The slow arm of the law

I had a phone call from the police today. I was hobbling towards a tour of William's prospective 'special school', so for once was grateful for their startling brevity. It seems that they have ‘summonsed’ the car driver who so thoughtfully ran me over. He has been summonsed for driving without due care and attention. Obviously, as I have the benefit of time on the sofa and a laptop, I looked this up on the internet. It seems that ‘the offence of driving without due care and attention is committed when the driving falls below the standard expected of a reasonable, prudent and competent driver in all the circumstances of the case.’ I’m rather hoping that he is man enough to admit that flooring it when the light goes amber, hurtling across a pelican crossing, clattering into a pedestrian, shattering his leg, knackering his face, and hurling him yards down the road does not qualify as ‘prudent’ or ‘competent’. I may be wrong of course – he may choose to contest it, especially as the witnesses seem to have been put off by the 12 page document they were asked to complete two months after the event. I wouldn’t be surprised if even the driver had forgotten things by now.

The whole legal thing is very interesting though. If he is convicted of driving without due care, does this increase my chances of claiming compensation? Therefore, is he less likely to admit it? How can I be any use in the witness box, when I can’t remember anything about it? Should I try hypnotherapy? Would this drag up all sorts of other appalling skeletons from the closet that I have chosen to forget? I must have some juicy childhood traumas. And an increasing number of people are choosing to frame their unsolicited comments around my chances to make some compensation. I had to lie to somebody the other day and say that it had been a hit and run, just to stop their visibly jealous ramblings about the possibility that I might make some cash. And I was stopped on Croydon High Street by a lawyer, touting for business. I can only hope that he hasn’t knocked anybody over himself, in his urgency to chase ambulances. What else was he hoping to see in Croydon High Street for goodness’ sake? Unsafe arrests for shoplifting? Families that looked as if paternity suits would be appropriate? Impending marital breakups?

What can the injured party make of all of this? Well. The driver may get some points on his license, and maybe an increased insurance premium. I have been unable to walk, bathe or in any way normally function for four months and counting. My face looks as if I have a permanent quizzical look engraved on my forehead. I spent a month in hospital, and have been in not inconsiderable pain. I have not been able to work. I missed my opportunity to cover at Glyndebourne for the first time, and a number of other opportunities besides. I have been very careful not to feel sorry for myself, but I will certainly feel no compunction in turning to the law, despite my instinctive dislike of the litigious society and compensation culture. So there. I was only trying to cross the road, after all. But, and this is important, I would have given every penny I have for this accident not to have happened. Which is, admittedly, a little easier to say when you’re broke.

In the meantime, I have been asked to provide photos of the scene for my potential lawyer. I think I’ve got it organised, though haven’t quite had the heart to explain why it has taken a while. It is, in fact, because the message had to get through to Irish Dave, who had to borrow the camera from Alice, with whom he is currently enjoying a dalliance, and who was my first girlfriend, and then he had to take the photos under the detailed instructions of Matthew, who was with me at the time of the accident. After all that, the four months it took the police to prosecute the driver seem like the blink of an eye. Still, I suppose the cogs of justice turn slowly.