A daytrip to Portsmouth...
...Magistrate Court (a play in 3 acts - and only exaggerated a little bit, honest)
Intro
Ok so I often drive, how shall I say, um, swiftly. But safely. I reckon. Two second gap, stop in the distance you can see and all that. Never had any problems - ok OK! so a close encounter with just ONE gatepost, but that was 17 years ago and due to youthful enthusiasm (stupidity) so, hem yes well we've all done that eh? - and very few comments from friends and other trusted opinions and I'd even slowed done a lot in recent years. So no worries. Sue me. Which, after the fourth camera flash, H.M.Gov decided to do. In Portsmouth no less.
Nuts.
Act 1: Bodes not well.
I'd only got back from a Jive holiday 2 days earlier so the body clock was, ah, well I didn't have one any more... The nearly 4 hour journey to Portsmouth for the 9:30 appointment ("Don't drive there" is the sage advice from Dad the Magistrate...) means setting alarm clocks for 4am!
Though can't sleep until 2am. Ugh.
I miss the train I wanted by ONE MINUTE! GODAMMIT! and sit dejected on the platform. This is NOT going well. Chances of "getting let off due to winning smile and all-round decentness" fading into "contempt of court for showing up late you oik". But then I remember that I know I'm useless and had tricked myself into aiming for a train before the one I actually needed (if you follow). Woohoo, all smiles again!
Hauling ones carcase about the country seems supremely pointless though some of the views are nice. Thank the Lords of all Nerds (Page, Brin and Berners-Lee) for iPods and the light reading of Terry Pratchett is all I can say...
Arriving in Portsmouth I yomp over to Anglesea Road, the scene of my latest indiscretion, with 20 minutes to go. H.M.Police had sent me a delightful portrait earlier - "it's a goddam dual-carriage way" I'd thought calmly (yeah right) at the time "what the &^%&**^! is that doing a 30MPH!!!" - so I wanted to check it out.
Ok, so it is in the middle of town, but there's a central fence for goodness sake! But behind the HUGE 10-line directions sign, and the even HUGER illuminated, parking-spaces sign are the two itsy-wincy teeny weeny itty bitty 30mph & camera signs - all perfectly conforming to road specs.
Bollocks*
As a previous research fellow in usability I know they couldn't have hidden the speed stuff more effectively if they'd tried!!!
Double bollocks!!! Argh! Fiddlesticks! Fudge.
Despondent I trudge off...
2. Department of Information Retrieval
I get to H.M. Court bang on time - it's easy to spot for the gaggle of shifty guys taking their last nervous drag on a cigarette outside...
There's a queue to get in as we're searched and X-rayed and then sign in. The yoof in front of of me couldn't be more cocky.
"What's your solicitor's name" says the guard
"Oh, dunno, Sophie something" says yoof.
"Yes, I know" says guard "court number 6 it's..." he trails off to the back of yoof as he swaggers off mid instruction.
Guard mutters under breath and regains composure to direct me. I'm inna-suit so he smiles.
"That was court 7 you said yeah" butts in the returning yoof.
"What? No, court 6, it's just down..." but yoof has swaggered off again.
The guard doesn't swear. I'm impressed. He just suggests to me that yoof is welcome to wait at court 7 "'cos there isn't one" and grins at the prospect of a regular customer getting banged up soon...
I'm directed to court 8 and the waiting starts.
And continues.
And continues.
I'm thinking the suit is overkill. I'm the only one apart from the lawyers. Everyone else is cheap shirts or black jumpers (do you WANT to look like a burgler) earings and chewing gum and, I'm truly sorry, but the guy with the wife and girlfriend pushing a pram really does look like an ape. I'm sorry, it's just true.
The waiting room is just the corridor outside the courts. I'm sure it was majestic once what with the globe chandelier and marble insets, but nearly all the hands and some the numbers being missing from the clocks and the addition of "Pay your fine or else" posters blue-tacked to the walls has spoilt it somewhat. Also the cafe is a hole in the wall selling crisps, "squash 15p" and cuppa-soups.
It's not actually horrible, which the word "unpleasant" would imply, it just has the complete lack of anything nice...
As my brain is starting to swim from the shear tedium of it all I'm raised from my slumber by the booming intercom "THROGMORTON WALLOP-WALLOP TO COURT EIGHT"...
3. Whoosh
Panic. Argh. Need-to-make-good-impression - Stuff book into briefcase, rip battery out of phone, push on door clearly marked pull and crash into courtroom.
It's barren.
