Done and Dusted–well, almost

Today we sat for ages in the Jurors Retiring Room (as I belatedly noticed it was called) and then were told to go and have lunch. Somebody had binned our lunch orders so instead of delicious chilli con carne and apple crumble and custard we had to put up with soup and sandwiches. We were not a happy bunch. At last we were called into Court.

What a different demeanour the Judge adopts after the accused have been found guilty. Gone is the gently smiling uncle, in comes the stern parent. The lawyers make their last ditch attempts at mitigating the sentences to come, with talk of reports, past lack of crime and family dependents. We hear about the past records of the accused. The accused look sick, sad and impassive. The sentencing is postponed for a number of weeks and the Judge resumes his kindly uncle expression and thanks the Jury for our patience and concentration. He then discharges us. Our happy band is broken up and its members are flung to the far corners of Edinburgh. Will we ever meet again? Who knows? 


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