It was a capable punch, bang on the eye. It bent my sunglasses, opened up the skin around my eye in several places and gave me a shiner that lasted a week. It also dropped me to the ground while I clutched my face, groaning, bleeding and stunned. Getting punched in the eye hurts.

The lead up to the event was pretty random. It was a pleasant autumn afternoon in Edinburgh, I had been in the city centre and was walking home along Montgomery Street, just around the corner from the famous Valvona & Crolla deli. The general street noises were drowned out by the iPod, or specifically by the rather natty Bose headphones I had bought myself as a treat earlier in the year. The only untoward element of the scene was a small group of young lads on the opposite pavement. They looked almost out of control, worth keeping an eye on, beyond exuberant. If I had to guess, I might have said they'd spent an afternoon getting acquainted with speedier substances than Tennent's Lager. But I was on one side of the street, they were on the other, and I soon drew ahead of them - out of sight, out of mind.

Minutes later, as I came to the junction of Montgomery Street and Hillside Street someone swiped me round the back of the head, dislodging the headphones. I turned round, taking the headphones off, and standing next to me was one of the lads from the group I'd spotted earlier. He tried to say something about "listening to music" and "gimme your headphones" but he was obviously off his face.

At that point I wasn't particularly scared and didn't even think I was being mugged, or that I was in any danger. He just seemed like a drunken or drugged-up ned: a daft, slurring laddie who had got it into his head that he wanted to listen to music on my headphones. I remember thinking to myself, 'If I put them away, he'll probably just wander off.' As I looked down, putting the headphones into an inside jacket pocket, he took a swing at me and caught me with a foursquare punch right out of the blue.

I don't know how long I lay on the deck for, probably only 20 or 30 seconds perhaps, then a passer-by helped me to my feet. By this time, the lad who punched me had left, but I didn't see where he went. Fortunately, diagonally opposite us was a café with pavement tables where several people had witnessed the whole event. One of the customers from the café came over, told me she knew first aid, and insisted I come and sit down while she cleaned the blood off my face. Everything was very calm, everyone was very kind. The café owner produced a whisky for me, the first aider cleaned me up, another café customer located a policeman who radioed for assistance. More policemen arrived and statements were taken. A group of young lads had been spotted just a few streets away doing something irresponsible around scaffolding. A witness from the café went off with a couple of the police officers and identified the group as the one I'd seen, including the lad who hit me. They were arrested and taken off to a police station.

While my eye was being attended to, the conversation outside the café was enlightening. The group of lads - there were three of them - had walked by the pavement tables and seemed set on bother. They'd decided not to cause any havoc among the customers because there were very young children present. However, they had spotted me on the other side of the road and two of the group had actively encouraged the third to cross the street and do something, unspecified. While this chat was going on between myself and the café customers, a chap who lived nearby stopped and added a few facts, identifying the group of lads as persistent troublemakers, making life hell for various people including the local shopkeeper. They were, it seems, absolute pains in the neighbourhood's arse.

Cleaned up, and having offered my sincere thanks to the café staff and clientele, I walked the rest of the way home, bemused and not really sure what to do next. Over the course of the next week, the cuts healed, the bruising subsided and finally I got all the feeling back on the right side of my face. I hadn't even been fully aware of the numbness until the day when it stopped - like a dental anaesthetic wearing off.

A few days after that, the police telephoned me. It was a courtesy call to say that punchy-boy was due in court in mid October and if he entered a guilty plea, that would be the end of the matter. If he entered a not guilty plea then another court date would be set for a hearing sometime in the new year. October came and went, as did November, December and January. Occasional thoughts of a baroque revenge fantasy aside – involving stakes, trawler twine, a deserted North Sea cove and an incoming tide - I basically tried to forget about it. Then in mid February, five months after the event, I received a citation from Edinburgh Sheriff Court. He'd plead not guilty so there would be a hearing after all, in early April, and I was to attend as a witness.

