Expanding One's Vocabulary

He was an angry young man.

He may have been a bit tipsy too.

He was making it clear that my actions had added to his anger and had prevented him from increasing his level of tipsiness. This was being done in true Small Corner tradition.

We’d had Act 1. Where the call for help had been answered, the crime established, witnesses quizzed, notes taken, the victim’s wishes confirmed and the perpetrator identified.

Act 2 had swiftly followed. A question, a denial, a demonstration of facts in evidence, a law lesson, an explanation of rights, a scuffle, a Home Office approved handcuff application. Everyone was happy with the outcome. Except one young man.

Act 3 had been delayed. Our van was busy, at a ‘Disturbance in private premises’ call. Thus rendering it unavailable for general use for the rest of the day. A stand-in had been summoned and was battling traffic to come to our aid. Meanwhile a nearby pair of kindly colleagues had arrived to help us pass the time. With their assistance I was able to retreat outside spitting distance, find a working pen, appropriate stationery and continue my note-taking during this intermission.

My explanation of rights had been delivered in the correct fashion. I pride myself at not requiring an autocue for these sentences. The “You do not have to say anything” and “Anything you do say may be used in evidence” had been word perfect. It’s not my fault if people don’t listen/care.

Angry Young Man chose to ignore these warnings, repeatedly.

I’m not the fastest of writers. I only managed to record 71 Angry words and phrases. A Small Corner record, so I’m told.

I have to confess to not understanding some of them. It might have been my hearing; it might have been his diction. To try and clarify them would have been an interview. His legal representative would have frowned and tutted. I think he did well, getting most of the 4 letter words. References to my mother also scored quite high.

Just to clear up a couple of queries Angry raised in his monologue:

I’ve seen the marriage certificate. It’s dated before my birth.

That’s a physical impossibility.

I don’t have a sister.

We obviously look at animals from different perspectives.

Skipping several acts, and several months, I find myself at the Small Corner courthouse. Victim and witnesses at the ready, I huddle up with the assigned Oxbridge raised and educated prosecutor for our pre-trial team talk.

She had read my notes; I hoped she wasn’t going to ask me for any definitions as I knew I would blush.

With fingers crossed, I waited for the questions to start. She got straight to the point.

“Why don’t people say ‘Crikey’ anymore?”

I checked and she was right.

He’d missed out on that one.