writer's moll

For the second time in 8 years, I’ve been summoned for jury service, much to the envy of both a friend, who suspects he and his wife have been deprived of this ‘privilege’ because earlier political activities have got them onto some sort of trouble makers list, and my loved one, who’s sorely miffed at never having had the chance to reprise the Henry Fonda role in Twelve Angry Men. The last time filled me with dread and I was desperate to find an exemption category that I qualified for. I considered ticking the box that said my boss couldn’t do without me, but what would that do for my confidence if he said he could easily spare me, or the one declaring I was suffering from mental health problems, but freaking out when the saucepans are put back in the wrong place probably wouldn’t count either, so as a last resort, maybe a defendant would successfully challenge my inclusion. Nothing doing, but to my amazement, I loved the experience, although that bit about the democratic selection of a foreman didn’t happen. I popped out to the loo and when I came back they’d already chosen one - so they’d spotted my lack of leadership qualities that soon eh? And rumours of the apathy of jurors, more concerned with a quick getaway on a Friday afternoon than seeing justice done, weren’t true either, though the defence lawyer did have to use her frostiest glare when noting someone in the back row nodding off during her summing up, with the suggestion that, difficult though it might be, we should try to give this little matter our full attention. But in weighing up the facts, every jury member seemed anxious to reach a just verdict based only on admissible evidence. It wasn’t exactly a juicy case - two young guys charged with small time forgery, nor did it have the drama of the Henry Fonda film where lone man doggedly sets about converting the rest of the jury. Opinion on ours was divided roughly equally and persuasive arguments on both sides won a few converts but we finally had to admit defeat and inform the judge that there was no hope of us reaching the required majority verdict and we were discharged. Now I can’t wait for another chance and maybe hit the big time with a salacious crime of passion trial, but sod’s law says that it’ll be one of those tedious fraud trials that are so complicated even the police don’t understand it, or this time the defendants will decide they don’t like the look of me and I’ll be left hanging around in the corridor like the unpicked swat for the netball team. January 8th is the big day – see you in court.