7 October 2015
It being the first Wednesday of the month, I have to do back-to-back meetings. First up, a Congress Steering Committee meeting. This takes the form of a “debriefing”. A month ago, we all swore blind we would never do another CIPA Congress ever again. Today we say, Yeah, that was fun, let’s do another one, only let’s make it bigger and better than ever before. People have short memories. Second up, the Officers get together to exchange news about all the rubbish things we have been up to. The VeePee is not there because he has damaged his foot, and the EyeEyePeePee is not there because he is fed up of going to CIPA every first Wednesday of every month, but they both of them dial in to the meeting to exchange news with the EyePeePee and me. Mr Davies takes notes, which he will subsequently eat so as to destroy the evidence. Third up, a Council meeting. We talk about regulation, and about the EU referendum, and about various other things that Mr Davies will subsequently eat the notes about. And afterwards, we have drinks with the CIPA staff, to give them the chance to meet Council members and see for themselves why I get so terrified on the first Wednesday of the month. Several of these charming Council members take the opportunity to tease me about my “Welcome Your Judge-ness” speech tomorrow. They tell me I will have to wear a gown for the occasion. They tell me we have some gowns at CIPA for exactly this purpose. I remember being shown these gowns once before, several years ago, by Mr Pope, and I was not any more impressed with them then than I am now. They are way too big for me. When I put one on, as the others insist I do, the overall effect is of a pile of black curtain fabric that has landed heavily on a little person and made them even littler. Later, I email the ITMA President, who is also making a speech tomorrow, to confer about sartorial arrangements. We agree that gowns are overrated. 8 October 2015 I go to court. I have never been to court before. But it is not so impressive really: just a load of seats and a ceremonial dais and some microphones and a few books on a shelf. I do not know why the books are there. I didn’t think judges needed to look things up. Several barristers from the wigs-and-gowns section of the room make witty and confident speeches that cause raucous laughter among, well, lots of other barristers who are present. They all have posh accents. Eventually it is my turn to stand up, wig-less and gown-less and un-posh, to say something on behalf of CIPA. I say: My Lord (because this is how you address a High Court judge – see, I have done my homework), welcome to your new job. I say: I don’t know anything about you myself but some other patent attorneys who’ve worked with you think you’re a thoroughly nice man. I say: From a patent attorney, that is praise indeed. There is some polite sniggering in the wigs-and-gowns section, which the person doing the shorthand later records as “(Laughter.)” I say: My Lord, you are renowned for your expertise with vacuum cleaners. And parts thereof. (Laughter.) I say: My Lord, the UK is a centre of excellence in all things IP-related (I am wittering by now) and that, My Lord, is mainly due to our fantastic IP judges, and we are glad you are going to be a fantastic IP judge now too. The new judge – who is wearing a red gown but still looks a little bit like a load of curtain fabric has landed on him – says Thank you very much. He means Thank you for stopping, not Thank you for starting. Well, that’s one more thing I’ve done to raise CIPA’s profile. An excellent morning’s work.
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