My trial.

I will no longer be in Court 16 of the Old Bailey, working with the same clerk and usher. The barristers I've come to know will now be scattered across the country doing other work (The Barrister is off to do a trial in Bristol next. Any Bristolians beware), the 12 members of the jury I will never see again, the defendants I will never see again, unless I'm there when they get sentenced, and for two victims and their families: justice.

Being in a courtroom when murder and attempted murder verdicts come back is like nothing you could ever imagine. The room is almost visibly tense, not one person is without nerves and the entire congregation seems to hold its collective breath as the life-changing question is asked: Guilty or not guilty?

Then, as each verdict is returned, there is stunned silence and only the sound of some of the defendants' mothers, quietly sobbing as they swiftly realise that their sons are going to be imprisoned for many, many years. Some of the jury have clearly found this stressful and upsetting and are in tears themselves. I have to look away before I'm set off too.

The judge thanks the jury and informs them they're discharged from jury service for the rest of their lives. As for those guilty of murder, 'there is only one penalty,' he tells them. They'll find out their fate on 9th May, but their lives and those of their families are now shattered, just like those of the boy they killed.

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