Thought number one after I opened the letter was, 'What? He punched me. I mean, there's no doubt about that. He punched me, he did it in front of witnesses, he was positively identified within half an hour of punching me and arrested. And he plead not guilty?'

Thought number two was sparked by the grave notice in block capitals on my citation, accentuated by an unbroken black border, 'IF YOU DO NOT ATTEND COURT WITHOUT A LAWFUL EXCUSE THE COURT MAY ORDER THAT YOU BE APPREHENDED AND PUNISHED.' Well gee, thanks guys.

And so it came to pass that on Tuesday this week, I made myself respectable for my moment in the spotlight and headed up the road to the Sheriff Court in Chambers Street. The citation had come with a helpful booklet explaining the outline of the court process, but otherwise I was coming to it stone cold. Apart from the informal telephone chat with the police in late September and the citation letter in February, no one else had been in touch so I had no idea how big or small this case would be, whether other witnesses would be there, indeed what would happen at all. Having served as a juror a couple of times, I had visions of a large, formal court with dozens of people and me standing in the witness box.

The citation had said 9.30am so I turned up a few minutes early. There was hardly anyone else around, and I was directed to sit in a general witness waiting room. Over the next half hour the place started to fill up and a couple of court staff appeared to talk to everyone, in turn, and explain what might happen during the day. Their spiel was very customer-friendly and they even had pictures of the courtroom where I might be called to give evidence. I asked about the apparent absence of a jury box and was told that since it was only a minor assault, it wouldn't be a jury trial. This was news to me of course, but it did take an edge off my nervousness. For around six or seven weeks, ever since I received the citation, I had been treating this much in the same way as an appointment for major root canal work.

However, seeing a picture of the modest courtroom where everything would happen, estimating that there would be very few people there – sheriff, clerks, someone from the fiscal's office, defence lawyer, me and the ned – I started to warm to the idea of standing there saying, 'Yes, that's the young chap who knocked me to the ground and made my face bleed.'

Time passed. Nothing much happened. Some witnesses were called for other cases. The court staff had said that the very worst scenario would be hanging about until 4pm, but that most witnesses were done and dusted by lunchtime. Then not long after 10.30am, when I had been there for just over an hour, the case was called and I went to the desk at the front of the witness room. A bored man in court uniform said, 'He changed his plea to guilty, you can go.'

'You mean that's it? No evidence, no need for a witness, I can just go home?'

'Yeah,' he said, then turned his attention to other matters.

As dismissals went, this struck me as remarkably unceremonious. I wandered back through the court building towards the exit, via the main corridor outside the individual courtrooms, and the sheer scale of the day's business started to dawn on me. There were a lot of people in sportswear talking to a lot of smartly-dressed young solicitors. When I got home, I had a look around the web and found the day's court roll online. My punchy-guy was 'accused number 88' on a list that extended to over 180. These were all criminal cases which made up the bulk of the court's business, but there were also civil actions being heard, summary cause actions and small claims. Criminal justice – which is inevitably seen from a highly individualised viewpoint by the accused, the witnesses, the thumped and unthumped alike – was being administered here on an industrial scale. The ability to walk along Montgomery Street without being assaulted, the pain of being struck, the emotional and psychological aftermath, the situation that led the laddie to getting off his tits then smacking a stranger around the head – all seemed to take a distant second place to the court's bureaucratic grind. And it was only a minor assault after all: no jury needed. Man gets hit, no one died, no lasting damage.

On Wednesday, I called the Witness Service to find out punchy-boy's punishment. They referred me to the Procurator Fiscal's Office who referred me on to the Sheriff Clerk's Office. From a fast-talking lady there, I discovered that he had been fined £360. No one had asked my name during these calls, I just said I had been cited as a witness and that seemed to suffice as justification for my curiosity. The lady from the Sheriff Clerk's Office then said that a sum of £130 in compensation had been awarded as part of the judgement, and mentioned my name. I assume the cheque is in the post.

