Summer nights

Summer party season is upon us and rarely do I wish more that I was a lion tamer, party planner, astronaut or even an accountant (other than during the Christmas party season perhaps). Anything that provokes a better response than the one I usually receive when in answer to the question: “What is your job?”
I say that I am private
client solicitor.

An alarming number of people seem to be embroiled in a boundary dispute with their neighbour, which I have no professional experience of and can give no helpful advice about. Nor can I help with redundancies, disputes with high street retailers or unreliable builders. These are all issues which, if I came across them during the working day, I would immediately pick up the telephone to a colleague in another department.

I should be used to the scenario. After all, I grew up with two doctors as parents who were reliably presented with various body parts and given descriptions of symptoms and ailments whenever they mentioned their profession.

However, they were at least far more likely to be able to put their training and experience to
good use. I, on the other hand, am yet to hear an announcement over a public tannoy system or on an aeroplane, calling for a member of the public to assist with some tax mitigation or mental capacity planning emergency.

Often I try to recover the situation by explaining my job in more detail but unfortunately this only makes the situation worse. If I go down the line of explaining that I help people with their wills and estates, I am nearly always met with the question: “Do I need to make
a will?”

The answer is yes as everyone, no matter what their wealth or personal circumstances, should have an up to date will. The problem is that this tends to lead to a rather macabre conversation which is far from party friendly. It gives off a particularly poor impression to anyone who has the misfortune to join in halfway through the discussion: out of context, my comment that a wedding service witnessed ten minutes ago has had the effect of revoking the bride and groom’s wills, falls into the “inappropriate small talk” rather than the “interesting trivia” category.

The alternative explanation that I sometimes plunge for is that I help people with their tax planning. However, in the current climate, that answer is often met with disgust and outrage, leaving me little opportunity to explain that it does not mean that I advise celebrities on tax avoidance and the use of aggressive tax schemes. Instead, it means I explain to little old ladies how they can make gifts to their grandchildren, and advise the Lord of the Manor how to pay the inheritance tax due on his death without selling the manor, a bit like in
Downton Abbey.

A change of profession seems a little extreme, especially as I love the one I’m already in. I considered coming up with an imaginary job for myself for these situations that would be guaranteed to lead to no follow up questions; cardboard box manufacturer perhaps? I think that the best solution is to provide a brief but accurate answer before turning the conversation to the moreish canapés, another guest’s “to die for” hat (there is always at least one) or the fail safe topic of the British weather. SJ

Kate Davies is a solicitor at Wedlake Bell

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