For those of you who might have missed it, it was the Lawyer Awards last night. That's right, another sparkling night hosted by everyone's favourite legal publication and everyone's least-favourite jowly vanilla-flavoured man-boy Michael McIntyre. What a terrible gig for him - can anyone imagine a more humourless bunch than 1,400 of the self-styled 'stars' of the legal world? Still, presumably it pays for the extract of aubergine for his hair or more outsize toothbrushes.

But anyway, congratulationzzzzzz to all the winners. To everyeone who didn't quite manage to win, there's always next year (or whenever it is that your firm comes up on the rotation).

If you came first last year, you probably can't expect to win again. No, that would make the entire thing look like a fix. And we can't have that. Unless you're Herbert Smith, a traditionally strong litigation firm, and therefore have to win Litigation Team of the Year award. Untouchable.

But if you're not Herbies, you'll get the equivalent of a parachute payment.

Take Banking and Finance Team of the Year. This year, it was won by Slaughter and May, with Linklaters in third place. Last year (and indeed in 2008), is was Linklaters' turn to win, with S&M coming a distant second. I can hear the gnashing of Silk Street teeth from here.

Exciting scenes at the profession's leading award ceremony

Regarding Corporate team of the year, Slaughters went from winning in 2009 to third in 2010. Howreys has fallen from best TMT Team of the Year to third place this time out. So it's all swings and roundabouts. The same handful of firms just gets recycled through the rankings - you can't win them all.

PR teams from the winners were no doubt delighted that their only task for Wednesday was a press release noting that victory. Because by close of play Wednesday, everyone will have forgotten about the awards, recovered from their hangovers, and (possibly) returned to their own beds.

Results aside, £3,000 for a table of ten? Not including wine, obviously. And with vino collapso being surely the only way through an evening of self-congratulatory speeches and bad-breath chit-chat with the more tedious of your colleagues, how ever did you all cope? Into the valley of death, rode the fourteen hundred.
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