When I’m not busy Googling myself, I like to flip through the pages of the Law Society Journal … looking for myself. Recently, I spotted an ad for a play by writer, producer, and fellow lawyer Tony Laumberg. I noted with interest that Find Me A Lawyer would be his eleventh annual production of “fun and frivolity” with a legal hook. Eleven plays!

I felt a jealous pang, tossed the Journal aside and resumed Googling myself.

I could not help but be drawn to the reviews of my own comedy shows: “the show … didn’t seem to have much point” (Adelaide Fix, 11 March 2006), “Anthony Jucha is not a comedian. He is an angry man with too many issues to be funny” (Adelaide Theatre Guide, 4 May 2004), and “among the worst things I have ever seen” (The Advertiser, 10 March 2004).

But before I knew it, I’d strayed back to Laumberg and was admiring his firm’s website which boasts: “Tony Laumberg is no average lawyer!” and promises “all matters [are] handled by Tony” who will be “always accessible and friendly”. Always accessible? And friendly? Eleven plays?

I telephoned Tony.

“So, you write and produce plays, and practice law?”

It was almost an accusation. Tony invited me to lunch to explain.

Now, most lawyers won’t let their clients see their desk, let alone the mess of their home-life. Not so Tony. He not only works from home, he invites clients in.

Enthusing the benefits of working from home, he showed me around. I snooped – as I imagine his clients must – finding barely disguised evidence of Star Trek, a certificate (unframed) for a hole-in-one, and a trophy: “Tony’s Award” – for best first play.

To lunch, where we both ordered breakfast.

“Before I studied law,” said Tony. “I sent screenplays to Hollywood. A producer invited me to LA. He said he wanted to make my movie.”

“Wow. What happened?”

“I told him if he wanted the script, he had to take me as well – as the lead actor.”

“And?”

“I was a fool,” said Tony stabbing his eggs. “The movie was never made.”

I was starting to realise that Laumberg is out of my league. I could not even put the difference down to ‘hard work’. Tony obviously has talent. I stabbed at my eggs.

“Later, when I was a young lawyer,” he said, “I made a pitch to Mike Willessee. I told him ‘I bet I can make you laugh’. I did my whole bit – and nothing – so I apologised for wasting his time. He burst out laughing and said ‘If you challenge me like that, of course I’m not going to laugh’. Then, he offered me a TV contract. I knocked it back.”

“What? Why?”

“I thought my parents would disapprove.”

“Why did you go to him in the first place?”

“That’s what Willessee asked.”

There followed a decade of law balanced with stand up, performing with the likes of Rodney Rude and Austen Tayshus. It petered into a quiet, married period where he did little more than MC at weddings. (Now this, I could relate to.)

“Then, one day, I met a director, and he talked me into writing a play. It was a sell out.”

Like all good lawyer/writers, Tony purges his practice. He told me the story of a client who painted her show pony. The pony’s hair fell out and so – with Tony’s help – she sued the paint manufacturer. She won, and became the subject of a play.

“Are you at peace now?” I asked, suppressing my own war stories. “Is it enough to write and produce a play every year?”

“I’m grateful for the stability of the law,” he said. “But I’ve realised I need an outlet. It doesn’t have to be a career, but, if you’re creative, you must have an outlet.”

I felt better. I have an outlet. And I realised I could go and let it out all over Laumberg.

I went to see his play Find Me A Lawyer. It was fun. It was frivolous. It was by no means among the worst things I have ever seen.