Things For Newly-Weds To Take Into Account, And Probably For Judges, Too.

"So, Molly," says Dad, when he phones first thing this morning. "Got the day off to watch the Royal Wedding, have you, then?"

"Yes," I say. "Though I haven't decided whether to watch it or not, actually."

"Oh, for God's sake, I thought you'd grown out of all that left-wing nonsense," says Dad.

Honestly, just because I - very occasionally - agree with a Tory by accident, that doesn't mean that I have become one, does it? And I've never watched any Royal Weddings - or none so far, anyway.

It's not as if I've got anything better to do today, though - unless a gold star might be on the horizon. Max is looking pretty bored this week, after all.

"There goes Will and Kate's sex-life," he says, watching the preparations on BBC One. "Married life starts today."

He makes it sound as if sex is forbidden once you tie the knot, which rather puts paid to the star-earning idea. I may as well go and sit in the garden for the rest of the day and smoke myself to death. Even though I'm pretty sure it's going to rain.

I still haven't got over how fantastic it is to be able to go for a cigarette on my own again - without having to persuade a bunch of militant non-smoking jurors to join me outside, regardless of the weather. (That's when you really begin to understand how it must feel to suffer from leprosy.)

Who knew that jurors aren't allowed to go anywhere without all the other jurors in tow, once they've retired to consider their verdict? I bloody well didn't, and nor did Dan, the only other smoker on one of the juries upon which I sat, during the living hell also known as jury service.

"So," I said, on the first day, when we were huddled together attempting to light our cigarettes in the driving rain, while trying to pretend that ten virtual strangers weren't glaring at us with utter loathing. "D'you think she's guilty, or innocent?"

"Dunno," said Dan. "Whatever the majority think, then that's the decision that I'll go with."

"You can't do that," I said. "You have to weigh the evidence and come to your own decision. There are people's lives at stake, you know."

"There's my sanity at stake, too," he said. "And it won't take much more of this to make me as mad as a hatter. I just want to finish jury service, and get back to my normal life - so I can have a bloody fag whenever I like. Without the chorus of disapproval over there."

He paused, and then stared at me in horror.

"I can't believe I just said that," he said. "Can you?"

"No," I said. "Well, yes, I can, actually. But, seriously, how many trials do you think are decided by this sort of thing? You know, by jurors' nicotine addiction? It's a bit worrying, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Dan. "Especially when you factor in alcoholics, as well. I'm sure that juror called Linda - the one who works in the Silverhill dry-cleaners - has a bottle in her bag."

I wonder how the sex-addicts cope? Not by getting married, that's for sure. Though what time does the Wedding start?

Two Birds, And The Usefulness Of Knowing When To Make A Quick Getaway.

God, today is stressful. First of all, Trish phones.

"Andrew's in London," I say. "Did you think it was Friday?"

Seems I'm not the only one who has no idea where my husband is half the time although, as The Boss is always in Westminster on Mondays to Fridays when Parliament is in session, you'd think Trish would have learned that by now.

"No, I know it's Thursday" she says. "I want to talk to you, Molly. Is that Victoria still there?"

Trish doesn't sound at all like her usual dynamic self. And why is she asking me?

"Um, yes," I say. "Though I'm not sure for how much longer."

"Thanks. That's all I wanted to know." Then Trish hangs up. I've got a horrible feeling that that wasn't the answer she was hoping for.

Five minutes later, Greg is reading the local paper when he says, "Shit!"

"What?" I say, as Vicky does that long-suffering sigh that denotes her disapproval of swearing. She's probably got her eye on an internship with the Pope next.

"Look at this." Greg puts the paper in front of me.

The front page says: "Man run over by neighbour in bizarre feud." Oh, for God's sake. It's Mr Meeeurghn. He's been mowed down by one of his neighbours, and is now in Northwick General. With minor injuries.

"Maybe we should have taken him more seriously," says Greg. "Seen who they've arrested?"

"Not yet," I say. "Who?"

"John Fuk-Yue. Claims he had an epileptic fit while at the wheel."

Brilliant. Just brilliant. One loony constituent ploughed down by another. Now they'll both want us to help them get justice. Talk about a conflict of interest.

Mind you, there is something very neat about two of our most nightmare constituents putting each other out of action. You might almost say "two birds with one stone." If you were that sort of person.

"Killed two birds with one stone, there," says Greg - who obviously is that kind of person. "Bloody marvellous. Though I've just realised something else. It's not just those two who live on Florence Road. Miss Chambers lives there too - and Mr Everett. The council must be building a loony ghetto."

"Well, we're still not sure Mr Everett is a loony," I say. "It might just be his head injury."

"He scared the shit out of you last time he came in. You said The Twilight Zone theme was playing at full blast."

Greg's right, actually. Despite his smart suit, and his educated and superficially polite demeanour, there is something strange about Mr Everett. If you contradict him at all, or indicate that you are checking his story with the relevant authorities, you can sense the aggression boiling away just beneath the surface.

He claims to have been the victim of a mugging but, so far, no-one seems to believe that that is the reason he was found lying unconscious in the street. Not even the woman who was his girlfriend at the time, though I haven't told him that yet. All the witnesses refer to his habitual drinking, though - when they're willing to speak about him at all, that is.

"Well, yes, " I say. "And I do wish he hadn't taken such a liking to me. I'm getting tired of him coming in every other day, but I've decided I'm not going to see him on my own again, anyway."

"I doubt he'll like that," says Greg. "Seeing as you seem to be becoming his raison d'etre."

This is a really unnerving thought, and I can feel myself go pale.

"Don't fret," says Greg. "That's why we're going to do our next CRB check on Florence Road."

"Oh, God. Do we have to do more of those?" I say. "I've had quite enough of living dangerously."

"It's more dangerous not knowing what we're up against, Mol. This time we'll just do one street. And we'll wear trainers in case we need to make a quick getaway."

"Pity Mr Meeurghn didn't think of that," I say.

Now I come to think of it, it sounds as if The Boss might need to get some running shoes, if Trish's tone was anything to go by. I can't believe I used to complain I led a boring life.