With its pert-buttocked lawyer rumpy-pumpy and gay drug-fuelled toilet cubicle canoodling, but not a whisper of a barrister’s wig or glimpse inside a courtroom until its penultimate episode, War is no Rumpole of the Bailey. But nor does it feel like Silk. It goes in a different direction, is a different shape, from North Square. It’s not middle of the road like New Street Law and it diverges dramatically from The Split.
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