Reading the report of the magistrate who was alleged to have gone to sleep during a mitigation reminds me of the late Wilfrid Fordham. He used to say: ‘A speech in mitigation gets no better the longer it goes on’. In his later years, Wilfrid was a great one for a quick post-lunch nap at the Old Bailey when nothing much was happening.

I remember one afternoon when he and the prosecutor, who shall be nameless, looked like a Daumier drawing as they sat with their heads almost on each other’s shoulders during a summing up. I think it was by John Maude, who was normally entertaining enough to keep even the most somnolent barrister awake. Presumably, since both prosecuting and defence counsel were asleep, no one thought the other was gaining an unfair advantage and they were left where they were. It was Maude who told a defendant who had broken up a bar in a drunken brawl and was now, he said, on the wagon, to ‘promise me you’ll never have another drink again. Not even the teeniest-weeniest glass of dry sherry before luncheon of a Sunday’.

Stipendiary magistrates have behaved oddly in the past, but one or two lay justices seem to have had no concept of the requirements. I remember when one case I was prosecuting went part-heard on the second day, the chair asked me why I wasn’t opening the case. When I told her it was part-heard, she replied somewhat acerbically: ‘Yes, I know, but Mrs Smith here didn’t sit on the last occasion.’

A friend of mine prosecuting in a London court was surprised to find one of the justices suddenly leave the bench and return as though nothing had happened 10 minutes later. The justice must have felt obliged to explain herself because she blurted: ‘I’m sorry, I had to go and make an urgent telephone call.’ I suppose it was better than taking the call on her mobile in court. But how do we know justices, and judges for that matter, aren’t constantly texting away? If they are I suppose it keeps them awake.

Everyone knows how boring traffic cases are, but Geoffrey Rose, the stipe at Lambeth, had a novel way of remaining alert. He devoted part of his attention to his collection of postage stamps during the afternoon sessions. ‘Ten pounds please,’ he would say, as he examined a Mauritius blue or whatever. No one ever reported him.

James Morton is a writer and former criminal defence solicitor