Long Solicitations

Home they march, skin peeling, tempers frayed. The holidaymakers, locked into the annual ritual of overbrimming suitcases, long waits at airports, cramped aeroplane seats, minuscule aeroplane meals, turbulence, indifferent foreign officials smoking foul smelling cigarettes, antiquated and slow luggage carousels at airports which look half finished, half finished hotels with dangerous swimming pools and ill cooked food, sun which is too hot, on beaches which are too crowded, in sea which is too polluted; of days spent in a hangover half life, with the agony of choice of eating at Sylvios (oily food with a touch of cigarette ash) or Zorba's (nice cats curling themselves around the tables but how many have we eaten this week?); of the counting of days before an escape can be made to return to -
The office,
Why am I not describing sun drenched beaches, days of relaxation, and long dreamy nights immersed in Ouzo or Camparis? Because I had my break so long ago that I've forgotten all about it, but everyone else in the office is away and I have to sign all their post, and see their clients, and make major decisions on my own (such as whether to order cheap tea bags or very cheap tea bags for office use).
The only consolation is that when eventually they do return to the office, it will be just as depressing for them as it was when I returned those months ago.
However grim or good your holiday is, you do change gear while you are away. I never do what I advocate, but all who work in solicitors' offices should have three consecutive weeks' holiday a year. Even this gives only one week's real respite, because the first week is spent worrying about the things you left behind at the office, and the last is in stark terror of what horrors await you when you get back.
Most of us return to the office with our defences down, prepared to smile a little and even be a little benign to our adversaries.
On our first day back we feel the unfamiliar tourniquet of a tie round our necks (I won't go into that other unfamiliarity felt by my female counterparts), the burden of a suit covering a body which spent the previous fortnight unencumbered by anything more incarcerating than a swimming costume, and the shackles of office routine.
We don't want to be there at all. All we yearn for is go back, even to the appalling food, the bad mannered foreigners and the unbuilt hotels.
The first client telephone call of the day makes us want to burst into tears. The first visit from a frowning partner induces a rush for the Prozac bottle.
Recent research has suggested that annual leaves are stressful occasions and may sometimes do more harm than if we stayed at home. Whether or not that is true, there is no doubt that actually coming back from holiday is a very distressing experience. On the basis that we are all at our most vulnerable after a holiday, here is the Richard Barr 6 point plan for making holiday returns happy returns:
*When your sunburnt colleague saunters into your room half way through the morning and tries to engage you in conversation about the political situation or what is on at the cinema, do not clutch your dictating machine so hard that your knuckles go white. Put down your debenture, take a deep breath and chat with him for at least three minutes before benignly suggesting that you must get together for lunch sometime.
*Do not make any appointments for him or her for at least the first two days. If he has been left with a mountain of work to do, he won't want to see Edna or Cyril about their respective wills or boundary disputes. Even if he has no mountain waiting for him, he will need to steel himself for battle, and it takes at least 48 hours of office hassle to rearm.
*If he has made a cockup, do not stand at the front door of the office with the writ in your hand demanding that he attends to it before he has taken off his hat and coat. Let a week go by before you break that kind of news.
*Do not ask if it was a good holiday. If it was, you will only make him sad. If it wasn't, he won't want to be reminded.
*Do not make snide remarks when he disappears out of the office to the camera shop, pockets bulging with rolls of film. You took pictures on your holiday too, and we all hope that those little squares of celluloid will preserve the essence of our experiences. It should be written into every partnership deed that partners and staff be allowed to get their films developed on their first day back.
*On the other hand do not too readily accept an invitation "for a bite to eat" during the first week after the holiday. There could be a hidden motive, in the shape of a six hour in-depth video of vegetarians vacationing in Venice.
This will help to keep the peace for this year, but next year, more radical solutions are needed. I propose: the Long Solicitation, our short answer to the Long Vacation. Solicitors' offices will shut down for the month of August to enable us all to return simultaneously. There will be nobody sullenly awaiting our return except the office cat. We will be so relaxed that we will want to see each other's holiday snaps. Our feet will be on our desks as we lie back for the first week dreaming of blue skies and rolling surf. We will show solidarity to each other when Edna and Cyril make it into the office. And at the end of the fifth day we will have a communal writ reading session, and giggle uncontrollably at the allegations that "the said Barr did negligently and wantonly go on holiday in breach of his retainer to Edna thereby causing her grievous distress in or about her personal affairs"

This article first appeared in Solicitors Journal in September 1997