Suddenly I was awake. I was back in real life. There were no dormice. No Mad Hatters. No white rabbits. And I was just wandering down from my Clerkenwell Rabbit Hole to the High Court on the Strand, documents in hand. I duly handed in my documents and some for Dan Levi and popped outside. Ahem said a small voice. I turned around and it was the Dormouse who offered me a small piece of cake. I was feeling rather peckish so gulped it down. Shrooooooooooooooooooooom.
Suddenly we were floating through the air over to Crown Place in the City of London the global headquarters of law firm Pinsent Masons. We floated through the door and were swept up to a plush but empty meeting room and hovered in the corner. Suddenly a team of well-fed lawyers wearing large top hats stormed in, dragging foxy Pinsents Partner Julie Herriot through the door by her hair.
“Why did you publish that memo on security of costs” screamed Russell Booker, acting in his capacity as legal counsel for Sefton, when not advising the litigation team, when not preparing to act as a witness against Sefton in the forthcoming trail. “Don’t you understand the idea of conflict of interest” he screamed, as he gulped a swig from a flask of smoking green liquid. Poor Julie was in tears.
“Hmmm”, I said to the dormouse, “do they realize they may have to stump up £275,000 which they have not got and so are fucked?”. “Sssssshhhhhh” said the Dormouse, “they can hear us!”
Indeed they could. The Mad Hatters looked up. “Cripes” thought I. But improvising hastily I announced “ we are the ghosts of Christmas past, we want to take you back to all those billings you have made to Sefton Resources for a case you could not win and which paid for your fucking great £2 million townhouses in Islington, please examine your consciences.”
In unison the Mad Hatters said “Do not use obscene language in our offices.”
“But he always uses the word fucking in his blogs” said the dormouse.
“Not fucking, that’s fine by us, but around here, conscience is a four letter word” chanted the Mad Hatters.
I could see I was getting nowhere fast. Noticing some sugar lumps with a strange topping sitting next to the coffee pot I swooped down and grabbed a couple and swallowed fast.
Shroooooooooooooom. The skies were marmalade, we floated past tangerine trees and we were back in the rabbit hole. Standing in the corner was an old man, gazing at pictures of sheep. He was wearing a jumper with a big circle on the front and had a vaguely persecuted look about him….
To be continued.
To read part 1 of my acid trip with Pinsent Masons click here
To read Part 2 of my acid trip with Pinsent Masons click here
To read Part 3 of my acid trip with Pinsent Masons click here