Every so often we hear a piece of music, see a film or read a book and we feel we just have to share it with others because of the feelings it produces.

This is such a book.

Geoffrey Robertson is a barrister and, as such, has cultivated a way with words, but like his mentor John Mortimer, creator of Rumpole of the Bailey, his particular gift is an ability to write in such a beautiful flowing manner that he draws the reader in regardless of the subject matter.

I will confess a certain liking for the lives and work of barristers and lawyers, but this book exceeds all expectations. His recollection of his family origins reminds us of humble beginnings leading to great things and that many communities suffered famine and the neglect of the ruling power.

"My great-great-grandparents, Alexander and Christina Robertson, were part of an influx of poor Scottish crofters -- there were four thousand of them -- and they came out on the 'William Nicol' from Skye in 1837. They hailed from Scalpay, an island of the Inner Hebrides that was hit, like the rest of the Highlands, by the great potato famine of 1835. The government of Britain -- wealthy beyond measure as the industrial revolution churned out its profits -- was well aware but entirely unconcerned."

The book is littered with stories about cases he has been involved with and references to contemporary and historic cases where the vaunted British justice fell far short of its reputation.

"William Penn and William Mead, two Quakers who were tried in 1670 for unlawful assembly. Their jury refused to follow the judge's direction to convict, so he had them locked up for two nights without food or water or even a chamber pot. When they still insisted upon returning a verdict of 'not guilty', the judge sentenced them to prison."

He refers to the infamous Profumo affair and the trial of Stephen Ward:

"The behaviour of the government of the day was outrageous. Its defence minister, John Profumo, was forced to resign after lying to Parliament about his affair with Keeler, to whom he had been introduced by Ward. The evangelical home secretary determined to make Ward a scapegoat, and ordered the head of Scotland Yard to find some -- any -- grounds upon which to prosecute. Police pressured vulnerable street-walkers to make false allegations, the chief justice suppressed evidence that would have exonerated Ward, and at the Old Bailey the trial judge artfully persuaded the jury to convict Ward as he lay dying in hospital."

Away from the courtroom his life appears to have been just as colourful and he is not "behind the door" in exposing his romances and eventual marriage and the lives of his children. His circle of friends reads like a roster of celebrities and politically important people.

"We held at our first house in Islington for Tony and Cherie Blair for Labour's new leader to meet some of our friends -- John Mortimer, Salman Rushdie, Billy Connolly, Pamela Stephenson and Ronnie Dworkin."

Not that he was always aware of some of those whom he met.

"I said to my wife that I liked the saturnine fellow seated on my right -- was he an Australian backpacker? 'That was Nick Cave.' And there was a pleasant young man on my left who looked like the young John Lennon? 'Yes. That's because he is Julian Lennon.'"

The book also reminded me of the sad dumbing down of the media when he writes about a television series he was involved with in Australia, the US and the UK called Geoffrey Robertson's Hypotheticals. These were very intense but what sound like massively entertaining programs that confronted issues of the day with the people who were in various positions of power taking roles in arguing for or against matters of ethics. In some of the examples given, one longs to have access to the tapes.

Moderator: Xanadu, ladies and gentlemen, is a land of tinkling temple bells and genuflecting elephants, a romantic Qantas stopover where the heroin is pure and the massages are not. In Xanadu at midday today, President Kubla Khan has decreed that three drug traffickers will be tied to lampposts in the city square and shot. Gerry Peacocke, you're in Xanadu on a parliamentary study tour. Here's a chance to see something they don't do down in Dubbo. Perhaps they should. Are you in favour of executing drug pedlars?
Gerry Peacocke: Indeed I am.
Moderator: So you approve of the execution. Will you go and see it?
Peacocke: Absolutely. If you believe in the death penalty, I don't think you ought to be afraid to see it.
Moderator: It will be a fairly harrowing occasion. You might need a stiff drink or two before you go.
Peacocke: Before and after, probably.
Moderator: That's a pity. Xanadu is a Muslim country. The penalty for drinking is being stoned to death.

This is a book to devour, to recommend to friends and to reread in a year's time.