The first law of lawyers: there’s no bad situation that can’t get worse. When James Eadie, the barrister representing the government in its supreme court appeal, had gone home the previous night, he had hoped the worst was over. He’d noticed the raised eyebrows of the 11 supreme court justices and endured their critical line of questioning. Surely now, the only way was up.

“I think you’ve just given two diametrically opposed answers to the same question in the last five minutes,” observed Lord Sumption. As Eadie, aka the Treasury Devil, had only been back on his feet for less than 20 minutes, this wasn’t the best of starts.

“We’ll have to look back through the transcripts and see which one we agree with then,” Lord Carnwath added, not altogether helpfully.

“I see,” said Lord Neuberger, trying to be kind. “We had better let you proceed with your argument.

“I will try not to give two inconsistent answers in the next five minutes,” Eadie said dolefully. He’d never wanted this appeal and just going through the same points that the divisional court had dismissed last time out was doing nothing for his self-esteem. Trying to make the best of a bad job, wasn’t his usual style.

He began to fumble and lose his way. When he reached the point of double taxation in his submissions, he just decided to give up the unequal. The justices might understand the law but he didn’t and he’d only end up giving more wrong answers. “Because of time,” he said, “I’ll pass on this.” It wasn’t quite the slam dunk finale he’d been hoping for.

Next up was Lord Keen for the Scots. Or rather not for the Scots. Scotland’s advocate general gives every impression of believing devolution has only ever been a chimera and that the Westminster parliament pulls all the strings. “I’m going through this at the rate of knots,” he said, breathless in a way that only a tortoise could ever know. Glaciers move more quickly than Lord Keen. There seems to be a significant timelapse between him having a thought and it getting uttered.

Sensing that the appeal might be running away from the government, the attorney general for Northern Ireland, John Larkin, went for the nuclear option. He dropped his bundles, and lost his place to deliver one of the more hapless performances ever witnessed by the supreme court. He rushed straight out of court as soon as his 45 minutes were up, desperate not to catch anyone’s eye. Still, his job was done. By making himself appear so useless, he might just have made Eadie and Keen look a little better.

With the government’s case – what there was of it – complete, the rest of the afternoon was handed over to Gina Miller’s barrister, Lord Pannick. Seldom has a man been less well named. Pannick exudes a sense of calm and has the uncanny ability to make you think you understand legal doublespeak even when you don’t.

A Pannick attack is a thing of zen-like beauty. He doesn’t need to shuffle his papers because he never forgets a reference. Nor does he ever miss a beat. In his hands, a legal submission is more a cosy bedside story than adversarial confrontation.

“If the government is right,” he began, “the 1972 European Communities Act has a lesser status than the Dangerous Dogs Act.”

You could see the tension ease away from the 11 justices. They knew they were safe in Pannick’s hands and whereas their line of questioning to the government’s barristers had been provocative and sharp, they now turned into gentle pussycats.

“Perhaps what you mean ... ” said one who had fallen under Pannick’s spell.

“I don’t want to be pedantic ... ” said another, apologetically.

“Your lordship is never pedantic,” Pannick replied. Killing with kindness is so much easier when you know that three divisional judges have already decided you are right and you are only looking for the supreme court to rubber-stamp their judgment.

But Pannick wasn’t going to take anything for granted. Nor was he going to forget that his primary duty was to entertain. There was only so much of international planes and conduits that anyone could take, so he moved hurriedly on to some 1892 precedent about raiding a lobster preservation factory in Newfoundland. No one thought to ask him whether it was entirely germane to the proceedings because it was all rather fun and no one dares to interrupt the master in full flow.

“The appellant has completely failed,” he concluded. The “in everything” was left unsaid but was understood by all.

“Does this play into your arguments on the 2015 act?” asked Neuberger, thinking it was about time he said something.

“Oh definitely,” cooed Pannick.

Like putty in his hands.