Except for the HUGE Kubrick-esq slablike table confronting me with a grey (he can only be described as grey) guy opposite and the two Lord High Executioners perched vulture like atop his shoulders.
Ok, an old geezer and biddy on a raised platform, but hey first impressions...
I don't have a clue what to do.
I guess it showed.
"Please put down your briefcase and remain standing" said Grey. Ohh, so he's the important one. Great. Now I know who to talk to, though the vultures are eyeing me up keenly - hmm, to see where the juicy bits are I guess.
After a quick confirmation of name and address un-noticed Blue Suited Woman on the right of Slab Table just starts burbling on in an dreary, utterly, utterly dreary dreary monotone. I guess she's the prosecution. "February" Mmm, young and quite nice too "Calibra" though with the makings "36" of a wart on her nose (I'm not making this up) "excess". The room's surprisingly nice as well "slightly above" formal but nicely kept wood paneling etc. "speed limit".
BOLLOCKS! She's talking about me! Eek. Oops. Replay monotone speech in head. Err, yeah, ok Guv, got me bang to rights really.
Grey man comments that I've already indicated a guilty plea and does that still stand? "Err, yeah, yes that's correct". Me? Flustered? Ptchaw.
So we move on to Mitigating Circumstance and Grey reads out what I'd written (without my tongue sticking out or anything!) on H.M.Gov's original threatening forms.
Hmm, only slightly feeble. Not too bad. I can tell what's going on but still don't have a clue what to do.
Prosecution wants to "clarify some points".
Err, righto.
Grey gets me in the dock and I swear an oath and everything. Coo. I declare I'm an atheist so I don't get a bible - boo hiss this isn't like the films at all...
Grey turns to Vultures and starts Explaining Stuff. AH! THOSE are the magistrates - formal and severe old woman and also severe portly ex-colonel avuncular port-and-brandy type! Couldn't be more of a caricature, where do they get them from**! And Grey seems to be on my side after all. Cool, I'm warming to him. It turns out he's the Clerk - or "legal expert" as Severe and Portly call him - and, having recognised my lack of, well anything really, he's taking on the job of keeping everything straight. Groovy.
Lots of questions all round about current lack of employment - and prosecution very pleasantly and gently cuts me off at the knees by spotting that I'm not that badly off actually, oh well. Grey explains to Severe and Portly the law and the difference between "hardship" and "undue hardship"...
Severe and Portly actually take on a slightly despaired mood while whispering to each other. I can overhear phrases like "reduced sentence", and "three months" etc. while Grey takes away my license with two hands and the utmost deference of a Japanese businessman accepting a card.
But I know the end is nigh.
All four of them almost apologise to me. But phrases like "hands are tied" are offered and I'm banned for 6 months.
Fuck fuck fuck bollocks fuck***
Oh well.
Being in the pyjama club brings one benefit. They execute a nifty legal fudge so I get a 3 month conditional discharge or some such in lieu of any fine and costs! Cool, silver lining and all that.
Nods all round and I'm out.
Probably took 10-15 mins, felt like two.
I'm not sticking around, back on the train as quick as poss. and escape into the gentle sarcasm of Prophet Terence...
On another thought I was reading a Donal MacIntyre interview about teenage drug dealers "They all drive without licenses, insurance, tax, anything. If they get stopped they give a false name and address and it rarely gets followed up..." but because I'm mostly law abiding I can't drive for 6 months.
And getting banned for doing 36 in a 30 zone seems fucking harsh.
And if anyone feels like giving me a lift to dancing I'd be grateful...
* Hmm, my Mum's reading this...
** Hi Dad
*** Hi Mum ;-)
Postscript
Would I have done anything different?****
Yes, get a solicitor. In my case I'm sure it wouldn't have made a blind bit of different - I could have argued a case about the signs being effectively hidden but it would have been a very difficult argue and no doubt the signs conformed to rules and regs and that was that - but I might have had more piece of mind knowing that all the right things were said at the right time.
**** well apart from speeding that is, as an old colleague said "won't take long to collect more points" %-> %-> Maybe I'll book up another Silverstone Ferrari day for the 2nd Feb 2006... ;-) ;-)
Post-postscript
This is a slightly edited version of an email I sent to a bunch of chums. They read it and several urged me to start writing a book "The Musings of Throgmorton" or some such!!! Well, I'm too lazy for that (and I don't have a story) but since then I've seen or done several things and thought "that'd make a good blog rant"! I have several in mind to begin with and then we'll see...
My friends might not realise quite what they've created...
