Become a better lawyer: running a case, doing a deal, moving in-house and other tips from the top

I’ve always had an interest in politics. Stemming, I suppose, from my father being in the House of Commons when I was young, it developed at Oxford, where I was president of the Conservative Association. However, the idea of going directly into a political career as a researcher or some sort of backroom operative never appealed. I wanted a profession. So, having graduated in history, I converted to law and trained as a barrister.

As a lawyer, I remained active within the Conservative party. After completing my pupillage, I spent several years combining my legal work with various political roles. Initially I was a local councillor, before being selected in 1985 as the Conservative candidate for Lambeth, an unwinnable Labour stronghold. However, I then failed to get a seat to fight at the next election. At which point, with my career at the Bar becoming increasingly dominant, those early parliamentary ambitions began to fade.

I was actually on the point of giving up on becoming an MP altogether. Then, while on holiday in the Lake District in the run up to the 1997 election, I received a phone call inviting me to be interviewed for the vacant candidate’s position in Beaconsfield, the incumbent MP having stood down over the cash for questions scandal. Cutting short our break, we drove directly to Beaconsfield, handed over the children to the mother-in-law in a hotel car park and I was interviewed for the post at 10.30pm that night. Three weeks and four days later, I was a Member of Parliament.

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It was a bit of a fluke, really. I can think of several friends and colleagues who haven’t made it despite undoubtedly having the aptitude to be parliamentarians. One would certainly be rather foolish to look on law, or indeed any profession, as a way to lay the foundations for a career in politics.

Having said that, my legal background has been rather useful. Not least in my current role as Shadow Attorney-General, and indeed in my previous positions as spokesman for criminal justice and, before that, junior constitutional affairs. It was never my intention to become a lawyer-politician, but that’s the way my parliamentary career has developed.

And, of course, the skills that one develops at the Bar translate pretty neatly into the world of politics. There’s the public speaking, the experience of working with people from different backgrounds, the ability to scrutinize legislation . . . One of my small pleasures is pointing out to the government the flaws in its bills: I seem to recollect tabling 318 amendments to the Proceeds of Crime Act.

However, nothing quite prepares you for the intensity of life on the front bench. There’s this constant sense of flying by the seat of one’s pants: you’re always being asked to come up with responses and solutions at very short notice, often without as much information as you’d like. And it all tends to be very public. It never crossed my mind when I took the job that I’d be zipping in and out of the Newsnight studio to be grilled by Jeremy Paxman.

Life is made slightly easier by the fact that politicians are able to get away with more than lawyers. Courts tend to be much more rigorous places when it comes to judging whether you’re engaging in reasoned argument or putting forward bullshit. I can think of many a political career that has been founded on verbosity and obfuscation, but not too many legal ones.

Having taken silk this year, I’m still active as a barrister. I was actually just preparing a case the other week on the train to Crewe, where I was campaigning, which is fairly typical of the juggling I do. But obviously there are limits. Lengthy trials are out — the whips would be none too thrilled about me disappearing for weeks on end while parliament is sitting — which means mainly doing things like smaller health and safety cases and plea and mitigation hearings.

Clearly I’d be making more money if I were practising at the Bar full-time. But then I never went into politics for the financial rewards. I do what I do because it’s hugely fulfilling and interesting. The ego factor? Well, certainly anybody who involves themselves in a profession with a public profile may well have underlying psychological motivations. But I think that’s for others to judge.

Who knows which way the wheel of fortune will turn next. It rises, then suddenly dips again. People who emerge into the limelight disappear back off into oblivion quite quickly. With that in mind, I’m reluctant to comment on the future. Let’s see what happens.

Dominic Grieve, QC, is a Conservative MP for Beaconsfield, Shadow Attorney-General and a barrister at 1 Temple Gardens

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