I can’t quite believe that I am taking part in a protest rally, on the edge of a golf course, near Eastbourne……..

“We shall not, we shall not be moved!  We shall not, we shall not be moved!” 

The crumblies and yummy mummies are throwing themselves into it with gusto.   They have brought banners and placards with slogans such as: ‘Hands off our Club!   Support Local Businesses!   HMRC: Get Lost’ and others which are not so appropriate: ‘Down with Scumbag Brown!’ and  ‘Death to Tax Inspectors!’

Mr Haliday is having a whale of a time.  He has persuaded his customers family, neighbours and, even, the Vicar to join in.  His wife has brought a BBQ and is happily making breakfast butties for us all.   

Only Malcolm is like a fish out of water, skulking about at the back, in his best suit, waiting for the star guest to appear.

“What time did she say she would arrive?” he feverishly checks his watch

“She didn’t.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because Mr Haliday is paying us,” I point out.

“I don’t do things just because someone pays me,” he sulks.

Why not?  All the other partners do.

“You wanted to come.”

“Only because I thought we might be able to put our case to a future member of Parliament.”

And so we might, if she ever turns up.  We lapse into silence, glancing around for signs of arrival.

“We’re not breaching any Law Society guidelines are we?” he says, suddenly.

“Doing what?”

“Protesting.”

Isn’t it a bit late to be thinking about that?

“None that I’m aware of,” I assure him. “This is the Law Society we’re talking about, not the Polit Bureau.”

“Have you checked?”

“No.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you?” I counter.

“I was relying on you.”

“Then we shall both be up before the Solicitors’ Regulatory Authority together!”

He doesn’t think this is funny. “This is not a laughing matter, Helen.  We could be struck off.”

“For standing in a wet field moaning about tax demands?”

“You never know what these regulators will object to.” 

“It’s hardly Greenham Common!”

“Nevertheless, we should have checked.”

I am saved from punching him by the arrival of The Press; a youth of about twelve, clutching the largest camera I have ever seen.   Nice to see they’ve sent their star photojournalist.

“‘I’m Gary, from International Media,” he says sheepishly.

“Hello Gary,” I greet him. “Let me introduce you to Mr Haliday.”

“Aha,” Mr H prizes himeslf away from the singing. “The Paparazzi!”

Mr Haliday has lived a sheltered life.   If anyone could look less like a fearless celebrity hunter it’s Gary. 

He gives us a tight little smile.  

“I’m afraid you have some competition,” Mr H goes on. “The man from the local paper is coming down as well.  He might beat you to the scoop!”

Gary smiles again.  Clearly wondering why on earth he has been sent to this lunatic gathering when he could be covering the leadership debate.  

Mrs Haliday offers him a hot dog, “I bet you don’t get food at those swanky press briefings,” she reads his mind.

“No,” he agrees. “Not a sausage.”

“Are any of the journalists coming?” I think of that awful man I spoke to on the phone.

“Nah,” he mumbles. “They said they couldn’t be arsed to schlep to Eastbourne – they’ve got a press release, they’ll work with that.

“A press release?”

“From Edison’s PR people,” he nods.

“Oh,” I pretend I know all about it. “Yes, I remember them saying they would send one over.  Don’t suppose you have a copy to hand to you?”

“Sorry,” he shrugs, “I’m just the camera monkey.  I don’t do words.”

This peturbs me and my own advice rings in my ears: This might not be as easy as we think.  Policiticians and Journalists have a habit of twisting things to suit their purpose….

But I am interrupted from my paranoia by a call from the office.

“Who’s that?” It’s Melinda.

“It’s Helen.”

“Oh, I didn’t think it was you.”

Who did she think would be answering my phone?

“Well, it is me.”

“Right, well, good, er, I was just calling to see if you would mind me going home early today?  Only, my cat isn’t very well and I need to take her to the vet.”

She hasn’t got a cat.

“I didn’t know you had a pet?”

“Yeah,?” she says airily. “I’ve had her for ages.  She’s really old.”

“Really? I don’t remember you mentioning her.”