Intro
Ok so I often drive, how shall I say, um, swiftly. But safely. I reckon. Two second gap, stop in the distance you can see and all that. Never had any problems - ok OK! so a close encounter with just ONE gatepost, but that was 17 years ago and due to youthful enthusiasm (stupidity) so, hem yes well we've all done that eh? - and very few comments from friends and other trusted opinions and I'd even slowed done a lot in recent years. So no worries. Sue me. Which, after the fourth camera flash, H.M.Gov decided to do. In Portsmouth no less.
Nuts.
Act 1: Bodes not well.
I'd only got back from a Jive holiday 2 days earlier so the body clock was, ah, well I didn't have one any more... The nearly 4 hour journey to Portsmouth for the 9:30 appointment ("Don't drive there" is the sage advice from Dad the Magistrate...) means setting alarm clocks for 4am!
Though can't sleep until 2am. Ugh.
I miss the train I wanted by ONE MINUTE! GODAMMIT! and sit dejected on the platform. This is NOT going well. Chances of "getting let off due to winning smile and all-round decentness" fading into "contempt of court for showing up late you oik". But then I remember that I know I'm useless and had tricked myself into aiming for a train before the one I actually needed (if you follow). Woohoo, all smiles again!
Hauling ones carcase about the country seems supremely pointless though some of the views are nice. Thank the Lords of all Nerds (Page, Brin and Berners-Lee) for iPods and the light reading of Terry Pratchett is all I can say...
Arriving in Portsmouth I yomp over to Anglesea Road, the scene of my latest indiscretion, with 20 minutes to go. H.M.Police had sent me a delightful portrait earlier - "it's a goddam dual-carriage way" I'd thought calmly (yeah right) at the time "what the &^%&**^! is that doing a 30MPH!!!" - so I wanted to check it out.
Ok, so it is in the middle of town, but there's a central fence for goodness sake! But behind the HUGE 10-line directions sign, and the even HUGER illuminated, parking-spaces sign are the two itsy-wincy teeny weeny itty bitty 30mph & camera signs - all perfectly conforming to road specs.
Bollocks*
As a previous research fellow in usability I know they couldn't have hidden the speed stuff more effectively if they'd tried!!!
Double bollocks!!! Argh! Fiddlesticks! Fudge.
Despondent I trudge off...
2. Department of Information Retrieval
I get to H.M. Court bang on time - it's easy to spot for the gaggle of shifty guys taking their last nervous drag on a cigarette outside...
There's a queue to get in as we're searched and X-rayed and then sign in. The yoof in front of of me couldn't be more cocky.
"What's your solicitor's name" says the guard
"Oh, dunno, Sophie something" says yoof.
"Yes, I know" says guard "court number 6 it's..." he trails off to the back of yoof as he swaggers off mid instruction.
Guard mutters under breath and regains composure to direct me. I'm inna-suit so he smiles.
"That was court 7 you said yeah" butts in the returning yoof.
"What? No, court 6, it's just down..." but yoof has swaggered off again.
The guard doesn't swear. I'm impressed. He just suggests to me that yoof is welcome to wait at court 7 "'cos there isn't one" and grins at the prospect of a regular customer getting banged up soon...
I'm directed to court 8 and the waiting starts.
And continues.
And continues.
I'm thinking the suit is overkill. I'm the only one apart from the lawyers. Everyone else is cheap shirts or black jumpers (do you WANT to look like a burgler) earings and chewing gum and, I'm truly sorry, but the guy with the wife and girlfriend pushing a pram really does look like an ape. I'm sorry, it's just true.
The waiting room is just the corridor outside the courts. I'm sure it was majestic once what with the globe chandelier and marble insets, but nearly all the hands and some the numbers being missing from the clocks and the addition of "Pay your fine or else" posters blue-tacked to the walls has spoilt it somewhat. Also the cafe is a hole in the wall selling crisps, "squash 15p" and cuppa-soups.
It's not actually horrible, which the word "unpleasant" would imply, it just has the complete lack of anything nice...
As my brain is starting to swim from the shear tedium of it all I'm raised from my slumber by the booming intercom "THROGMORTON WALLOP-WALLOP TO COURT EIGHT"...
3. Whoosh
Panic. Argh. Need-to-make-good-impression - Stuff book into briefcase, rip battery out of phone, push on door clearly marked pull and crash into courtroom.
It's barren.
Except for the HUGE Kubrick-esq slablike table confronting me with a grey (he can only be described as grey) guy opposite and the two Lord High Executioners perched vulture like atop his shoulders.