//story ends//

well to me at least, but then I have toyed with the idea of applying to become a magistrate. Standing outside a court is a fascinating experience - the well paid lawyers and their chavier clients mingling to get through security and to have a fag break. And the sheer number of people involved! As you say an industrial process. To each victim there is a personal story - but taken on mass there is just a volume of cases to deal with.
Those of us who are not really involved with the law don't appreciate how different it is to the telly. Lawyer friends tell me that it is like sausage making - the details can put you off, so best to not think about it too much.

Until 2007, I used to be a Procurator Fiscal Depute (a prosecutor, in English). I worked in Edinburgh from about 2002 - 2004. It seems that things haven't changed much since I left.

The office in Edinburgh got around 23,000 cases reported to it every year. A large number of those would be traffic cases. Some would be sent to the District Court (the lowest court) and some would be dealt with by way of a fixed penalty fine. A tiny fraction would be dealt with by jury trial. Most assaults would go to the Sheriff Court, to be tried by a Sheriff sitting alone. Of those that are sent to the Sheriff Court, only a small amount ever make it to trial. People plead guilty, witnesses lose interest (or never had interest in the first place) and evidence changes. What no one tells you in advance is that the chance of you ever giving evidence is actually quite small.

The problem with the court on a day to day basis is, as you noticed, volume. There were 180 cases in court on your day. That is probably quite a light day, although the majority of those hearings would be procedural. I would often have 15 trials to deal with on one day (my record was 23, when I prosecuted in Glasgow). Although I would always do my best to speak to witnesses, it was impossible to speak to everyone beforehand, and equally difficult to speak to them after the case had been dealt with.

The reasons why he might have left pleading guilty to the last minute include a hope that you wouldn't turn up and so the case would be droppped; a hope that it might be adjourned through a lack of court time so he could put off the evil day; or, he may not have remembered anything and it was only when his solicitor could sit him down and read the evidence to him that he realised he was stuffed.

What you have also not been told, and I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news here, is that you are unlikely to see that cheque any time soon. The majority of people convicted are from what the Queen Mother would call "the lower orders". Chances are that your ned is on benefits and has been ordered to pay at something like £5 a week which will go to paying off both the fine and the compensation. You won't get the cheque until he has paid it all, so you're looking at getting a cheque some time in 2013. Assuming, that is, that he doesn't miss a payment.

The ground floor in Edinburgh Sheriff Court is a real eye opener any day of the week.

I just hope that the Sheriff Clerk's office remember to ask for your £130, a colleague is still in dialogue with them a year later about his award as they forgot to ask the defendant for it when he paid his fine.

Re-alloctaing the award from the fine doesn't seem to be an option.

Get your hands on a copy of Outlaws with Phil Daniels which gives a great insight into the world of a duty solicitor at the bottom end of the scale - and the music is great too.

Thanks.

A long time ago, my sister was going to University and stopped at my house opvernight in Manchester. Stupidly, as she had a loaded car, we decided not to unpack it all, taking only a few bits and pieces into the house overnight. The following morning revealed that the back window of the car had been removed, and the entire contents of her life removed. A quick scan around located the window, and the fingerprint man came and dusted and found several sets of prints, which belonged to a local well-known three streets away.

Needless to say, what followed was the largest insurance claim and shopping trip I'd ever been involved in....

I was cited to appear as a witness (not that I'd seen anything) at his trial at Manchester Magistrates Court. I turned up, spotted him and his brief (the conversation I overheard was along the lines of "it's all down to the fingerprints, Johnny"), and then I was approached by the prosecuting solicitor fellow - he told me that he had no idea why I'd been asked to attend, and confirmed to me that he'd agreed with the defence guy not to call me as they both agreed it was a waste of time....

So, off I went. I subsequently discovered that he'd been acquitted as the fingerprints guy hadn't bothered to turn up for the court.
Unbelievable....

