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Also available on vinyl under “Greatest Legal Hits: Volume 0.”
Ah yes – the appeal.
The legal equivalent of shouting “double or nothing” after you’ve already lost your wallet, your shoes, and the respect of three judges.
Let’s be clear: they had no case.
The CAT had ruled. The facts were in. The law was clear.
The accommodation request had medical support, met the legal test, and was rooted in the very legislation the board claimed to understand.
But instead of complying, they appealed – not to win, but to wear us down.
A strategic tantrum in three parts: delay, intimidate, invoice.
Spoiler: it backfired spectacularly.
The judges – seasoned, sharp, and visibly unimpressed – asked the obvious:
“Why didn’t you approve the accommodation?”
The lawyer, gripping his binder like a flotation device in a sinking argument, responded:
“We didn’t have sufficient information.”
They tried again:
“But you were given documentation – repeatedly.”
Still:
“We don’t know what we don’t know.”
He repeated it like it was a legally binding mantra, or perhaps the only phrase left in his litigation vocabulary.
Judge #2, gently nudging the obvious:
“If you were inclined to approve it, you would have. But you didn’t. So you weren’t, correct?”
And once again, as if his internal hard drive had frozen on a single line of code:
“We don’t know what we don’t know.”
That wasn’t a legal argument.
It was an existential shrug.
At one point, you could practically hear the courtroom whisper:
“Has anyone tried Ctrl+Alt+Deleting this guy?”
At some point, you expected him to stare into the middle distance and whisper,
“What even is knowledge, Your Honour?”
It was less of a hearing and more of a philosophical improv night gone horribly wrong.
And the result?
They lost. Again.
The court upheld the CAT decision, dismantled their logic (or lack thereof), and wrote a ruling that reads like a velvet-gloved slap.
So much for intimidation.
Their grand appeal strategy – designed to silence, shame, and pressure – ended with a published judgment, another legal bill, and a masterclass in how not to argue a case when you’re out of law, facts, and luck.
Frankly, the only thing they proved was that you can, in fact, spend $170,000 to repeat the same sentence in three different robes.
Disclaimer: This post is satire and opinion. Read full disclaimer.
