The Week Before
Apparently, Magistrates don't need evidence to conclude a guilty verdict. This decision made by the Magistrates put an end to my year long Self-employment and for the first time ever, meant I was unemployed and searching for work.
I should probably make it clear that it wasn't me on the receiving end of the injustice served up in court, I was just a witness for the defence. The police had deleted the on board CCTV evidence, something we thought could prove our innocence, and it was just my word versus the policeman’s. It didn’t matter that the policeman’s statement said he’d seen the driver using a black phone, then mention in the same statement that the drivers phone was gold. With no evidence and obvious doubt as to whether or not the policeman had seen a phone, the driver was found guilty and lost his driving license. No driver, no work, no job. Although I don’t wish to ever have to go back, court was a semi enjoyable experience. My favourite bit was when their lawyer was accusing me of lying. After my reply to each question, she’d look at me, start shaking, one eye would become bigger than the other, then she’d raise her voice and squeal at me “I put it to you blah blah liar liar pants on fire blah blah blah”. Or something to that effect. According to team justice (my team), I was grinning at her every time she did it. My victory over this rather grotesque woman was satisfying, but sadly did little to convince the magistrates of our innocence.
A Long Time Before The Week Before
When I left school in 1997, I went straight into an employment that I stayed in for thirteen years. My original plan was to become a Youth Worker but I ended up in Play Work. I didn‘t bother with college because I had become bored with education by the time I‘d reached Year 9. When I did attend, I spent Year 10 and 11 making up the numbers. My attendance record was 89% meaning I had a day off at least once every two weeks. It wasn’t illness keeping me off, if I didn’t fancy going in my mum wouldn’t make me, and would write a letter telling them I was ill. My parents didn’t like school either so they understood. I never thought of it as bunking, bunking is what you did with your mates and without your parent’s permission. I only ever really bunked off once. I was due to go on a history trip but my parents couldn’t afford the seventeen pounds, or at least, I didn’t want them to spend seventeen pounds on a trip to a museum. I understood the value of money and preferred they spend it on something for themselves. Instead, me and my mate Jack Carlisle hatched a full proof plan that would mean we could have the day off. It was simple, we told Mr. Theobald, our history teacher, that we wouldn’t be going and would attend lessons as normal. We then told our form tutors that we were going on the history trip. With us in the clear and no one suspecting a thing, Jack and I took the day off. We met up on the freezing cold Wednesday morning at 9am at Barnes train station and went to the common to get drunk. Jack had a European Citizen Card that said he was eighteen. European Citizen Cards didn’t really exist so technically it wasn’t a fake. It was a lie.