If people can be (and regularly are) fined £500 for not putting their rubbish in the right bin, or up to £1,000 for neglecting to pay their TV licence, don't you feel he got off rather lightly for punching a stranger in the eye for no other reason than having taken a shine to your earphones, breaking the skin (i.e. legal "wounding") and causing severe bruising and, I'm sure, distress?

Sorry, but I get a bit medieval in my response to crimes of violence, regardless of the age or degree of off-their-titsness of the people who enjoy hitting people.

Thanks for posting that. It was an interesting, if rather depressing, tale.

I'm with Archie on the 'justice' angle. The law should be hammering people for unprovoked crimes of violence. A fine of £360 ain't a hammering.

and I'm glad to read there is no lasting damage. Most people never have cause to be bothered by the law and when they do it is often a frustrating and inconvenient experience. I belong to the "flogging's not good enough" brigade on many of the cases I read about, especially as I used to mingle with defending solicitors. One of their clients used to go around with no means of identification on his person but was always sure to tuck a solicitor's business card in his sock in case of arrest.

What annoys me most is the lack of compensation to fit the crime at a time when law-abiding youngsters are getting into a lifetime of debt to better themselves through further education. For example, joyriders who write off a £10,000 car should have to cover that cost throughout their lifetime, regardless of the lack of readies when the incident occurred, instead of the cost falling onto insurance companies and higher premiums for the victims.

that in cases like this, that the punishment can never fit the crime. Physical chastisement of the perpetrator is long in the past, they rarely have any money, so a fine's meaningless, an appearance in court holds no fears for them, they are there so often, and community service probably comes as a nice change, giving them something to do. I could cry 'Bring back National Service' but I doubt it would do anything other than frustrate those trying to administer it. At least Glenbervie's attacker did accept he was guilty, and was duly punished, and I fear that's the best we can expect. If only Australia wasn't full up, we could bring back transportation.

...just last night I was crossing the road and swerved left to avoid another pedestrian, he swerved right and pushed me in the ribs. Fortunately I am rather well built (hem hem) and didn't fall over. Given that this occurred at the junction next to Brixton Town Hall with buses everywhere it only really struck me what this bloke was *really* trying to do when I sat down on the tube. Glenbervie, you have my sympathy. As my old boss in a warehouse in Old Trafford used to say when another worker rang in to say they couldn't come in as they had been nicked again "Good grief, the mentality of these people"

Edinburgh Sheriff Court. Sadly, the case never happened (I assume the guy pleaded guilty at the last minute, as in your case), as I'd have been interested to see how the wheels of justice grind.

It did strike me that there are a LOT of people involved in every case (including the potential jurors), costing - I'm sure - a LOT of money. It also struck me what a depressing place that court is, to spend any time in.

Glad you're okay, anyway, and I hope the wastrel and his chums aren't still out there, making Leithers' lives a strain.

Thanks for telling the story in such an interesting, illuminating way.

Perhaps a slightly cynical quip there. I was involved in a similar case earlier this year in Central London - losing my wallet, and ipod. My stolen Oyster card was used a few hours later, and this meant that the assailants journey (in 3 parts) was logged in detail. I'm fairly optimistic, since CCTV coverage in London is the most comprehensive in the world apparently, both on the transport system and on the streets.

I make a Police report on the night it happened. The short and tall of what I am told is "OK, but its a difficult time of year and you have to appreciate the backlog we have…"

A few weeks after the incident I make a phone call and am told "we are looking into it, but the transport Police are completely detached from the Westminster Police department, thats the reason for the delay". So I took this to mean at least, that investigations are still underway. The very next day I get a standard "insufficient evidence" letter, meaning that they are not looking into it after all, case is closed. Make of this what you will folks, I know what I made of it.

… The Scottish and English legal system. My experience Glenbervie of the Scottish legal system is that its pretty rough, and they, public servants remember, don't feel they owe you such luxuries as courtesy. The English system, although its pretty strung out and lazy, is much more civilised.

An interesting story, well-told.

