Unwritten rules

At a recent marketing event with London insurers, a male colleague of mine was lambasted for wearing brown shoes with his suit as there should be 'no brown in town', a phrase with which I was unfamiliar. Various other city worker fashion wrongs were then discussed, including the wearing of shirts with pockets or button-down collars and sporting any sort of designer stubble. I hadn't appreciated that the rules of appearance for men were so very complex.

I am in the process of reviewing Gary Slapper's Weird Cases for Solicitors Journal which cites a hearing before magistrates which could not proceed because they refused to hear an advocate who was wearing brown suede shoes. They were deemed appropriate only for the golf course.

This caused me to contemplate the odd rules and regulations which I have heard over the years. My husband was granted the 'Freedom of the City of London' several years ago, through his industry's livery company (the grand-sounding Worshipful Company of Environmental Cleaners). He was delighted to inform me that this meant he could herd sheep across London Bridge should the mood take him, and can request that the executioner uses a silk rope if heis ever to be hanged. Both very useful privileges.

In the legal world, I recently learned that the reason why barristers traditionally do not shake hands with each other is as a sign of trust in their fellow learned friends. Handshakes were apparently originally developed to check that acquaintances were not preparing to launch a sword attack upon you, and barristers' mutual respect meant that seeking such reassurance was unnecessary. How offensive then that they are happy to shake hands with mere solicitors, their non-learned and obviously untrustworthy paymasters. I could incite an inter-profession war here!

I have, since attending Chester Law School, wondered about the oft-repeated statement that a Welshman can legally be shot with a bow and arrow within the City's walls after midnight. I've had a quick look online in the name of tenuous research for this article, and one reliable-sounding website says that this stems from 1403 when it was decreed that Welshmen should not enter the City before dawn or stay after sunset, on pain of decapitation. No mention of arrows though.

Work and play

Dragging my thoughts from such trivia and back to work, it has been another eventful month. My firm has just had its annual Lexcel audit and I was one of the lucky so-called volunteers for interview. The auditor was a pleasant and friendly Irishman, or was that just a guise to try and make us drop our guard? He kindly offered to help carry my stack of lever arch files back to my desk at the end of my slot, but the suspicious side of me couldn't help wondering whether this was a cunning ruse to check that my desk was in some semblance of order. In any event, I'm happy to report that the firm has retained its Lexcel accreditation so I didn't single-handedly ruin years of hard work! Good job too, since I am a Lexcel consultant.

We have just enjoyed the firm's annual summer party, which was a blast. We ventured onto Manchester's Canal Street where a rooftop terrace had been reserved. That probably seemed like a good idea several months ago as we all dreamily contemplated the scorching, tarmac-melting summer which would inevitably arrive '“ but this is Manchester. Where it rains, rather a lot at the moment actually, which is why people are up in arms about the current hosepipe ban. Anyway, to continue with the comedic stereotyping, we northerners are not nesh and persisted on the rooftop for several hours '“ occasionally huddling together under the small canopy as a fresh wave of drizzle appeared, which must be good for office bonding. As usual, I danced until my feet throbbed and, although I missed the last tram, I did manage, on this occasion, to remember to send a text home announcing that I would be a little later than planned. Maximum brownie points for me.

Goodbye Halliwells

Over the weekend I saw some friends who were both partners at Halliwells until recently. We inevitably chatted about that firm's current predicament '“ they filed a notice of intention to appoint an administrator in late June, reportedly owing £20m to the Royal Bank of Scotland. Yikes. There have been rumours about the firm being on its knees for years, as various competitors and some publications in the legal press seemed to thrive on Halliwells-bashing, sneering at the speed with which they grew and then their incredibly flash new offices in Manchester's über-cool Spinningfields district. However, several of my friends have worked there over the years and enjoyed it '“ in fact two of them met their husbands there, as it also seemed to be a hotbed of legal lust!

Anyway, the firm's downfall is epic and terrifying, and just as we were all starting to breathe easier on the way out of the recession. I see that their managing partner already has a new job and hope that the various deals which are said to be in the offing produce the same result for the rest of their staff. RIP Halliwells LLP. That is sobering food for thought.

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