A lone man, disguised as an elf – though he could have been a lone elf, disguised as a man – carried a placard that read: “Nigel Farage was sent by Christ to get Britain out of Europe and Fulfill [sic] Bible Prophecy”. He didn’t quote chapter and verse. Of Nigel himself, there was no sight. Christ had come to him in a vision and warned him that leading a People’s Army to the supreme court to protest against a vote that hadn’t gone his way in the divisional courts might not be the best of looks for the self-proclaimed saviour of democracy. The only activists out on the street were a busload of Europhiles who appeared mildly disappointed there were no Brexiteers to taunt.

Inside court one, cohorts of lawyers searched vainly for a seat. The government’s appeal against the ruling that insisted article 50 could not be invoked without an act of parliament has been good business for the legal profession. Dozens of juniors were sidelined into an overspill room to make sure there was enough seats for a few members of the public and a handful of journalists. There was a brief frisson when Gina Miller, the woman who had originally taken the government to court, entered the room, but the day wasn’t really about her. The opening day was for the government to put its best foot forward and convince the court that it could do without parliament’s help in leaving the EU.

On the stroke of 11am, the 11 supreme court justices entered the wood-panelled court room and took their seats. Neither they, nor other members of the judiciary, have taken kindly to being branded the undemocratically elected “Enemies of the People” by the Daily Mail – pots and kettles come to mind – and Lord Neuberger opened with a warning about the level of threats that had been made against both them and some of the original claimants.

Jeremy Wright, the attorney general, who was the lead-off man for the government, ought to have been embarrassed by the necessity for Neuberger to make such introductory remarks, but didn’t appear to bat an eyelid. Either because the government is quite happy for the Daily Mail to rubbish the judges on its behalf, or because he didn’t quite understand their significance. Most likely the latter.



Wright may have his talents, but being a lawyer does not count as one of them. The job of attorney general usually goes to one of the top legal minds in the country, not to someone who was described by a former MP as “a third-rate conveyancing lawyer”. But the government doesn’t have anyone better qualified, and so a man more used to pleading cases of failed dampproofing courses was charged with being its warm-up act.

“I won’t make a long list,” said Wright.

“Very sensible,” replied Neuberger, anxious to avoid the attorney general getting even further out of his depth.

Wright sensibly cut to the chase. He stuck to reading his script – only stumbling once or twice over some of the longer words – and sat down again within 20 minutes, having basically told the court that he wasn’t really qualified to be there, he didn’t understand any of the issues, and was going to let James Eadie, aka the Treasury Devil, do all the heavy lifting. He’d only been there for ornamental purposes.

“I don’t propose to go on and on,” Eadie began, before going on to do just that. The courtroom began to feel stifling and one or two people began to get very heavy-lidded. Sensing he was losing his audience before he had started, Eadie made a bad gag, at which a few of his team laughed sycophantically. Lady Hale was unmoved, observing that some of his bundles were not in the right order.

That intervention was the cue for the judges to mount polite guerrilla warfare on Eadie for the rest of the day. They knew he was too bright to be this vague, so the only possible reason he could have for deliberately missing the point was to steer them away from the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure what point it was he was trying to make. This kind of thing doesn’t normally bother lawyers of Eadie’s calibre, but it’s not every day you’re up against the 11 best legal minds in the country.

Eadie blustered on with talk of ambulatory conduits on the international plane and double-negative resolution procedures, but the justices were not to be swayed. Time and again they picked him up on the detail.

“This isn’t reflected in the papers,” said Lord Mance.

“This is another possible instance of you stating something in the wrong place,” observed Lord Wilson.

“Why are you spending so long on 1972?” inquired Lord Carnworth.

“Is this realistic?” interrupted Lord Mance, who was turning into Eadie’s bete noire. “There’s a huge difference between changes to the rules of a club and deciding not to be a member of that club.”

Eadie puffed out his cheeks. It had been a long day. And Tuesday might be even longer.