“She lives at my mum’s.”

How inconvenient to have a pet that lives at someone else’s house……

“What’s her name?”

“Er….”

That stumps her.  I picture her, desperately waving her arms at Danielle for inspiration.

“Cheryl!”

“Cheryl?”

“Yeah.”

“Unusual name for a cat.”

“Well, she’s like, you know, Cheryl Cole….only with fur.”

Like Cheryl Cole only with fur?  In what way can a cat possibly resemble Cheryl Cole?  Does she sing in a girl band?   Judge The X Factor?   Model for L’Oreal?  I think not.

“What an amazing creature she must be.”

“Yeah, she is,” she thinks she’s fooled me.  Danielle is getting the thumbs up. “And you know how it is when they are not well.”

I have absolutely no idea and neither does she, but I do know that it’s a blatant excuse to skive off early.

“Has Tarquin agreed?” I enquire,

“Well, no; he isn’t here.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“He’s in a mediation.”

“What if he needs your assistance?”

“I don’t think that’s very likely.”

No, she’s right.  It would be a very bleak day in litigation if he did.

“Besides,” she adds, “Danielle has agreed to field any calls.”

Well, that’s a relief.  Our clients can be shouted at instead of ignored.  

I don’t have chance to debate this because, in the middle of the call, a  sleek, black car pulls round the corner.

“She’s here!” Mr Haliday is beside himself with joy. “I knew it!”

“If you really must leave early then that’s fine, but you’ll have to make up the time,” I tell Melinda. “Now, got to go.  Bye.”

The protestors gather themselves into a respectable group and begin singing their hearts out: “WE SHALL NOT, WE SHALL NOT BE MOVED!”  The Press boys spring into action, waiting to snap the prospective MP as she steps out of the car.

“None of those knicker shots,” Mrs Haliday warns Gary.  

The poor boy blushes to his toes, but pulls himself together to snap her stepping out of the car.

“How do you do?” Mr Haliday welcomes her.

“Very well, and you?”

“Thank you so much for coming.”

“Oh, no trouble at all, I don’t want to see a local business go down the pan -”

“Right, that’s enough chit chat!” An oily little man, steps in. “We’re not here to be nice, we’re here to lend our support to the cause.”

“Mr Haliday is the cause,”I point out.

“Oh.  And you are?” He looks me up and down.

“Helen Bailey, one of his lawyers.”

“No one said anything about lawyers!” this panics him.

“It’s all right,” Katherine lays a soothing hand on his arm, “Helen is the one who set this thing up.”

“Oh,” he brightens. “I see,  I thought for a minute, you were one of those loony Human Rights campaigners.”

“We don’t do Human Rights in my firm,” I assure him, with more conviction than he knows.

“Good, cos I don’t want any hassle about equal rights and crap.”

“You won’t get any of that from us,” Malcolm speaks for the partnership.  “I’m Malcolm Morris; Helen’s supervising partner.”

“Hello,” Katherine extends a hand. 

“Hello……”  Judging by the gooey look on his face, I think Anne Widdecombe has just been replaced.  “Do you want to, er, have a chat about the legal aspects of the problem?  I can fill you in…..”

In his dreams.

“Katherine, over here!” The oily man is summoning her over to the protestors. “Pose for some pictures and then say a few pre-scripted words.”

He pulls a sheet of paper from his pocket and hands it to her.

“Would you like a bacon sandwich?” Mrs Haliday offers her.

“No she would not,” he steps in “She’s on a tight schedule.  We have two nursing homes and a special needs school to get in before supper.”

Katherine flashes an apologetic look.  “Sorry.”

“Ok stand in the middle, next to the old lady!  No, not that one, the really old one, with the double chin. Yeah. And get one of those dribbling babies in too; demonstrate the cross section of your appeal.”

She manoeuvres herself into position and beams broadly at the camera.  Gary begins to snap away.

“I am honoured to be invited here today.  This golf club is a vital part of the local community.  It is threatened with closure because of a poorly drafted piece of legislation and an over zealous pursuit of taxes by a desperate Government, which brought this country to the brink of bankruptcy.  It would be a tragedy for local jobs and greenbelt land if it were to close.  I urge all local people to apply pressure for change – vote for me, Katherine Edison on May 6th.”

