The journey started like many others: a bike ride through morning traffic, cutting across the city towards Central. I was due to interpret in court—routine stuff—but as it often happens in this line of work, the hearing was cancelled at the last minute. No explanation, just a quick note from the clerk. So I left.
Thames Magistrates was next. Another assignment, another courtroom. I arrived to find out the defendant had been hospitalized. No interpreting needed. Just like that, I was off the clock again.
While waiting around, Iwona turned up. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. She looked sharp, switched on. We got to talking—about the job, mostly. She was excited, maybe a little hungry for what interpreting could give her. Not just the language work, but the exposure, the media connections, maybe more.
I told her I wasn’t interested in all that. Politics, media—too noisy for me. I’ve learned to keep my head down. I only cast a vote for Trzaskowski because I still believe Poland belongs in the Mediterranean world, with its sun and sea and shared stories—not under some Russian shadow.
As we talked, I caught myself watching her. Iwona’s got something about her. Smart eyes. Probably a few stories of her own. And I wondered—fleetingly—if I could fancy her. Maybe I already did. But I know myself. When I’m feeling restless, I get ideas. Not always wise ones.
Eventually, we were called. She went her way, to her party. I signed out. Another day of almosts and maybes.
In the shadowed courtroom of Tings, Adrian sat like a forgotten ornament, silent and still.Bianka had arrived as though caught in a storm she didn’t understand—eyes wide, voice barely a thread—flanked by two elderly British women. One of them hobbled on crutches, her frame sharp and crooked, her face drawn into something between a smirk and a scowl. There was something almost spectral about her, something of the witch from a children’s cautionary tale. She called... Read More
The family court in BSTK echoed with strained silence. The hearing room was neutral, but the air inside was thick with tension. Judge: “This is a hearing regarding shared care arrangements for the children of M.A. and E.A.. The goal is to ensure stability and wellbeing for the children. Now—unless the parties can agree, the court will decide for you.” M.A. sat upright, arms folded, barely hiding his contempt. M.A.: “Your Honour, I have video... Read More
Setting: WCC (Family Court)Characters: Loni (Ilona), Marc (Marcin), Me (narrator/friend/supporter of Loni), Clerk, Judge The courtroom is small, with fluorescent lights buzzing above. A quiet tension thickens the air. Loni sits at the front, her hands trembling slightly, her eyes fixed on the floor. I sit beside her. Marc is across the room, too calm. The Clerk calls the case, and we all rise as the Judge enters. Clerk: Case number 4821 – Loni Kowalska and Marc Nowak. Matters... Read More
It was difficult to get to the Immigration Tribunal. As usual, waiting for the bus was painful. It might arrive, or it might not, and the waiting itself began to feel like a cruel kind of lottery. The stop was half-broken, the wind sharp, and every passing minute made the trip ahead feel heavier. Finally, the bus popped up over the hill like a miracle with bad timing. I boarded quickly, relieved, but that relief didn’t last. Not long after, the driver pulled to a hard stop and got... Read More
Przekroczenie dozwolonej prędkości oznacza łamanie prawa w Anglii. W pierwszej kolejności policja wysyła formularz do podejrzanego kierowcy, aby potwierdził, kto siedział za kierownicą. Nieprzekazanie policji danych podlega karze. Oczywiście pojawiają się różne sytuacje. Poczta czasami nie dociera.Sąd wydaje także wyrok, nawet jeśli oskarżony nie stawia się na rozprawie. Odwołanie jest uwzględniane, kiedy ono jest w pewnym sensie uzasadnione po to,... Read More
Nic nadzwyczajnego. Partnerka oskarża męża o przemoc. Są zgłoszenia na policję. Jeśli są jakieś problemy, to koleżanki na pewno cos podpowiedzą. Udało się uzyskać zakaz molestowania: nie wolno rozmawiać na jakiekolwiek tematy z wyjątkiem dzieci. Nadażyła się okazja, aby nagrać, jak ojciec pali fajkę wodną, żeby przyśpieszyć sprawę w sądzie.nagranie na kamerze w telefonie komórkowym zaczęło się. Jej były mąż był zdumiony i chwycił za telefon. Zaczęła... Read More
Śmiała twarz, takie miałem skojarzenie na pierwszy rzut oka. Zaraz po przywitaniu się dowiedziałem się, jak łatwo udało się jemu udowodnić, że pracownicy DVLA nie mieli racji, wysuwając zarzut, że jego pojazd nie ma sprawnego systemu hamulcowego.Przechodząc do rzeczy. Policjantka, przyłapała go, kiedy on trzymał w ręce telefon prowadząc pojazd."Czy posługiwałeś się telefonem?'' ''Chciałem dowiedzieć się, w którym kierunku mam jechać.'' ''Czy wiesz, że... Read More
Duży okrągły stół w małym pokoju i z kilkoma krzesłami. Można rozmawiać, albo też wystarczy samo wsłuchiwanie się. Ta pani dobrze radząca sobie z angielskim mimo mocnego akcentu stara się i zrozumieć, i przekonać, że na horyzoncie są jakieś rozwiązania, ale też trzeba wybrać praktyczne wyjście z sytuacji. W przeciwnym razie pojawią się trudności nie do pokonania. Ojciec , wytatuowany pod sam podbródek, nie godzi się z faktem, że mama dziecka wini go za to,... Read More
I was supposed to appear at the WMC for a preliminary hearing — the purpose was to transfer the case to a higher court. What struck me most was the fact that the first floor was completely empty. Usually, at any time of day, you could see at least a few Polish interpreters around. But today, I was staring into emptiness — and that emptiness felt like a blessing. Miałem stawić się w WMC na posiedzenie wstępne, którego celem było przekazanie sprawy do sądu wyższej instancji.... Read More
A small, slightly unshaven usher called out, “Come here, no one’s working in the office.” I went up to the second floor. Excited, he announced that the interpreter had already been booked. A so-called double booking of interpreters is no surprise — in this world, it’s everyday routine. Dressed in a white shirt and speaking English with clear difficulty, the usher pointed to a chair in the waiting area and told me to wait. I sat down obediently. After about ten minutes, my... Read More
As I approached the court in Chelmsford, I looked around in search of a place that might offer some significance or comfort. A church stood prominently in the middle of the square, surrounded by benches inviting passersby to pause and rest. Then, the imposing façade of the court came into view. I passed through the gate and submitted to the routine security check conducted by the staff. While waiting to be called in by the usher, I happened to overhear a conversation between a... Read More