Glad to see that you are able to look at the whole thing philosophicaly. If we ever have an Embra massive meet-up I'll tell you my own (slightly odd) victim-of-crime story.

Remember and take a wheelbarrow with you to Fopp to carry away your £130-worth.

...your story is unfortunately all too familiar.

In fact you got a guilty plea, and compensation. To be far that's a bloody good result. Solicitors will have encouraged chummy to plead not guilty just to string out the leagl aid. then a quick word for a guilty plea will result in another fee with no work done.

Cynical moi?????

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-tyne-13006764

What an interesting read, although I'm really sorry you had to go through that. Hope you're fully recovered now!

.. in this sort of thing - I found this blog really interesting. It's a magistrate's blog.

http://thelawwestofealingbroadway.blogspot.com/

It certainly explores some of the frustrations & / or thinking behind some of the sentences dished out.

But, if it's any compensation, you've told the tale well.

In most circumstances, I'm a pathetic, lefty liberal willing to understand why some people behave differently to others and that, in many cases, those that behave badly haven't had the opportunities that the rest of us have had.

But violence, intimidation and bullying bring out my illiberal borderline fascist twin. I've never hit anyone since primary school. I can't see why anyone else has ever had to other then in self defence. Violent crimes deserve punishment and I don't mean a fine that will never be paid. And I don't necessarily mean prison.

In the case of the OP, if his assailant had gone to prison it wouldn't have been for very long. But, proper, hard, community service - at a time when he'd rather be out with his mates and that lasts for a long time might cause him real inconvenience and make him think twice.

And people on community service should be clearly identifiable. Not to humiliate them but so that people see that community sentences mean something and have more faith in them as an alternative to prison.

The snag in my argument is what do you if they don't turn up for community service? I'll get back to you on that.

That the idiot who did this to GB is on benefits etc.

Not that it makes any difference to the assault and on balance you are probably correct, but I have known plenty of seemingly upstanding citizens, some of whom are employed in high paying jobs, who, when they've had a few, become very handy with their fists and enjoy a bit of mindless violence including clumping strangers in the street.

The magistrates tend to think everyone involved are the same. It's hard to tell who started it, they are all (mainly) of the 'lower orders' and if it's in the evening, what were they doing out so late at night in a town centre (as though you have no right to walk the streets in safety after a certain time). Violence never really affects them that much, so you are more likely to get a large fine (or a prison sentence) for stealing statues (or suchlike) from a country home. Violent people should be punished a lot more, and l have had various dealings with courts and have a lot of violent friends. I would however, start with hard community work when it affects people the most, making them work (hard) on weekends, Friday nights etc when they want to be with their mates. Then, if they keep offending, it's time for prison.

Morning all - many thanks indeed for all the replies to my post, and for all the kind words of commiseration. Having written something so lengthy in the first place, it was always an intention to revisit it later, but I don't want to bore you all stiff, so I'll try and keep it brief. (Well, less expansive than it would be otherwise...)

Interesting that thankudoctor mentioned legal aid, as two other people away from this message board said the same thing: punchy-boy's lawyer made him plead not guilty in order to inflate his/her legal aid fee. (Those other people were a police officer, and someone who knows the legal aid system in Scotland inside out.) However, ratbiter's insider view - as a procurator fiscal depute - plainly rings true. I guess then that despite the fact that punchy-boy actually did the deed, his solicitor was acting in his best interests by getting him to plead not guilty last October on the grounds that perhaps no witnesses would turn up at the eventual court hearing in April. Although I don't know the mechanism, this would also have the happy, coincidental effect of more legal aid £££ for the the solicitor concerned. The wheels of justice explained.