“Marvellous!” cheers the oily man. “Now have any of you old boys served in the forces?” A couple of hands shoot up.  “Where abouts?”

“Germany,” says one.

He shakes his head.

“Suez,” says the other.

He sighs. “That will  have to do.  Stand beside Ms Edison.”  He switches places with the really old woman.  “What do you think of the problems in Afghanistan?”

“Oh, well, it’s a very complex situation; the political history of the present crisis could be said to date back to the Durrani Empire of 1747  -”

“Can you summarise?”

“Er – ”

“Ok, look, would you say that it is a scandal that our troops are under-equipped and overstretched?”

“Yes, I suppose so, if that’s the -”

“Marvellous!” he notes that down. “Right, one last shot with our infamous tax evader.”

“Mr Haliday is not evading tax,” I inform him.  “He is making use of a perfectly legitimate investment scheme.”

“Of course he is; legal loop holes eh?  Who would close em?!”

“It is not a loophole!” Malcolm  steps forward to remonstrate but loses his footing in a divvet and sprawls forward.  “Arrggh!”

The oily man thinks he’s going to hit him and springs back – ninja like – ready to counter attack, just in time for the arrival of the local Police Constable.

“Come to join in?” calls Mr Haliday.

“‘Fraid not,” he replies. “I’m here on Police business.” 

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Someone has reported you lot for public order offences.”

All eyes are on Malcolm and oily man, who, instantly, spring apart.  

“This was just a silly accident,” Malcolm explains.  “I wasn’t going to hit him.”

“Even if you were, I would have disabled you,” he counters.

“I’m not referring to your little display,” the Constable sniffs.  “The caller complained that you are using offensive slogans and blocking a public highway. ”

“Oh.” We all glance at Katherine’s car, which is parked haphazardly across the road.

“Was it the Green Party?” Oil man demands, “Car hating bastards.”

“The caller was a local resident,” the Policeman informs him.

“Liberal Democrat?” his eyes narrow. “They will do anything to take this seat…..”

The Constable shakes his head.  “I don’t think it was politically motivated: your car is blocking a highway and some of those slogans are contrary to Section 4 of the Public Order Act 1986 – abusive or insulting behaviour, amounting to threats towards individuals carrying out public service duties.” 

We all stare at the old boy who is brandishing the “Death to Tax Inspectors!”  sign.

“We never had this trouble during the Council Tax demo,” he mumbles.

“Are you going to arrest us?” Mrs Haliday seems quite enthusiastic about this prospect

“Not if I can help it.  The local nick only has two cells.  I just need an undertaking to destroy the offensive placards and move the car around the corner.”

“Oh, well, of course,” Mr Haliday smiles.  ”George, Mary,” he turns to the offenders. “Come on hand them over.”

With much disgruntlement the offensive placards are taken down and broken up.

“No need to move the car,” the oily man tells him, “We were just leaving.”

“So soon?” Mrs Haliday seems surprised.

“Fraid so,” he nods, “Lots of would-be supporters to meet before sunset.”

“You said you were visiting nursing homes.”

“Proxy voters,” he winks. “Untapped potential.”

“I’m sorry I have to go,” Katherine apologises, “It’s all a bit hectic at the moment, but I hope the press interest will help the campaign.”

“I doubt it,” Malcolm shrugs, “but it was lovely to meet you, nevertheless……”

“Great show guys,” the oily man claps his hands.  “Keep up the good work; we don’t want the evil Inland Revenue bleeding you dry; at least not until we get into power!  Ha ha ha ha.”

“Yes, thanks for having me,” Katherine adds. “I hope the club continues and I’ll look forward to your support in the future.”

“Make sure you vote Edison on May 6th!”  With one final, slippery grin, he bundles Katherine into the car.

“Well,” smiles Mr Haliday, “That was all in a good cause.”

“Absolutely,” I agree, I’m just not entirely sure which one……