I have always wanted to do jury service and when the summons letter dropped onto my doormat, I was exhilarated. A somewhat unhealthy obsession with true crime podcasts and the murky underbelly of society made the idea of observing and participating in the justice system fascinating.

I spent the intervening months talking to people who had already served on a jury. Their stories almost uniformly followed the same narrative, “a lot of waiting around, a lot of doing nothing and make sure you bring a book to read so you don’t get bored”. My initial jubilation turned slowly to indifference. I buy a book.

I am sat in the jury waiting area and the jury officer is explaining how there are now four microwaves available for use and they’re kept exceptionally clean and that they will get taken away if they’re left dirty. Her preamble is going on a little too long now and my mind is wandering. The microwave monologue is cut short as she realises she needs to be elsewhere, so she plays a government video outlining how to be a juror and what to expect. She leaves in such a rush that she fails to notice that one of the two televisions isn’t working and has switched itself off. 50% of the 60-odd jurors cannot watch the video and can only hear the audio from the other television. No-one, including me, does a single thing to rectify the situation. The apathy is palpable.

I spend the rest of the morning alternating between my book, my phone and Bargain Hunt, although the TV is again threatening to switch itself off due to no-one interacting with it for two hours. I strike up conversation with a nice retired lorry driver. He tells me about his son, who had just suffered a heart attack at the modest age of 42. I ask him whether the heart attack cause might be hereditary. He contemplates and then replies “no, I don’t think so.”. Before going on to tell me that he himself had also suffered a heart attack earlier in life and his father had died from a heart attack. I’m desperately searching for some overtones of irony or sarcasm, but nothing. It was delivered in such earnest tones that I can only assume that he doesn’t understand what hereditary means. “He’s a lazy bugger” asserts the lorry driver. “Fair enough” I respond.

It’s now 1pm and nothing has happened. We break for lunch and I silently thank those who told me to bring a book.

2:30 and the jury officer is now wearing a robe. I sense something is about to happen. It is! We’re summoned to a court room, but not before she mispronounces a juror’s second name as “moron”. We walk though corridor after corridor before coming to… another waiting room. There are twenty four jurors and only twenty seats. More waiting. Finally we’re led into the court room which is surprisingly large. The judge tells us some very basic facts about the case and I am confident that I know nothing of the defendants or the main people at play. Twelve juror names are read out at random by the clerk. He has a very lazy eye and I am concentrating on this so much that I fear I won’t hear my name if it is read out. However I do hear my name and take my seat in the jury box, alongside lorry driver man. I hope, for the sake of justice, that the case does not involve any complex family trees or medical terms.

The judge describes how sitting on a jury is important and people often find it stimulating. He outlines the hours: 10am-1pm, an hour for lunch and then 2-4pm, with morning and afternoon breaks. The wheels of justice turn excruciatingly slowly. My GCSE revision timetable had more rigour. The judge has more points of law to pontificate upon and we’re dismissed for the day and told not to come back until 2pm tomorrow, having spent a grand total of 30 minutes in actual court.

Pages of book read: 120

Time spent in an actual court room: 30 minutes

Time spent waiting: 5 hours

I arrive a bit early. The other jurors on a different trial go back into court at 2pm and I curse them enviously and their solid routine. Half an hour passes before we’re ushered back into court. I am no mathematician, but I can only count 11 of us. Plus, the empty juror chair is a bit of a give away. The judge gravely explains that one of the jurors had reflected on the case last night and felt she knew one of the defendants and therefore she would not be eligible to serve for the remainder of the trial. Rubbish. A bit of a coincidence since she threw her arms up in Kevin-and-Perry-esque protest yesterday when she was selected.

Unfortunately the judge cannot just assign one of the reserve jurors (although the reasons why escape me, given that we know basically nothing about the case) and therefore we’re dismissed for the day. Yes, M’lord, jury service is incredibly intellectually stimulating.

I walk to my car uttering expletives and search for more books to buy on Amazon.

Pages of book read: 175

Time spent in an actual court room: 35 minutes

Time spent waiting: 6 hours

We’re told to arrive for 10:30am. The jury waiting room is packed, but quickly empties as those assigned to actual trials dissipate into their respective court rooms. The rest of us are left waiting, again. I track down my lorry driver friend. He tells me that the bus he got home last night was much busier than he expected. Two thirds of the journey home, he realised he was on a school bus.

Half an hour passes and the jury officer arrives to tell us she has good and bad news. I hold my breath. The bad news it that the trial has collapsed and we’re free to go home. The good news is “you’ve only had to wait around for an hour!”. We’re not needed on Friday either, so I collect my belongings and head out. It’s raining.

Pages of book read: 175

Time spent in an actual court room: 35 minutes

Time spent waiting: 7 hours

I wasn’t needed on Friday or Monday and after two days off, I feel reinvigorated. The sight of two sweatboxes in the court car park increases my excitement levels. There are new, ‘week one’ jurors in the waiting room and my status is relegated to a ‘week two’, assumably summonable for short trials only.

My lorry driver friend is sitting at a table reading a newspaper and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t missed him. He told me that he drove in today and his journey is a 10 mile round trip. He goes on, “34p a mile! That means I’ll get £34 for my drive today!” I hesitate, but then cannot stop myself and I tell him that he has missed a decimal point. He looks crestfallen.

An hour passes with little activity but finally a jury is summoned and, predictably, it’s week one jurors only. Another trial has collapsed and a ‘pleader’ means there is only one trial left for the day. I am not optimistic of seeing any action.

Lunch comes and goes. At 14:15, the jury coordinator shimmies into the room. “I have good news and bad news!”. Not that line again. She tells us that the final trial of the day may last several days and therefore the judge only wants week one jurors. She goes on to say that anyone on week two is dismissed, not to return, finished… done. This leads to a large cheer from those not enthralled with proceedings, but I am totally gutted and left wondering what was the good and what was the bad news. I wanted to be a juror. I wanted to do what I was summoned to do and I do not share their jubilation.

I say a quick goodbye to my lorry driver friend, who’s sunny disposition and spurious tales about tacho manipulation I will miss.

It’s too late to go back to work, so I drive home and dig the garden in frustration.

Pages of book read: 175 (I accidentally left my book at home today)

Time spent in an actual court room: 35 minutes

Time spent waiting: 11 hours

I wrote this blog because I thought something of merit and something exciting might happen in my two weeks of jury service. I thought I would see things that I could offer comment on. But all I am left thinking, is that I am glad I lowered my initial expectations.

I hope I get called again one day and I hope I get onto a trial. But one thing is for certain – I will bring a book.