Sour Crout wondered what would have happened if I punched my assailant - well I've had a good few months to think about random violence. Although at the time, I was angry/violated/anxious/cheesed off and spent some (un)happy evenings pondering the effect of a baseball bat smacking the guilty in the mouth, due reflection confirms that violence begets violence, also that it's not containable. ("I only head-butted him once officer, but he fell and hit his head on a sandstone step and now he's dead, oops.") Pepper spray seems to be one answer in terms of defending yourself (legal in various US states and parts of Europe) but once you let that cat out of the bag, every tanked up ned on a Friday night would have a canister in his pocket for offensive purposes; not good. There's no substitute for just not being punched in the first place. Mind you, although I can be relatively sanguine about myself - some months after the event - i suspect my attitude would be 180 degrees different had the assault involved anyone else, especially people i know and care about, and especially especially the most vulnerable subset of that group. Or put another way, had punchy-boy twatted my 77-year-old mother instead of me, I'd be quite happy to see him pulled apart by horses on a frosty morning in February and his steaming bits casually tossed to all points of the compass.

As for Archie's question of whether punchy-boy got off lightly, I think we can safely say that he is indeed under 25 and on benefits with an income of fifty odd quid a week. The fine (£360) plus compensation (£130) comes to more than nine weeks' income which is quite a sum for him, relatively speaking. The downside is that this cannot be gathered at once so, as was suggested above, if it's collected at a fiver a week, it's going to take almost two years to pay it off - while the effect to punchy-boy just prevents him buying two pints of lager over a seven day period during that time. Big effing deal. Then again, punishment implies deprivation and how do you take something away from someone who doesn't have anything? Taking it as read that prison is expensive and harsh for one punch, a fine and a criminal record mean little to someone with no qualifications, no career prospects, no professional reputation, no money and no future. (At this point, I'm in danger of essaying into a lengthy digression on the underclass, its social cost, its growth since the late 1970s and how it's affordable in boom times but more problematic in unboom times - a topic for another post however.)

The best punishment suggestion I think came from Spider-mans arch enemy - make the bugger do community service exactly when he doesn't want to, and make it difficult (cleaning up spew and piss on Lothian Road or the Cowgate on a Fri and Sat evening while wearing a pink hi-vis bib, drunk passers-by shouting, 'Loser!' at him, perhaps).

Anyway, this is now more than long enough - sincere thanks for reading. When the compensation cheque arrives in 2013, I'll buy you all a drink.

In the mid 90s I was manager of a shop in Torry, Aberden (Glenbervie, you know Torry I trust?)
This young druggie had pinched some stuff and was heading swiftly up the road, so I followed him, alone.I asked him for the loot back, and lets be done with it, chum. The Fucker nutted me then pushed me straight through the glass window of a chemists. Unfortunately for him I had a grip of his lapels and we both crashed into the chemists shop, with glass breaking everywhere.
Not a scratch on me. Unbelieveably. We rolled about the floor, exchanging punches, and in his case, spittle. I got him in a headlock but he then clamped his teeth around my right ear and started to chew. Boy that hurt. Thankfully some Police arrived, so he legged it, followed by myself and the two Polis. We cornered him in a garden, whereupon he picked up a clothes pole and battered the nearest Bobby over the head with it.
Then he went down, sorely, and was taken away.
I ended up in Aberdeen A&E to get my badly chewed ear treated.
The following day I got a visit from the two Polis who told me that the guy had hepatitis C ("junkie flu")and was HIV positive ("junkie measles"). Not nice news to hear, considering we had exchanged some bodily fluids.
He was due in court some months later, but did not turn up, so a warrant was put out for his arrest.
When he eventually did go to court he was charged with 7 offences, to wit: Theft/ damage to public property/ assualting a Police Officer/ breach of the peace/ resisting arrest/ assualt and contempt of court.
He pleaded guilty to the two assault cases, his plea was accepted by the Fiscal and he got, wait for it, 200 hours community service.
Meanwhile I had to wait two loooong years to get the all clear from the blood nasties.
Justice?

'twas that very window.......
If you are a Torry Loon, you may know the name of the junkie (passed away due to overdose a year or so after the assualt). An old cartoon character in the Daily Record called Angus shares his surname...