After days in court, my verdict on politicians is damning
I’ve been in court for most of the last week – I swear I’m innocent. Actually, for research purposes, I have been watching the Crown and defence duke it out from the public gallery.
It’s probably best not to discuss the case, but I’ve found it all gripping. Not just trying to work out how the case is being constructed and deconstructed, but peripherals l i ke the way our j ury always brighten when an adjournment invokes biscuits, the lawyer who telegraphs impatience by clicking her pen, or the dignified witness who turns up each day immaculately dressed, and drapes his overcoat over the side of the witness box as if trying to make it home.
I have never been in a courtroom before. This might be slightly surprising since I have a law degree, or maybe it just confirms that suggestible 17-year-olds should not be allowed to go through their university options when Petrocelli and Ironside are on Tv.
I don’t regret turning my back on a legal career; in practice, I would have wreaked more havoc on our j usti c e system t han Kenny MacAskill but I slightly regret escaping jury duty on the three or four occasions when I’ve been summoned.
Myfriend Craig did jury duty a few years ago and bonded with his fellow jurors over the joint effort of solving the Wee Stinker crossword during breaks. Since Craig came up with three or four of the solutions each day, they elected him foreman. They also called him The Professor, an honorarium that I believe that Craig would dearly have liked to take away with him.
As an observer, it’s remarkable how quickly you become part of the
THIS weekend we learned from Jeremy Clarkson that it is acceptable to punch someone i f you have had a cancer scare. All those opportunities that we’ve missed…
court routine. The security guards recognised me by the second day, by the third they were gently chaffing me about the scruffiness of my ancient holdall (‘Gucci, is it?’) and advising on the best buys in the court restaurant. Actually, it is all pretty good value – an all- day breakfast for well under two quid, decent coffee for non-Starbucks prices and the mood is cheerful, despite a huge sign stating that all thefts will be prosecuted. you could expect no less in a room stuffed with lawyers, albeit lawyers buying t ubs of kola kubes at t he checkout.
Obviously all this may be far less jolly if you are not a white, middleclass woman doing some legal rubbernecking; as I was reminded when I passed a young man on the way to my courtroom, who was sitting blank and shocked while his lawyer tried to murmur advice.
However for me, this has been a welcome break from the ongoing white noise of the General election. your phone goes off when the court is in session, and the internet coverage is rubbish here too. your focus is entirely on the people in front of you, and although you might expect the legal arguments to pattern after political debates, they really don’t. Both are adversarial, but our current political debates – especially Tv debate – feel like Just A Minute with everyone desperate to buzz in about ‘deviation’ or ‘repetition of Full Fiscal Autonomy’. Watching a man talk about the business he built up for his family, his voice cracking with emotion, reminds you that there are some experiences you cannot spin.