A moot by any other name would smell as sweet

(Originally published Wednesday 22nd February)

Today I had the pleasure of watching the final qualification round in our college mooting competition. For those of you who do not have the misfortune to be law students, you may not know what a moot is. Pray permit me to explain.

Try to recall that old television show, Gladiators. Remember that most manly of events, which I believe was called Duel, in which people used to hit each other with big foam sticks, each aiming to knock the other off their platform. It always used to be Shadow representing the Gladiators, because his eyes bulged out (in a highly intimidating fashion, naturally) while waiting for the humorously Scottish referee to tell them to start. Eye-bulging makes good television.

Now, take away the drug-fuelled (that's why he left the show, apparently) big black man, and the scrawny contestant who looks self-conscious about wearing a leotard, and replace them with four people wearing suits, ties, and gowns. Take them off those little platforms. Remove the referee (John Anderson, I've remembered his name!), and replace him with a judge. Take away the big foam sticks, and hand each contestant the weighty weapon of the Law.

And that, essentially, is a moot. And that's what I've been doing this evening, which means that my essay is still unstarted. And yes, I am still reading bloody Elements of bloody Land Law, and may well be doing so until I'm 70. Bah.