Mugged

For what seems to be the eighth day this week, I am sat in the witness’ room at the town’s court. There is an expectant hush in the room that resembles a huge dentist’s waiting room.

The absence of goldfish tank or distant sound of a drill don’t make it any better.

Civilian witnesses, as always, are plentiful and looking nervously around, not knowing what to expect and pretty intimidated by the grandiose surroundings.

The cops are all sat nonchalantly as if they’ve been giving evidence all their lives. This, for at least some of them, is a huge act. We do a bit more than dress as Police, but so much of the job is about acting – looking confident, sounding like we know what we’re saying and doing. Here in court is the biggest test for us.

The civvies are too busy with their own worries to notice, but we cops all check each other out as we enter the room. You can tell how much service a cop has by looking at his shoulder number, and that should give some indication of how many times they’ve been in the box.

Anything less than 4 years’ service and despite the confident exterior, it’s a good bet that this could be that particular officer’s first time taking the oath – that’s despite turning up to court on numerous occasions to simply be sent away again.

The cop next to me, I have known for years. He’s a decent, dyed-in-the-wool copper who has turned down promotion at least twice, because he won’t play the political game. If he turns up to your house, you know he’ll do his best for you. He’s also a deadpan, bitingly sarcastic scream. He has the ability when interviewing scrotes, to have them saying the most outrageous things, all of which are recorded to be played back before the court. He once recorded an accused person’s reply to a charge of assault as being, “I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy”.

It’s funny enough to see it happen, the accused singing along to a song at the worst moment, but to hear it read over in court, completely out of context is worth paying an entry fee. It is the high point of that day’s proceedings, even the defence can’t help but titter away, and there are snorts of barely suppressed hilarity in the public gallery. The judge isn’t impressed, but he lets it go.

A heavy-set, tanned chap who walks past, all airs, graces and dominance, has just bought a yacht. He called it Legal Aid. You see, by entering a Not Guilty plea on behalf of a client, the lawyer gets a fee, about fifteen times as much, as by entering a guilty plea.

It drives me mad that I am paying for him to milk the system and sail away at the weekend.

My taxes, and yours, and your friends’, and the law-abiding granny who got mugged for £7.34 and a bus pass last week, OUR taxes allow the defence to get progressively and steadily richer by the hour, defending the indefensible, then wasting more money by changing a plea at the last minute.

Captain Bligh LLB did come unstuck once, when winding into a traffic cop, who, using his professional judgement, called a car at travelling between 85 and 95 miles per hour. Legal Aid II’s skipper puffed himself up and asked the cop just what driving experience he had. “I have served 10 years in the army where I drove jeeps, tanks and all manner of weird and wonderful vehicles. I have served 15 years in the Police, 10 in the traffic department, and an authorised to drive pursuits, and drive the highest performance Impreza the force has. I am a qualified driving instructor. I believe my opinion as to the speed of the accused’s vehicle is accurate beyond doubt.”

Bligh picked up a pencil and threw it across the room. “Fine. How fast was that pencil travelling then?” he sneered, turning his back to the cop and sitting down, feeling very pleased with himself.

“I don’t know” said the cop, “I’ve never driven a pencil”. Game, set and match. Another one I didn’t have to pay to see. A small victory for the taxpayer.

Here’s a thought. In Scotland alone, in 2005-2006, spending on Legal Aid came to £147.9 million, for a population of some 7 million. You do the maths, but Live Aid didn’t get such a good payout from us, the public, and Children In Need is small fry.

Someone, call the Police, we’ve been mugged.