how you came to be here I want to know if you will stand In the centre of the fi re with me And not shrink back1 You are so tired. You must sleep. Dark, black, blackness … calm … fl oat … sleep, sleep. The beast will not let you. Aaarrrggghhhh!!

Oh the nerves, the nerves; the mysteries of this machine called man! Oh the little that unhinges it, poor creatures that we are.2

Silk for years. Supreme Court trials, courts of appeal, even the High Court, many times. And it’s not as though you have always been pushing at open doors. There’s been some hard, complex arguments made. And you’ve managed. Managed again, and again. Managed well enough to be respected; at least you like to think so. Managed and more. At times, dare you admit it, you have done well, very well. You have brought them back. Made the difference. So why after all this time has this beast - that feeling in the middle of your chest, that will not let you sleep, that consumes you - not been tamed? From a young age you learnt to trust yourself. You learnt that it is rare that you totally miss the point. It can happen. Of course it can, but rarely. And you have been in the game long enough to deal with impatient judges and, occasionally, those that seek to denigrate, are rude and are bullies. You know you can do this and do it well. You are so tired. You must sleep. Dark, black, blackness … calm … fl oat … sleep, sleep. What was the name of that silk you once briefed in London all those years ago? The friend of the Prince of Wales. Former Treasury Counsel. His chain smoking before a matter rivalled the Flying Scotsman. He had done it all, representing some of the world’s most important people. And yet he too relied on cigarettes and tea. “Im very worried about this Oz”, he would say, your nationality being all he could remember about you. But when he stood and addressed a court, he was nothing short of brilliant. Propositions logically ordered, within a clearly articulated framework. Plain language used, but words carefully chosen. By no means prolix. The seeming simplicity was beguiling. You learned so much from watching the back of his head. You also learned that it was alright to worry and be worried. But he cannot help you now. Stop thinking. You are so tired. You must sleep.

Dark, black, blackness … calm … fl oat … sleep, sleep. You do not have an anxiety disorder. For that you need daily symptoms lasting at least six months. Certainly you are on edge, and you are tired, very tired. But that is not unusual. Sleep will come. You know it will. Perhaps not so soundly tonight, but it will come. What is it that you are so irrationally worried about?

You know the case, inside and out. When you get to your feet, adrenaline will sustain you. You know you are equipped and adept at dealing with questions from the bench. Paradoxically, it is the cut and thrust of the debate that you relish. And you know that once you resume your seat, the beast will be nowhere to be seen.

What you cannot do is let the beast decide what you do. You cannot let it defi ne you, and you cannot let it silence you.

Your playing small Does not serve the world.3

Be strong. You have a job to do, a responsibility to discharge.

We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we’ll not fail.4

Sleep. Dark, black, blackness … calm … fl oat … sleep, sleep. B

Endnotes 1 The Invitation, Oriah Mountain Dreamer. 2 C Dickens, The Chimes: A Goblin Story of Some

Bells that Rang an Old Year Out and a New Year In (1845) at p 114. 3 Marianne Williams, Our Deepest Fear. 4 William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 1 Sc 7 ln 54.