A Facebook friend of mine recently posted a comment on the farce that was his jury service, or should I say his criminal service: “Here’s the door sir, please re-offend, no I insist, because I don’t really have the capacity to care”. Which side of the court does justice sit?
My partner and I have done rather too much relocating in the last few years. Consequential of an economic reality that has little to do with the headlines and more about trying to stay honest to a lifestyle which doesn’t work easily in the 21st Century. If your child ever says “mummy, I want to be an artist when I grow up”, you had better reassign his or her university fund!
Living on the wrong side of your bank balance generally engenders a lifestyle of either begrudging make-do or fuels creative solutions to everyday practical problems. The particular relocation or move which has been brought to mind by the jury service tale, happened a couple of years ago before the coalition cure. It happened before everyone else’s belt tightening and teeth-grinding and before the government decided we all had to balance their books for them and before bankers replaced estate agents on the Generally Reviled hit lists. My partner and I were already nicely attuned to austerity living: piece of cake.
We had done the usual weeping and wailing at the available rented property in our price bracket, before finding a gem in a carbuncle of a town with no name. It was a small terraced cottage, but still managed to accommodate three bedrooms, a garden and was owned by an Irish woman who was cool with cats. The furniture would all fit, the shops were just up the road as was a train station and a choice of three bus routes. Who could ask for more on a shoestring? The weeping and wailing stopped and the thankfulness for lucky stars commenced.
The day of the move arrived. We had found a removal company who hadn’t been too proud to negotiate with us; they were insured and had a fleet of vans and lorries to prove how well-established they were. We had done all our own packing and as we had picked the keys up a few days earlier had moved a few small items over ourselves. The morning came, the grunting began.
Skip to cottage… I waited for the lorry to arrive. Dustbins were strategically placed as were the mugs for tea. I’d done this before; today I was the traffic cop on her island blowing her whistle and pointing at the traffic, “put that there; take that upstairs; that can go in the garden; would you like tea yet?”
There were three shifters. One stayed out on the van and handed stuff down to the one on the street who brought things to the front door to the one who stayed inside. The one who stayed inside was asthmatic and suffering from hay fever and I felt rather guilty watching him hump our possessions around, but I kept him topped up with glasses of water, sympathy and listened to his stories. He was very interested in some of our things as he told me that he and his father liked old stuff. He told me that he and his father regularly appeared on Cash in the Attic and other such TV shows and that was quite interesting though he didn’t look the sort. I should have looked closer. The day wore on, our things completed their journey, the tea was all drunk and the shifters tipped and waved off.
Later that afternoon I went up to our latest bedroom; I thought I would make a mental note of where everything was before making a start on settling everything in its new place. We had got on well enough with the shifters but I don’t like having strangers in my home, handling my things and, being a coppers daughter too, I thought I would check on my jewellery box first. The cardboard box that housed my jewellery box had been one of those things that we had brought over separately and I had placed it in the built-in wardrobe. Within, there were a number of items as well as the glass lidded box, amongst which was a china pot with a lid. The lid was off and there was an earring dangling over the side. My earrings do not belong in that pot and the lid should have been on.
I later realised that I had heard the chinking of the china lid being removed, I later realised that the shifter who stayed inside spent rather too long upstairs out of sight and I later realised despite being able to piece together exactly what had happened the law was, effectively, on his side.
When you report crime these days it’s pot luck if you see a policeman. Police shops around our way don’t even contain real policemen, they are community officers who seem to be just uniformed administrators. My local community administrator looked at me over the desk then handed me a piece of paper with a web address on it. “Here, complete your crime report online and someone will be in touch.” “When?” “Oh, in a few days”. I duly filled in the report online and someone duly called me up by telephone and asked me what are known as closed questions. It was very much like being cold-called as the product that was being sold to me was not what I wanted. I wanted justice and the caller wanted to sell me shame. “Here, take the shame. How can you accuse this person if you weren’t standing in the room to see him pocketing your precious things?” But, but, but… no buts; see no evil, speak no evil. But I heard … no buts.
A ring bought by my father for my mother; a necklace that I had bought with my very first wage packet; a ring that should have gone to my daughter, a necklace bought by my partner and that I loved. Small things, now taken things. Taken, aided and abetted by austerity policing, taken because the thief thought he was a TV star and his dad was proud of him.
The removal company were bored by the accusation, so bored that they put us on hold when we asked to speak to the boss. Put me on hold, furious that even empathy is an emotion in short supply.
So had I had my day in court with the shifter who stayed inside, who would have been the accused? Me? For daring to point my traffic cop’s finger while handing him cups of tea and my jewellery or him, for daring to take what wasn’t his while he was employed in an honest day’s work? I think the jury’s out on that one!
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