Tulkinghorn: Cool runnings

Tulkinghorn tends not to go in much for giving worthy causes the oxygen of publicity.

No offence to the many thousands who do ­commendably good works, but write about one and you end up writing about them all.

But there are exceptions. Not only was Nigel Clark’s experience of running the North Pole Marathon described as “a marathon run on water” (ie the frozen Arctic Ocean) and “unforgettable”, the Minter Ellison partner was canny enough to remember to take a copy of The Lawyer for a pic at the top of the world.

“We eventually started the marathon at 10pm on Friday evening after all the runners had arrived,” recalls Clark. “There’s 24-hour sunlight, so running a midnight marathon just added to the randomness of it all.

“The starting temperature was about -25°C and fell to -32°C after the first couple of hours.

It turns out that goggles don’t steam up in the North Pole, they just freeze up. So you take your goggles off and then your eyelashes freeze up.

“Anyway, it was an utterly amazing, unique and emotional experience, even if brutal in parts.”

Tulkinghorn is delighted to extend his congratulations to all who took part. With the memorial fund, the race sponsorship, offline donations and a few related things, the total raised for Great Ormond Street Hospital’s Kidney Centre should end up being around £180,000.

The great man asked Clark if during his exertions he had lost any fingers or toes?

“No, although I do have a few black toenails,” he admits.

A small price to pay.

Sparkling whiners

Sparkling whiners It was the 11KBW silks party last week at a swanky new hotel in Euston. And while the assembled throng was naturally in a highly ­celebratory mood – ­drinking the bar dry of champers – two of the newly appointed silks took matters to the next level (how appropriate, seeing as they’d just joined the legal elite).

The pair were ejected for demanding more booze once they’d realised the sparkly stuff had all drained away.

Tulkinghorn knows who they are but will spare their blushes.

The mouse and the pussy spat

A safari is the ultimate gentleman’s pursuit. There’s nothing like a ­couple of weeks cruising the African plains and ­pitting your wits against nature’s finest and fiercest.

Of course, there’s plenty to worry about: lions ­biting your head off, rhinos running you over, the ­constant threat of malaria, not to mention… er… mice.

That’s right. Eversheds managing partner Lee Ranson – the firm’s very own Bear Grylls – told one of Tulkinghorn’s scribes recently that, while staying in a safari lodge in close proximity to some of the world’s most efficient killers, he was forced to change rooms because a mouse ran across his face during the night.

Needless to say the park rangers were splitting their sides with laughter the next day (no doubt ­taking the Mickey)
while ­Ranson’s credibility as a roughty toughty ­outdoorsman was ­shattered.

But come on, it’s ­nothing to be ashamed of. Indiana Jones had snakes, Ranson has mice.

And considering ­Ranson has had to climb his way to the top of the commercial legal world, it’s ­definitely a good thing this pair’s phobias aren’t the other way around.