Good Morning Durham

I was behind a tinted glass screen in the public gallery and it made everyone in court look a little bit tanned – apart from the elevated judge and the defendant, both of whom could be seen over the top.

The first defendant was a portly man of about 35. He had availed himself of his employer’s company credit card and he had committed fraud to the tune of 18 thousand pounds. The Clerk of the Court read out the charge and recited the entire long number from the credit card concerned. I was surprised by this excessive detail and half expected her to ask the defendant for the expiry date and 3 digit security code before the case continued.  

The portly man did a very convincing contrite face and was bailed.

A long pause ensued. I was getting used to the long pauses in court – they afforded the barristers and judge the time to catch up on their reading. They were ripping through their list at some rate and had scratched out a couple of cases for non-attendance or lack of substance. The pauses also gave the clerk and the stenographer the chance to quietly chat on a little:

‘Chilly over that side isn’t it. I’m right under the heater here, I’m boiling.’

The video link was then switched on.

'Good morning Durham,' said the Clerk.

On screen was an empty office chair in a brightly lit room. After a short while the voice of an unseen speaker responded.

‘Good morning Newcastle.’

‘Could we have Bradley Gilmartin please?’

After another long pause:

‘He’ll be with you directly.’

The judge and barrister were busy reminding themselves of the details of Bradley’s case and today's charge against him – that of ‘dwelling burglary’.

Some stirring could be heard in Durham. Bradley appeared and sat. He looked gaunt and scared. He stared agog into the webcam and confirmed his name. He was about 17 years old. Bradley’s brief informed the judge that Bradley intended to contest the charge. 

‘I would advise that the evidence is pretty compelling,’ noted the judge.

The judge went on to ask the barrister if he had fully advised his client, whose trainer prints were found at the scene of the crime, of the consequence of a not guilty plea i.e. a trial.

Bradley’s defender replied that his client fully understood – as his client was ‘no stranger to the workings of the judicial system’. Wry smiles were exchanged. The judge stopped just short of a titter. Bradley was, I reckoned, very much a stranger to:

·         Fresh vegetables

·         Sunlight

·         Further Education

·         Good Luck

The judge agreed a pre-trial date with all those in the room in Newcastle and then told Bradley to hold the date – a Wednesday in early January. I hoped that Bradley might create another lengthy pause and produce a pocket diary or an i-phone:

‘Well, let me just have a quick look at that week. I’ve got a round of golf on the Tuesday and my book club on the Thursday night. Think I do have a window on Wednesday morning, before the matinee at the Theatre Royal….’

Bradley just nodded. The Clerk switched Bradley off.

.

This Little Piggy

 

‘No, I didn’t do it kicking my intern. I told you, I got up from the sofa and caught the leg of the coffee table – it was, and still is, the purest agony. ‘

‘A & E job, I expect….’

‘Well, not exactly. I still went out clubbing, but the next day the toe was, like, totally black.’

My nephew Lance had shared his pain on Facebook and I was showing my avuncular concern with a follow-up phone call.

‘And the really annoying thing is that I’m meant to be doing another one of those team charity challenge things at work – I think it’s abseiling this time. Reckon I’ll have to bow out.’

No stranger to foot problems myself, I detailed the strapping and cushioned bandages he could use to create a miniature toe-sling to help him through this agonising time.

‘It would be a great chance, you know,’ I went on, ’to show real corporate commitment. Let it be known that you’ve broken your toe and then pad it up and drop a few Tramadol. You might have to go up a trainer size, but that’s a modest investment for the return you’ll get in kudos. Do the abseil and bang! You’re The City’s answer to Bert Trautmann.’

There was a silent pause here.

‘Should I know who Bert 'Trout-Man' is? Sounds like a cartoon character. Is he, like, half man, half fish? I think you might have been watching a little too much children’s television....’

I explained that the recently deceased Trautmann will be forever remembered as the goalkeeper who broke his neck in an FA Cup final and played on. I reiterated with some enthusiasm that medication and padding would make the abseil a breeze. The odd well-timed wince would remind senior colleagues that they were in the presence of true resilience and team playing.

‘Also,’ I continued, ’I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty confident that the exercise would aid your recovery. Get the blood pumping to your extremities. Your big toe would soon be as right as rain and that intern won’t know what’s kicked him!’

There was another pregnant pause at this point. I awaited a grateful response – something along the lines of:

‘You’re so right, Uncle, as ever.’
or
‘Brilliant! I’m off to Boots right now to buy all the requisite items.’

Instead, Lance clarified:

‘Oh, er…. It wasn’t actually my big toe. It was more, well, my baby toe, but I still couldn’t get my shoe on….’

'S.U.M.M.E.R.'

‘It’s P.A.R.K. darling.’

Aurora wrote carefully on another strip of paper for the jar.

‘Well done. Next one: The Garden. 'The' G.A.R…….’

It was at this point that Maude appeared with untypical stealth.

‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s a new idea, darling. We’re writing activities and destinations on small pieces of paper and putting them into a jar – to be shaken each morning. The girls will take turns selecting a note.’

