Woof Justice

Posted by Judge Mental on August 28, 2007 1:34 PM

Never let it be said that I don’t like dogs. I love ‘em. I feel the same way about dogs that most people feel about their partners, minus the fleas. That said, I wouldn’t want a dog to make my breakfast. Bit of a mess, apparently.

As the great Gallic philosopher and author Albert Camus said in his celebrated essay The Rabid Generation, “I love animals, especially canines. And especially canine dogs.” Of course, this comes out much better when said in Albert’s native French while waving a Gauloise, wearing an onion necklace and reeking of garlic. The Absurd-obsessed Camus also went on to write about the meaninglessness of existence in an infinite universe but I am saving this for my Christmas blog. I always save nihilism for the New Year.

Forgive one, for one is paraphrasing but of course you will get one’s point. Yes folks, the last few weeks in Liverpool’s good old Crown Court building (established 1984) have been Dog Week(s). If the animal crackers passed you by, legal fans, worry not and let one explain.

Think of play day at the end of term, only with animals. We were all allowed to bring a pet in so long as it (a) had four legs and a tail and (b) was a dog.

The policemen naturally break the no animals rule and bring dogs in with them whenever they feel like it. They can - after all, who is going to arrest them?

In between games on my Nintendo and important trials, I ended up stroking a nice police dog called Woofley (not his real name). He is nine years old and about to retire (to Southport, presumably) and I was talking to his handler PC Barney McGrew (that is his real name) about why the dogs were in court at the he gave me some guff about it being for a high-security trial and nothing to do with its being Dog Week(s).

Anyway, that was probably the Official Secrets Act gagging him, but it made me recall the trial of a big Manchester drugs baron which was held in Liverpool. Security was tighter than ever and sniffer dogs came in to do their work every day. One of them put the ‘poo’ in pooch by leaving a rather nasty present on the floor of the court. It, and the dog, had to be removed before the judge came in, but when His Honour returned he saw the funny side (and its calling card) and we all howled when he said he might consider sending the naughty mutt down for contempt of court.

The canny canine would have probably ended up being Top Dog on D-Wing.

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Someone's been 'court' out....

Posted by Judge Mental on August 21, 2007 11:38 AM

Football is more important than life and death. I think it was Ken Dodd who said that.
Well, you got that right Doddy and in court it’s just the same.

Take one defendant from last week. Please. I suppose I should have been paying more attention, but my mind was wandering and I was thinking: Where do these criminals get their ideas from? Heartbeat? The Jeremy Kyle Show? These are questions that keep me awake at night and often during the day when I have better things to do.

Sleep is all important to important court people like me. You never know when you need to have your wits about you. I often whistle in order to keep my wits about me at all times, even at night which used to be a crime until 1968 along with burglary and growing hay in your kitchen.

One such bird brain – I mean legal eagle - caused a minor stir this week, by behaving like Bunsen Honeydew on crystal meth. We were all awaiting a jury’s return so they could be sent home for the day. The air was heavy with tension. I was especially engaged. In my crossword.

Picture the scene, court fans. All is silent, the expectation palpable. The High Court judge on the bench looking down at the court staff, counsel, the defendants and the packed public gallery. Suddenly, the sound of Everton’s anthem Z Cars starts playing from the pocket of a solicitor. Let’s called him Agent Orange and not embarrass him. The poor soul cringed and ran out of the court with his mobile still ringing and everyone (including the judge) was chuckling. A few seconds later, Agent O sheepishly came back in after answering the call and then said on his way out: “Typical - it was the wife!” I’m not sure which is more embarrassing - everyone knowing your wife's checking up on you at work or letting the world know you’re an Evertonian.

Talking of making a schmuck of yourself in public, seminal TV show X-Factor leaked out again this week and in court we were all glued to our sets as well as our seats. Glue everywhere. As Bertrand Russell cleverly put it in one of his treatises, glue is a very sticky business. Now I am of course used to being a judge, so it makes a nice change to see Simon Cowell, Louis Walsh and Ozzy Osbourne in the decision-making hot seat, just like yours truly, before a procession of bloated ego and talentless groveling wannabes – that’s barristers for you. Often I watch them and want to say: “Its a ‘no’ from me. Next!”

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Anyone for Denis?

Posted by Judge Mental on August 14, 2007 9:15 AM

All that crazy talk about aliens landing, Daleks and Davros last week got me thinking. It was a nice feeling, if a little strange.

On to this week’s thrilling instalment from inside the, um, bowels of Liverpool Crown Court. Yes, the football season’s just kicked off and court was all a flutter this week with the grunts and squeals of the annual ushers versus barristers kick-about in the corridors using a much missed judge’s wig as a ball. It wasn’t on his head at the time, which was a pity.