Ok, an old geezer and biddy on a raised platform, but hey first impressions...
I don't have a clue what to do.
I guess it showed.
"Please put down your briefcase and remain standing" said Grey. Ohh, so he's the important one. Great. Now I know who to talk to, though the vultures are eyeing me up keenly - hmm, to see where the juicy bits are I guess.
After a quick confirmation of name and address un-noticed Blue Suited Woman on the right of Slab Table just starts burbling on in an dreary, utterly, utterly dreary dreary monotone. I guess she's the prosecution. "February" Mmm, young and quite nice too "Calibra" though with the makings "36" of a wart on her nose (I'm not making this up) "excess". The room's surprisingly nice as well "slightly above" formal but nicely kept wood paneling etc. "speed limit".
BOLLOCKS! She's talking about me! Eek. Oops. Replay monotone speech in head. Err, yeah, ok Guv, got me bang to rights really.
Grey man comments that I've already indicated a guilty plea and does that still stand? "Err, yeah, yes that's correct". Me? Flustered? Ptchaw.
So we move on to Mitigating Circumstance and Grey reads out what I'd written (without my tongue sticking out or anything!) on H.M.Gov's original threatening forms.
Hmm, only slightly feeble. Not too bad. I can tell what's going on but still don't have a clue what to do.
Prosecution wants to "clarify some points".
Err, righto.
Grey gets me in the dock and I swear an oath and everything. Coo. I declare I'm an atheist so I don't get a bible - boo hiss this isn't like the films at all...
Grey turns to Vultures and starts Explaining Stuff. AH! THOSE are the magistrates - formal and severe old woman and also severe portly ex-colonel avuncular port-and-brandy type! Couldn't be more of a caricature, where do they get them from**! And Grey seems to be on my side after all. Cool, I'm warming to him. It turns out he's the Clerk - or "legal expert" as Severe and Portly call him - and, having recognised my lack of, well anything really, he's taking on the job of keeping everything straight. Groovy.
Lots of questions all round about current lack of employment - and prosecution very pleasantly and gently cuts me off at the knees by spotting that I'm not that badly off actually, oh well. Grey explains to Severe and Portly the law and the difference between "hardship" and "undue hardship"...
Severe and Portly actually take on a slightly despaired mood while whispering to each other. I can overhear phrases like "reduced sentence", and "three months" etc. while Grey takes away my license with two hands and the utmost deference of a Japanese businessman accepting a card.
But I know the end is nigh.
All four of them almost apologise to me. But phrases like "hands are tied" are offered and I'm banned for 6 months.
Fuck fuck fuck bollocks fuck***
Oh well.
Being in the pyjama club brings one benefit. They execute a nifty legal fudge so I get a 3 month conditional discharge or some such in lieu of any fine and costs! Cool, silver lining and all that.
Nods all round and I'm out.
Probably took 10-15 mins, felt like two.
I'm not sticking around, back on the train as quick as poss. and escape into the gentle sarcasm of Prophet Terence...
On another thought I was reading a Donal MacIntyre interview about teenage drug dealers "They all drive without licenses, insurance, tax, anything. If they get stopped they give a false name and address and it rarely gets followed up..." but because I'm mostly law abiding I can't drive for 6 months.
And getting banned for doing 36 in a 30 zone seems fucking harsh.
And if anyone feels like giving me a lift to dancing I'd be grateful...
* Hmm, my Mum's reading this...
** Hi Dad
*** Hi Mum ;-)
Postscript
Would I have done anything different?****
Yes, get a solicitor. In my case I'm sure it wouldn't have made a blind bit of different - I could have argued a case about the signs being effectively hidden but it would have been a very difficult argue and no doubt the signs conformed to rules and regs and that was that - but I might have had more piece of mind knowing that all the right things were said at the right time.
**** well apart from speeding that is, as an old colleague said "won't take long to collect more points" %-> %-> Maybe I'll book up another Silverstone Ferrari day for the 2nd Feb 2006... ;-) ;-)
Post-postscript
This is a slightly edited version of an email I sent to a bunch of chums. They read it and several urged me to start writing a book "The Musings of Throgmorton" or some such!!! Well, I'm too lazy for that (and I don't have a story) but since then I've seen or done several things and thought "that'd make a good blog rant"! I have several in mind to begin with and then we'll see...
My friends might not realise quite what they've created...
posted by Colonel Throgmorton P. Wallop-Wallop III (rtrd) at 10:08 pm
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