hello, i'm back

Yes, that's where I've been (not that one, though - a different one, although still with the missing apostrophe). And I'm not supposed to talk about it. Though it's difficult to know what I can't talk about, when the proceedings are held in public (that is the public can attend, although they don't). But the press sometimes attends, I've discovered. But they have to have a reason. Like being able to file a report containing the words 'home to the families of the Duchess of York, Sarah Ferguson and socialite Tara Palmer-Tomkinson' no matter how tenuous the link to the actual case. Nothing sells newspapers quite like upper-class crumpet, obviously.

Actually, I do know what I can't talk about; and that's the process by which we (as in we the jury) reached our decisions. And there were four decisions: four deaths over two days. Three hangings in prison and one man struck by a train. And, yes, it's grim. And thought-provoking. And profoundly sad. And 'there but for the grace of God go I'. But if you ever get asked to sit on a jury (actually you'll be issued with a 'summons') do go and do it. Even if it's only out of public duty.

Meanwhile I have to get my brain back into the land of the living.

Comments

[Mike Reed]

Glad you're back, David - I can apologise for entirely neglecting your blog in your absence. I've had work descend on me in considerable weight, and at some veolcity, and I'm afraid blogging of any sort has gone to hell (bar Twitter, natch).

Sorry to hear you've had a grim time. I did jury service a while back, and found myself foreman on a case of alleged child abuse, brought decades later by the victim, now a grown woman. It was instructive and sobering: all 12 of us believed her, but not enough of us felt there was the evidence even for a majority verdict. We did the right thing, but it didn't feel much like it.

Anyway.

Thanks to everyone for the recommendations for Paris - I'll try to get to some of those locations. Maybe even the Eiffel Tower, although Wendy and I feel we have kind of 'done' the Eiffel Tower. (She's never got over the moment on Valentine's Day when, at the top of the Tower, I produced something secret that she thought must surely be a ring - and it was a card. Made it myself, though.)

Sorry, I seem to have written a post instead of a comment. I'll be off now.