The news that supermarkets have put withdrawn hamburgers back on the shelves reminds me of the days very early in my career when I did a bit of prosecuting for a small chain of supermarkets.

I always had to ask for costs and a few shillings compensation for the spoiled item and one day I prosecuted a lady who had taken a piece of steak from the counter, put it between her thighs and, penguin-like, waddled out. Outside on the pavement she was tapped on the shoulder and, as it were, gave birth. I was surprised when there was no claim for costs. ‘We just rinsed it and put it back on the shelf,’ I was told.

Prosecuting, even in this limited way, taught me a good deal. One of the things was never to be sarcastic or unpleasant for the sake of it. I once prosecuted a middle-aged lady accused of stealing a tin of salmon which, she said, had leaped off the shelf and into her bag. ‘Spawning time?’ I asked wittily. She was convicted and went to prison for 14 days. I’m not sure if she even had any convictions but life was a lot rougher in those days.

I felt bad about it, and even worse when her husband made an appointment to see me a couple of months later. I thought he was going to complain but no, she had been caught again – and he wanted me to defend her. ‘Ask her what day it is,’ he said. She could not tell me, nor the month, nor who was on the throne. When I was being so clever at her expense the poor woman had been in the early stages of fast-developing dementia.

On a happier note, after I had prosecuted one woman who had a number of children, she came to the office that afternoon and put £10 on the desk saying, ‘this is a retainer so you can’t get at any of my sons’. They became regular clients.

My early prosecuting career came to a shuddering halt when I was asked to prosecute a man charged with fraud at the local greyhound track. It was something to do with switched tickets and I got absolutely nowhere on my cross-examination. It was only after I sat down that I realised too late how he had worked the trick.

James Morton is a writer and former criminal defence solicitor