This story came to mind when I heard someone banging on about how boring Jury Service was; a dull traffic offender or somesuch.
Jury Service, Wood Green Crown Court, North London.
After two days of the worst defence I had ever witnessed, inlcuding the hapless lawyer in that fine Australian film 'The Castle', twelve tired people retired to the deliberation room to try to convince one posh man that the accused and his pregnant fifteen year old girlfriend were guilty of supplying a huge amount of crack cocaine to distributors for a large profit. The evidence was way beyond suggestion: the Yardy dealt lots of crack. Pure and simple. The latex gloves, the criminal contacts, the forensic evidence, the, er, crack found on the premises...
But we couldn't convince this chap as he kept having abstract and irrational doubts. I thought he felt he couldn't deal with the power invested in him - possible a masochist at heart. I don't know.
The judge, an avuncular old sage, asked us for a 12 to 0 verdict.
Working class Bob, after two further days stuck in a stuffy room, littered with snack packaging and stained polystyrene cups got a bit tetchy after Posh Jamie said "I like so couldn't live with myself if I found him guilty? I'm like so not totally convinced?"
Bob shot me a dark and disappointed glance and said to Jamie's pale eyes "look, not only is he an obviously guilty crack dealer, all the evidence points that way, but what sticks in my craw is that he tried to rip punters off by selling lumps of wax as a crack substitute, the cheap bastard. Now that's bang out of order in my book."
Jamie, weakly: "yes, well, that is rather cheating, isn't it?"
12 - 0. Four years apiece. Well done Bob.
