Friday Night Drinks

Friday night drinks are a law firm institution. BCF does it well. It's in the board room with the balcony (which has a fountain in the corner of it). There are floor to ceiling windows which look out over the city and everyone is ready to unwind. The drinks are good, the food is provided and there are waiters passing it all round so you can just mingle and have a good time.

I've had such a crap day, drinks is the last thing (but also the only thing) I feel like. Judge Z and Mr Niffen squashed me in court. Apparently, if you fail to check out a little thing like WHO OWNS THE HELICOPTERS you just take the risk that perhaps the person you lease them from doesn't in fact own them.

Apparently due diligence is a shield and not a sword. Of course it is.

Clearly, a couple of years in Broadmeadow's Magistrates' Court does not a civil litigation lawyer make.

However, a blunder like this does make for a Senior Associate losing all autonomy and being mentored by a more senior Senior Associate. Goodbye autonomy and dignity.

Think of the pay cheque, think of the pay cheque.

I am just glad the day is over. The little digital numbers in the bottom right hand corner of my computer are just ticking over to five o'clock as my email chimes.

"Don't forget Friday Night Drinks in the Boardroom.

The Partners have an exciting announcement to make and strongly encourage all staff to attend and celebrate with a glass of champagne."

I was so excited about drinks this morning but now I feel exhausted just by the idea. I want to go home and eat a block of chocolate and drink myself silly in front of Sex in the City episodes. I don't want to mingle and feel elated about an "exciting announcement". I have only deflation after today.

The door to my office opens and Kate sticks her head in.

"Come on Trix", she beams.

"Katie…. I've had a shocker" I plead.

"No way missy. I am not letting you get out of this for the world".

"Please?"

"No, non, nein."

"The extra languages don't make it more convincing."

"Come on, you'll feel better after a glass of bubbly" she says, poking me in the side.

"Careful", I say, "my sweat patches have almost dried but you might get contaminated by my fluids."

"Trix, you're gross."

"Please?"

"No, shoes on, let's go. The partners will totally freak if you don't man-up and just suffer through some champagne. I know how much you hate Moet…"

"Moet? If you'd started with that, we'd be there by now."