Trial; painting; Pope trivia

Jury duty over: trial ended on Friday; verdict delivered and sentence passed. What devilry resulted in my ending up being jury foreman, I’ll never know, except that no one particularly seemed to want the job and I admitted in a weak moment to having some experience chairing meetings. As there were five counts on the indictment and more than one defendant being tried, this resulted in the less than enjoyable experience of having to stand up in the courtroom and having to pronounce seven verdicts in succession. Fixed my gaze firmly on the court clerk throughout, as I think I saw advised online among some ‘What to do if you end up being foreman’ advice.

I had thought that we would then be dismissed and the judge would perhaps spend a few days considering our verdict before passing sentence, but no, we then had to sit through a load of admin from the prosecutor, pleas from each of the defence counsel on behalf of their clients followed by Actual Sentencing. People being sent to prison and stuff. Now trying to avoid being too plagued by worry as to whether we delivered justice, whether we deliberated for long enough (we deliberated for four and a half hours, but as you are given no guidance whatsoever, it’s hard to know how long is a respectable length of time) and whether we were too swayed by being dead impressed by the prosecution case and the prosecution lawyer herself, whose performance one of the younger jurors categorised as “shit hot”.


On a lighter note, the time spent waiting in the jurors’ lounge over the last few weeks provided an opportunity to catch up with some gossip magazines, though in my view there weren’t really enough of these provided. There were a distressing number of issues of Homes & Antiques, which forced me to become more familiar than I’d like with the world of antique collectors and the work of Emma Bridgewater; also copies of World Finance and various motorsport magazines. I did learn that apparently there’s a burgeoning fan fiction around boy band One Direction, as they keep being papped touching each other¹.

Applied the first paint-and-water coat (I believe the painterly term is a ‘mist coat’) to bedroom 3 a couple of Saturdays ago. My first experience of painting a ceiling; not a particularly enjoyable job but at least it’s done now. Two more coats of Jasmine White to go. Ruth’s stripping and oiling job on the door is now finished and she has attached some attractive new door handles. We attempted re-hanging the door ourselves, which has worked after a fashion – I say “after a fashion” as, although it hasn’t fallen off, it won't shut properly either. A temporary hitch, hopefully.

Among all the recent drama surrounding the Catholic church, two of the more charming Pope-related articles include this piece about Benedict XVI’s fashion sense and how his red Prada slip-ons ousted the memory of John Paul II's staid brown lace-ups. Also this interactive guide to how a new Pope is chosen – it’s worth replaying the second frame just to see all the little red cardinals repeatedly running into the Sistine Chapel.

To end with a nod to the horsemeat crisis: found these leftover KOTTBULLAR meatballs in my freezer this evening. In the interests of thrift, took my life in my hands and ate them. Feel OK so far.

¹ This fact gleaned from Heat, not from World Finance.