The defamation of Strickland Banks in HD

-Court rise.

Thames Magistrate's Court, east London. We all, including the eight, sullen-looking defendants, rise. These were the -----------, lads in hoods on bikes who robbed and threatened anyone in their way. They're all aged between 15 and 18. The police and the local council are applying for ASBOs for the gang, two of the conditions banning them from a number of areas in the borough where they live, and from associating all together.

Lawyers stand in turn and speak, procedural matters. The supporting evidence, decision and comments of the magistrate were what I wanted. It wouldn't hurt if the applicants' lawyer made some choice remarks likening this lot to 'a gang of thugs' or used phrases like 'terrorise the neighbourhood.' The magistrate was a short, stout, sour-faced woman under a bob of greying hair. I remember her from my very first visit to Thames Magistrates Court two years ago when she sentenced a young mother to 14 days in jail for repeatedly thumping a nightclub bouncer. The defendants' lawyers are now asking for some time to check a point of law with a colleague. The magistrate mutters something to the clerk.

-Court rise.

Outside, the court building on Bow Road is a large, brown structure that appears older than however old it is. Inside on the ground floor is a desk to check your bags, metal-detecting arches, threadbare carpet tiles leading up grubby stairs to a lobby. The size of a provincial airport departure lounge. Court lists pinned up on noticeboards. WILTON, Garry David Vs LONDON BOROUGH OF TOWER HAMLETS. HALLIARD, Jacquie Vs LONDON BOROUGH OF HACKNEY. The printed sheets gave dates of birth, addresses, alleged offences and dates on which they're claimed to have been committed. Lots of women up on benefit fraud charges, I'd noticed.

Outside the court my case was in I'd sat in one of the rows of hard plastic chairs, first to arrive. I'd wait for the applicant's lawyer, in this case a man named Clive, introduce myself, ask how serious the case was even though I already knew the answer, then wait for the lawyer to talk it up. Then I'd suggest the story I'd write would be about justice for a gang of thugs who terrorise the neighbourhood, and the lawyer would nod and agree, offering a spare printed copy of the evidence, and say he would be sure to describe the defendants and their actions to the magistrate in suitable terms. The reason being that by law you can only report with impunity what is said in court, or - and, worryingly, I've never been clear on this - documents used as evidence in court. But the evidence won't be written in tabloid headlines. You need the lawyers or the magistrate for that. 'WILD WEST' GUNMAN CAGED, or 'PACK OF DOGS' GANG WALKS FREE. Otherwise you'd get sued for defamation.

No wood panelling in the courtroom: a high ceiling, walls painted off-white, well-lit, some needlessly exposed rafters, last refurb probably during the 1990s. A glass screen separating the public gallery at the back from the courtroom. I look at the few notes I have in an upholstered seating area at the side, there's no press gallery. The magistrate's empty chair looms high above the defendants and lawyers, behind raised battlements of modern court design. The defendants stare into the distance, silent, or look around the court without interest.

A court usher bustles in, spots me sitting at the side. She sees the notepad and says that Clive had told her he'd been expecting media interest. Clive had been expecting this because he'd phoned my office last week inviting us to come along: a notorious local gang getting ASBOs. The usher smiles and sails on, clutching a sheaf of papers to her chest.

-Court rise.

The magistrate strides back to her chair, keen to get on with things. The defendants' lawyers, one representing seven of them, a second representing the other one, ask for the matter to be deferred due to other outstanding cases against five members of the gang which have yet to be resolved.

Clive, a white-haired, balding man in his late fifties who looks much too nice to be involved with criminal law, stands and states that he would urge against this due to the fact that the said matters have remained outstanding for some time already, while there is a real need amidst the communities the applicants are acting on behalf of that this matter be resolved soon. It's a weak argument, like when defendants' lawyers go through the motions hopelessly applying for bail by saying that they have had meaningful discussions with their client who they do not consider to be a risk to the public. The magistrate has a quick word with the clerk, sighs very audibly, and defers the proceedings until when the outstanding matters have been resolved.

-Court rise.

An entirely typical hour in a magistrate's court. There had been little else of interest on the court lists outside, the kind of routine mid-way assault trials and benefit fraud cases that news agencies send in to the paper anyway, and wouldn't warrant me spending another couple of hours away from the office, even on a Friday when we had more time to spend before the deadline rush early next week. Clive smiles as we leave, says he is disappointed and will keep me in the loop for when it comes back to court. The usher brushes past us outside, a flash of blonde.

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