But seriously, talking of much missed judges (and there’s a phrase you hear everyday) I think the time is right for me to kick off my own campaign as well.
We all know there’s plenty of work that needs doing in Liverpool crown court and the second floor is being refurbished. But there’s a gaping hole on the fifth floor that’s been there since the end of March.

No I’m not taking about the crumbling building (or the much more sturdy apple crumble in the canteen) but someone who was part of the furniture who is very much missed.
Since esteemed Judge Denis Clark retired, the gaff just hasn’t been the same. This Birkenhead chap was a breath of fresh air (which you don’t get in Birkenhead) and reigned for more than 18 years until he retired three months ago aged 63.

Why bring him back? Well, unlike some judges I could mention - although not by name, that would be daft, they are judges after all and I ain’t looking to end up in stir – The Big D had the common touch. He had no times for airs and Graces, whoever they are, but had a stack of clever quotes at his disposal which he used often. His courtrooms were always entertaining even if the accused was as dull as a limp salmon. (Note to self: I wish they would make the effort sometimes, must provoke them to).

Witness this 100 per cent true exchange between the Big D and a barrister, here disguised as Mr Barrister (not his real name) The scene: a courtroom is heavy with the air of expectation.....

Mr Barrister: Excuse me, your honour, but if I may just-
Denis (sharply): What is it now?
Mr Barrister: A thought just crossed my mind.
Denis raises an eyebrow and turns to the jury with wry smile and a twinkle in his eye.
Denis: Quick journey was it?

To drum up support for my worthy campaign I am going to stand in the foyer (I never actually leave the court building, except to vote in Euro elections) and use the theme from the 70s disco classic D-I-S-C-O by Ottawan. Terrible name, but great song. And I want you to join me.
All together now: D-E-N-I-S, d-e-n-i-s, D-EN-I-S, d-e-n-i-s,

D - Delirious
E - Engaging
N – Ni-i-i-ice
I - Incredible
S - Such a great sentencer...etc....

The coda I was thinking of incorporating is a variation on Handel’s Messiah and a mass choir of free range chickens. Well, maybe it needs a bit of work. Among other things I will be polishing, I will be polishing the lyrics in the coming weeks, so don’t forget to drop by. And remember court fans – it’s better to burn out than....than.....now what was it?

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Beam me up....

Posted by Judge Mental on August 7, 2007 10:58 AM

You’d have thought aliens had landed in Liverpool Crown Court this week, but sadly, it was only a short-circuit judge.
He was not from any mother ship or Death Star but from the distant galaxy of, um, Chester.
The extraterrestrial bigwig who descended on next year’s Capital of Culture started getting homesick as soon as his feet touched down on Scouse soil.
The robed one (purple with a red sash - not like Darth Vadar’s) tried to show he possessed a light as well as a dark side and made what I thought was a pretty ill-judged comment about the Liverpool accent.
After a serious case in which a sex offender was given a nine-month prison term, this judge decided that was an appropriate time to engage in a bit of banter from Planet Public School.
He knew he would get a laugh from his audience of android-esque counsel. They're too scared not to laugh.
Once the defendant had been dispatched to the cells, the knockabout judge, with a Cheshire Cat grin, said to his equally plummy pal from the same circuit: “You may have noticed, I have not yet developed a Liverpool accent.”
Well, they all nearly fell off the bar, clearly enjoying the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.
As for me, I sat still as a Dalek who has just encountered his first staircase.
The joking judge then followed up his remark with: “Maybe by the end of the week I’m be saying, Calm down, calm down.”
This was met with mirth on an astronomical scale with the usual bunch of sycophants who always guffaw at the slightest judges’ witticism (you know who you are). They found this most amusing.
I thought this was patronising in the extreme. You know, the way Han Solo used to treat Princess Leia....
I wonder if the happy chap would have made these crassly stupid comments had anyone being in the public gallery.
Hmmmm, I wondered. Had this been the musings of a mad person (say Boris Johnson, or the slightly saner Davros) an outcry would have ensued amid the tedious demands for an apology of some sort.
This was still in a public forum and anybody could have been in the court. I’m all for a bit of fun in the workplace and I love a bit of gallows humour. I’m certainly not a droid.
These remarks, in my opinion, were insensitive, but above all, they just weren’t funny.
If the venerable space cadet doesn’t like earning his cash in a court which will be far more exciting and legally stimulating than his own on Planet Chester, then I have a few words of advice for him, firmly rooted in Planet Earth: “Why don’t ya do one, yer honour?”

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