North Sefton Magistrates' Court

I have spent the morning in court. No, I am not the defendant. It's a quiet day in the Visitor office, apparently, and one of the journalists, Vicky, took me and Sarah with her to Sefton Magistrates' Court. It wasn't so very interesting, all motor offences, and Vicky sat in the front taking notes very slowly while Sarah and I lurked at the back trying to look interested. It got more interesting during the morning recess, when the prosecutor arrived and gave us a strictly off the record rundown of cases yet to come. There's an interesting case involving Scottish pole dancers (did they or didn't they wear anything under their kilts?) and a criminal damage case. A man whose neighbour kept fish in a pond with a little waterfall. The noise of it irritated him. One night, he got out a can of diesel. Four fish are definitely dead, the other forty-six on some version of fish-life-support. The prosecutor had to warn people that this was not the time or plaice to keep carping on about it.

However, the only case that is likely to make the newspaper was the last one, involving a man who may be convicted of drunk driving. It's his third conviction, and he's been in prison before. I was bored during much of the case, sitting back and reading a newspaper I'd found on the front step, when suddenly the magistrate came back in and all were instructed to rise. He was supposed to get six months, I knew. But in light of mitigating circumstances (heavily pregnant girlfriend) the sentence was reduced. When the magistrate announced the sentence of four months' custodial sentence, the girlfriend, who was in the bench next to me, started to cry. At first, she just overflowed, but fairly soon she was sobbing her heart out, and she was all you could hear as they put handcuffs on her boyfriend and everyone filed out. I guess I never thought that the case actually affected real people. I was sitting there watching it as an utterly dispassionate observer, so I do wish she hadn't cried.

Afterwards, I waved goodbye to Sarah - we were there all morning, so we went straight to lunch from there (yes, I'm in the library again). We're meeting back at the court later. I think this was the only time in my entire life I have ever said the words, "See you at the inquest."

Accidental death

The coroner returned a verdict of accidental death. According to the forensics experts, the now deceased thirty-year-old man slipped and fell in his conservatory, and landed on a ceramic pot. The pot smashed into sharp pieces which cut open a nineteen-centimetre-long gash on the man's back. They found him several hours later, in which time he had bled to death.

And they say nothing happens in Southport. Anyway... we tried to interview the relatives, but they were too quick for us. And with that, we ambled back to the newsroom and I attempted to do some actual work. It mostly consisted of rewriting the Merseyside Police press releases, which are quite frankly incomprehensible, and interviewing an annoying old woman for yet another charitable donation story. I managed to squeeze a few words out of her, then wrote up the story with something that did not resemble enthusiasm. After that, I went on to re-writing the requests for planning permission that are also utterly incomprehensible, and finally, wandered on home.

I am actually enjoying myself. It's so free and easy and for once I feel like I'm being given stuff to do that I know I can do; just, I don't know, writing. Even if it's crap about requests for allotments and curtilage. Even if it's random charitable donations. Even if it's a bloody "arts zone" story. I can write. And that's a nice thing.

Three more days, then back to doing nothing. I'm almost sorry.