Didn’t expect to find myself in court already, I thought they would at least wait till I wrote some amazingly offensive feature. Monday morning, me and some socially awkward guy (with a badass afro) are what the kid’s call ‘chillin’, waiting for petty cases to do… things. We are here to find out their sentences, if that’s a thing. As you may be aware I have no information on the British justice system… if that’s what it’s called. So I’m sitting here, early, waiting for jewfro to come back, whilst listening to lawyers spit out jargon that makes no sense to me, between words I d
o understand like ‘so’ and ‘I’. They’re British, they sound ‘fancy’, that’s all that matters.
After over 5 hours we are back in the office. Me and jewfro are buddies now; surprisingly I haven’t scared him off yet, but four more days to go so you never know. Of course there is nothing for the work experience kid to do, just wasting space calling it experience, stealing somebody else’s desk, they all just rape stare..
Today I have also seen what journalists call writing in short hand and I shit you not, it’s nothing more than scribbles, sometimes you spot a letter but nothing more than scribbly looking symbols, to me it reads ‘this is the death of your (still shit, but improving?) handwriting.
I come in and straight off I’m told I’m probably going back into court, in the nicest was I can phrase this, go fuck yourselves but at least I’m not running around getting people coffees . Let’s face it, you could at least try, make me play pretend reporter because waking up at 6am, an hour train ride and then a 20 minute walk is not worth that small spot on my CV.
It’s 2 hours later and I am still sitting in the same place, just wasting their electricity, so I have decided to make this time fairly productive, my plan is to make a plan which will keep me mildly entertained for the day… or the week because they simply don’t seem to care, if only I was getting paid…