‘And you are helping your daughter spell out glamorous destinations like ‘the garden’ and ‘the park’. Why so wildly adventurous – why not ‘your bedroom’ or ‘the cupboard?’

Maude began to extract notes from the jar and scrunch them up.

‘It’s a little bit like your austerity ice cream. Buying cones and ice cream from LIDL and setting off a music box and pretending that a corner of the kitchen is an ice cream van. That was endearing for a while....’

Maude had continued to edit the contents of the jar as she spoke and I could see that it was now almost empty.

‘Now, darling. You can spell ‘art’. Next word is G.A.L.L.E.R.Y.’

Aurora has a flamboyant hand and struggled to fit two words on her notelet. She wrote ‘ART GALL’ on one side and flipped it over to add ‘ERY’.’

Maude was reaching the last few notes in the jar.

‘Since when, by the way, has ‘Joan’s Park Shop’ been an exciting and edifying summer holiday destination for your daughters?’

‘They love the crazy golf. Joan keeps the clubs in her shop – that’s the only reason it’s in there.’

‘It’s a five minute walk from here.’

‘What about Pet’s Corner at Jesmond  - or even a trip to the zoo. Aurora: Z.O.O. You know how much they love unusual animals ’

‘Joan does have a parrot.’  

One of the Girls

‘Well, let’s try and deconstruct it and I promise I’ll listen this time. But before we do, did you have a late night coffee? Or some cheese before it happened?’

‘No. No coffee, or cheese.’

Not since the very vivid Morrissey dream, have I shared such details with Maude.

‘So, every time I put my can of Coke on the ‘table’ it slides off. The others’ cans stay on. They all laugh. It's horrible.’

‘The ‘others’ being the poorer mothers who gather together and use a wheelie bin as a table after they’ve dropped their kids off.’

‘Yes. They chat and smoke. It looks like one of those high pub tables, only..’

‘Only outside. Yes, I get the picture. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Each time my can slides off…’

‘Yes, to peals of laughter…’

‘Yes. Each time, I bow down to pick it up I can feel big earrings bouncing on the side of my head and I can see the cigarette protruding from my lips. My voice is high-pitched, but I’m not saying anything I can remember. They’re all calling me something like ‘Cindy’ or ‘Shelley’. And I can feel my clothes.’

‘What do you mean exactly, you can feel your clothes?’

‘I mean that I can feel that I am wearing something tight and unusual. Then I look down to check.’

‘Let me guess, jodhpurs?’

‘No.’

‘Stone-washed jeans. Could be a flashback.’

‘No, not stone-washed jeans.’   

Maude was still chuckling at her ‘joke’.

‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously – it really was quite a distressing window on my state of mind.’

‘Sorry, what were you wearing in the dream that appears to have you all in a dither?’

‘Jeggings’

'Cool'

 

‘Why don’t you write a new blog entry – you’re letting your fan down.’

‘And who is my ‘fan’?

‘Well, don’t look at me. Isn’t there a guy in Cumbria who always comments on your stuff?’

‘Oh yes, there is. He’s always really positive.’

‘He’s probably in a hospice’

Maude, as ever, inspires me.

Rainy half-term days bring out my wife’s most inspirational/challenging traits and it was agreed that a trip to the local 'Waterworld' seemed like a remedy for the drabs.

It wasn’t.

‘I really don’t understand your sizing. It’s all in inches. What does that mean in terms of size 10, 12 and so on…’

The nice lady on the Waterworld reception admitted that she didn’t know exactly what the Speedo swimwear sizes equated to in the real world. There was a brief pause. Maude explained the situation.

‘The thing is, I’m only buying a swimsuit because my husband caused me undue stress when we were leaving the house and I managed to leave my swimming costume at home. Everybody else has got theirs.’

Aurora and Casta pulled up their tops to show the lady their costumes. I looked on.

‘We could lend you a costume from lost property. They’ve all been washed.’

Waterworld has a wave feature. A young man makes an incomprehensible announcement each time the waves are about to start. The very young and the infirm – e.g. me and Casta – are advised to stay at the very periphery of the waves. The bigger children and the men with tattoos throw themselves into the artificial spume with gusto. I was reminded of our misguided trip to Centerparcs a couple of years ago, as Maude carried Aurora and strode into the waves in a borrowed lime green number.

‘Daddy can paddle at the edges of life – he’s good at that.’

Returning home felt like a retreat to sanctuary. Maude had told Aurora that her new cap from the garden centre looked ‘cool’.  I found Aurora in the bathroom teaching Casta how to sit on the edge of the bath in a ‘cool’ way.

‘No, no, no, no, no! Like this. This is cool’

Aurora perched on the edge of the bath and pulled the peak of her cap over one eye – chin resting in the palm of her hand as she awaited an imaginary photographer.

Casta tried to copy the attitude – forgetting that her  legs are significantly shorter than her sister’s.  I looked on from the door as she disappeared from view and fell into the bath.