Welcome to my world

I like to think of myself as a pretty straightforward, straight-talking person. For example, if someone doesn't like me, then that's okay but I'd rather they didn't pretend they do.

I tend also, rightly or wrongly, to start by assuming that most other people are similarly transparent, or at least that not everyone is out to get everybody else. My husband describes this as living in 'Catherine world', a dreamlike state very far away from reality.

So it was something of a revelation to attend a meeting recently with a gentleman who declined to sit in the indicated chair as he viewed the meeting as a poker game (his words, not mine) and that he would be disadvantaged if he sat with his back to the doors. Really? Are there still lawyers out there who actively engage in silent tactical manoeuvres? I have heard many a tale of the opposition being placed in poky, dimly lit and overly warm meeting rooms during mediations, without delicious biscuits or even fresh water, in a bid to disadvantage them during the inevitably long drawn-out day. Maybe it's just an urban myth. Or perhaps I'm being happily oblivious, but I don't believe I have ever seen it in practice.

A very old school solicitor once hung up on me during what started off as a cordial settlement discussion, but I put it down at the time to childishness and frustration at his lack of on-the-spot eloquence rather than some brilliant strategic plan. Which must be right, because the same solicitor liked to send faxes immediately after our telephone conversations setting out what he wished he'd said to me rather than what he had actually uttered and yet portraying the fax as an almost contemporaneous note. Again, this was more farce than genius.

I have just received my '“ literally '“ annual letter from one firm which says that its client is going to sue mine for millions of pounds for negligence. They first contacted us in the summer of 2007 to notify us of the claim, and said more would follow. And so it did, 12 whole months later. I know the dates as I had most of the intervening period off on maternity leave, a fact which I pointed out to the solicitor in question when he raised eyebrows at our request for a short extension of time to respond. He said at the time, 'with respect' of course, that he didn't see the relevance of my having had a baby who was now 11 months old and returning to my desk in the time it had taken him to write one letter'¦'nuff said! I jest but I could of course be missing the cunning tactics which these long periods of silence belie.

Burning bridges

I am also a simple soul when it comes to change '“ I don't like it. I accept that it has to happen, of course, but I'd rather deal with just one element at a time. So my head is spinning this month as my eldest daughter has started school, my youngest has made the huge leap into a bed from a cot and Manchester's legal landscape in my chosen specialist subject (professional negligence) is upheaving. Three London firms are launching new teams in our great city and the staff-poaching wars to fill the top spots are well underway. We hear weekly rumours of new appointments and the grapevine is fast, as ours is a pretty small specialist field outside of London.

I have been on the Manchester legal roundabout for 13 years now, at four different firms. Apparently, the average lawyer moves every three years, and, until I joined my current firm, I had done so almost to the month. I have therefore had the pleasure of working with many fellow professional negligence specialists, three of whom I know for a fact are part of the current seismic moves. A real-life lesson in never burning your bridges. It will be interesting as the dust settles, and I for one intend to take a ringside seat as the new kids on the local block square up. Let the games begin.

But back where I began, I'm pleased to report that my faith in humanity was rewarded a few weeks back when I very stupidly drove off leaving my purse on the roof of my car. Think lost driving licence, switch and credit cards without even starting on the vast array of point-collecting plastic down the drain. Add to this the fact that I didn't notice the loss until after I'd filled up with 50 pounds' worth of petrol and you have an unmitigated disaster. However, a kind and honest man found the purse, rang the gym from the number on my membership card and got them to leave me a message at home before I'd even noticed the calamity. Also, the nice petrol station lady allowed me to drive off leaving only my contact details and a flustered promise that I'd be back with some money by the end of the week.

So, am I naïve? Maybe. Lucky? Definitely. All in all, Catherine world is a pleasant place to live '“ everyone should try it sometime.

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