Many Are Called, But Few Are Chosen....

Apologies for not posting for such a very very long time (and for the mixing of enough metaphors in this post to give you all a terrible hangover tomorrow). The thing is, PP has been just a little bit anxious for the past several weeks about Fate, and the plans that he has for PP and his progress in The Senior Profession.

I don't know whether PP in his bravado 'fessed up to the fact that notwithstanding all the medals he had collected from his glorious campaigns at Oxford and the Inns, he had only secured a first six pupillage, and had no second six to fall back on should Fate and The Gods of chambers not smile upon him and extend for a further six months. PP has been busying himself exploring other options and wondering whether he can come up with a catchy title for the blog of a trainee solicitor, paralegal, D.Phil student, burger flipper or bum.

PP Towers (for which read Chatterton-esque garret in an unsalubrious district the postcode of which Mr and Mrs P would not even recognise - my mother was surprised to hear that the numbers went up that high and insists on referring to it as "SW A Million") is positively littered with discarded attempts at completing the application forms for City law firms, all of which are similar but subtly and tantalisingly different (OK that's a lie - they're actually just annoyingly and inconveniently different). It really is a very efficient test of how dedicated one is to joining the profession - if one's heart isn't 100 per cent. in it one finds it impossible to get past page 30. The Lord only knows how one is expected to get through the assessment days et cetera. I thought that since the coming into force of the Human Rights Act we would be spared the kind of patently cruel and distinctly unusual punishments described in the recruitment brochures. It almost makes one nostalgic for the humiliations of pupillage.

Well, the likes of Clifford Chance, Linklaters, Freshfields, Slaughters and A&O can breath a huge sigh of relief for the moment at least because, no doubt to the astonishment of many, despite his many first six gaffes (only a small selection of which he could be *rsed to chronicle here, so busy was he pulling his hair out, biting his nails and telling HR departments about challenges that he has risen to and examples of PP exhibiting commercial acumen) PP has pulled it off! He's cleared the first hurdle of the tenancy steeplechase and earned himself a reprieve from the glue factory for another six months.

When I was told The Decision I wasn't told whether all four of us have made the cut for the second six and, to tell you the truth, I didn't have the balls to ask. You see, the reason why PP hasn't shared with you lovely people too much detail about his fellow pupils is that he is a little squeamish about the competitive nature of pupillage and the suggestion from some readers that PP is a bit of a sh*t for revelling in the gaffes of a fellow pupil rather struck a nerve, because PP isn't quite as horrid as he likes to make out.

Although the pupillage race is undoubtedly a competitive one, and it is certainly not a case of "everyone shall have prizes", I must admit that no matter how many times I consult my well-thumbed copies of "The Art of War" and "The Prince", I can't bear the thought of any of my co-pupils being told that they are not being kept on.

I have "survivor's guilt" and I don't even know that anyone has perished. I know that this is a serious chink in PP's armour and perhaps marks him out as unsuitable for the jousting of an adversarial and competitive profession. I know also that I have misled you with all my bluster, and that the bluster is probably rather more fun to read, but there it is.

Anyway, until PP's mind is put at rest as to the fate of his fellow pupils, it's "two cheers" for the second six decision.