Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,2
local department store spent a happy afternoon last March following him around their lingerie department and apparently saw him hide numerous pairs of lace knickers in a plastic bag that he had bought with him. On realising he was being tailed, just when he was about to leave the shop, apparently Mr. Walsh took them out and flung at the guards.
Unsurprisingly, Mr. Walsh tells things slightly differently: having clocked two men dressed in black puffa jackets stalking him around the hosiery section he became annoyed at being treated like a criminal and threw the pants at them in an act of defiance and frustration having been simply looking for a present for his wife.
I swear, if the British taxpayer knew half of the nonsense that was litigated at their expense then there would be riots.
Unfortunately for Mr. Walsh, he is well known to the courts as a serial shoplifter and since the early eighties has been troubling the police with his endeavours to leave various shops and supermarkets with all manner of sundries concealed on his person.
To his credit, he has never been concerned in any manner of knicker-nicking before and between you and me, I do suspect that the guards spotted him a mile off and recognised him as an easy target for getting a few days of paid holiday whilst they attended court to give their evidence.
That being said, I have no idea what the jury is going to make of this, or indeed what I’m going to say to them in a few minutes to convince them that there could be some doubt surrounding these events. There is always an irresistible want to conclude that just because someone has done something once, twice, thrice before, they've done it this time. Whilst it would make my life a great deal easier if that was the case, it rarely is.
As I have a few minutes before I have to return to court, I make my way across the floor to the ladies and push open the door. As I walk in a smell of cheap perfume and air freshener hits me. The mirrors, for reasons best known to the court service, are made of silver plastic so I can only guess as to the state of my makeup.
My blurred reflection confronts me from above the sinks. I’m quite tall for a girl, five feet eight without shoes, but I always accessorise with heels at least four inches high. Whilst neither comfortable nor practical, in a job where you have to interrogate people across an emotionally charged courtroom, I think that any additional height helps to give you more of a presence.
I re-pin a few strands of my long chestnut hair that have escaped from my meticulously tied ponytail and check that my grey horse-hair wig is secure on the top of my head. I sneezed during Robert’s cross-examination of Mr. Walsh yesterday and it fell off. I don’t think the Judge was amused at the giggling that followed. From me, I should add.
My black skirt suit still looks relatively uncreased after a day of advocacy and unlike my opponent, my white bands sit on my chest providing me with a crisp starched lace collar.
As I turn to grab a tissue, I get caught in the fabric of my almost floor-length gown. This is typical; if I’m not getting the sleeves caught on door knobs or the stair banisters then I’m falling over it. I smile as I remember a child asking me a couple of weeks ago if I was a character from Harry Potter.
People always ask me about the tradition and history behind the costume of the Criminal Bar; it’s an odd concept that there is a breed of people who adorn seventeenth century garb to go to work every day. The best answer I can give is that it helps us all look the same, so when you have been ferociously cross-examining someone all day they won’t recognise you in Tesco and start flinging canned goods your way.
I take a deep breath and mentally run through what I’m going to say in my speech. As I finally stumble on something that may be useful I hear my name being loudly and impatiently tannoyed over the court system:
“Miss Chase of Counsel to court four immediately please, Miss Lauren Chase to court four.”
Oh damn, this must mean that His Honour is cutting down on the evil weed at the moment. I attempt to check my teeth for lipstick in