More laughs from the trial of the year that has had Aberdeen gripped, or had me gripping my sides at least. Reporting the latest developments in the Dean Jamieson murder case, the Press & Journal notes: ‘A murder trial was halted yesterday when a witness repeatedly swore and refused to answer questions. Joanne Cameron, 16, was giving evidence in the trial of the four men accused of murdering Aberdeen father-of-four Dean Jamieson, 30, in April this year. Despite being told to answer the questions by judge Lady Paton, Miss Cameron continued to swear and said she would not answer any more questions. Lady Paton asked the jury to leave the court on three occasions during Miss Cameron’s evidence…When Advocate Depute Adrian Cottam said he would prefer it if Miss Cameron answered the questions put to her, she replied “I would prefer it if you would just shut your gob”.’ Two days earlier, the trial was also halted when another witness began swearing at the Advocate Depute before storming out of the witness box. The report also notes how on the night of the murder, the girlfriend of one of the accused ‘had been smoking heroin while she had been watching the DVD Final Destination 3’ with him. So that explains where the accused got the inspiration to murder Jamieson in such a grisly and unconventional manner. Proof, for outraged Daily Mail readers, that violent films beget violence.
On the following day of the trial, the brother of the same defendant recalls him stashing items believed to have belonged to the deceased: ‘[He] bent down beside the Coral bookies on Granitehill Road and put something into a hole, an air vent.’ Just one of the many hidey-holes dotted about Northfield, I should imagine, where the local lads stash their plunder before fencing it on. With the air vent behind the bookies now compromised, NF bad boyz will have to seek a new depository for their loot. Already, the trial is turning out to be a real family affair, with parents, siblings, cousins and inbred consorts of the accused called upon to give evidence. None of the witnesses is particularly happy at having to grass up their fellow Northfielders, as evinced by the aforementioned outburst of the 16-year-old mother-of-four. (OK, so it doesn’t actually disclose whether she has any dependants, but at that age, four is a reasonable assumption to make.) The witnesses have no option but to testify however, having been leant on by the police and threatened with prosecution for being a drug dealer/prostitute/benefit defrauder if they don’t. One couple who were particularly chagrined about giving evidence are the parents of the aforementioned accused. A fotograph that accompanies the Press & Journal report, taken outside the High Court, beautifully captures their vitriol. The mother is snarling at the camera like a true Z-list celeb caught emerging from an insalubrious haunt. She points menacingly towards the paparazzi, her extended finger threatening truculence, the remaining four clasped around the ubiquitous packet of Regal. In the background, the father also gurns into the lens, his mouth agape to reveal the row of teeth that aren’t present and accounted for. With abusive witnesses, heroin-smoking girlfriends, furtive stash-points and – as reported earlier this week – happy slapping clips of the murder and defendants speaking in an unintelligible ‘eggy’ dialect, the trial is shaping up to be a classic. Congratulations to all parties involved; they’re doing the Northfield ghetto proud.
Also in the Press & Journal today was the launch of Aberdeen Monopoly. While such landmarks as the red light district, Mugger’s Lane, Peep Peep’s Bar and Victoria Park are strangely absent, at least one seedy quarter is represented – Duthie Park, a favourite gay haunt. Not favourite with me, you understand (I prefer Seaton Park), but certainly favourite with men fond of ‘riding the Hershey highway’ as bum love was beautifully described in a recent episode of The Sopranos. Playing Aberdeen Monopoly won’t be the first time they’ve collected rent from Duthie Park. Unfortunately, the Press & Journal notes that ‘one it will not feature after mass public outrage is a Go To Dundee square in place of the usual Go To Jail.’ The outraged public, presumably, being Aberdonians begging to be sent to jail rather than Go To Dundee.
The Sun was also in fine form today, proving to be a rich source of copy for bloggers seeking incongruous anecdotes to pontificate on. On page 24 there is a retraction from the tabloid for its erroneous reporting. That is not unusual, for The Sun often buries apologies for its journalistic inaccuracies deep within the paper. This one appeared to be somewhat tenuous however: ‘A picture of the Invergowrie Inn was used in yesterday’s Scottish Sun to illustrate a report of a con nipping out for a pint. [The convict had been caught leaving Castle Huntly open prison after the 5pm headcount to visit his local.] The Invergowrie Inn assure us that he did not attend that pub. We are happy to set the record straight.’ That’s right: a shitty drinking hole in Invergowrie (I know it’s shitty because its grim exterior was pictured in yesterday’s paper) is affronted by the suggestion that a convict might have been drinking there. Presumably all the other patrons of this fine establishment are judges and Lords, subjected to a full Disclosure check and annual membership fee before being allowed to knock back their pints of heavy and munch on Scampi Nik-Naks.
And finally a bizarre death story, the sort that The Sun seems to specialise in, not by instigating (although I don’t doubt that Murdoch has blood on his hands by proxy) but by reporting. You don’t find gems like this in the Press & Journal: ‘A former soldier strangled his girlfriend, cut her up and ate her before jumping to his death. A suicide note found on Zackery Bowen led cops to the couple’s New Orleans flat and the remains of Addie Hall, 27. They found her charred head in a pan on the hob, her hands and feet in another. The rest of her body was in the fridge.’ And wait for the punch-line, delivered as deadpan as you like: ‘Police chief Anthony Canatella said: “It’s not easy to see a human body wasted like that.”’ Before adding, presumably, ‘If it was me, I’d have barbecued the torso and then boiled the bones to make stock.’ Perhaps Dean Jamieson’s fate wasn’t so grisly after all.
On the following day of the trial, the brother of the same defendant recalls him stashing items believed to have belonged to the deceased: ‘[He] bent down beside the Coral bookies on Granitehill Road and put something into a hole, an air vent.’ Just one of the many hidey-holes dotted about Northfield, I should imagine, where the local lads stash their plunder before fencing it on. With the air vent behind the bookies now compromised, NF bad boyz will have to seek a new depository for their loot. Already, the trial is turning out to be a real family affair, with parents, siblings, cousins and inbred consorts of the accused called upon to give evidence. None of the witnesses is particularly happy at having to grass up their fellow Northfielders, as evinced by the aforementioned outburst of the 16-year-old mother-of-four. (OK, so it doesn’t actually disclose whether she has any dependants, but at that age, four is a reasonable assumption to make.) The witnesses have no option but to testify however, having been leant on by the police and threatened with prosecution for being a drug dealer/prostitute/benefit defrauder if they don’t. One couple who were particularly chagrined about giving evidence are the parents of the aforementioned accused. A fotograph that accompanies the Press & Journal report, taken outside the High Court, beautifully captures their vitriol. The mother is snarling at the camera like a true Z-list celeb caught emerging from an insalubrious haunt. She points menacingly towards the paparazzi, her extended finger threatening truculence, the remaining four clasped around the ubiquitous packet of Regal. In the background, the father also gurns into the lens, his mouth agape to reveal the row of teeth that aren’t present and accounted for. With abusive witnesses, heroin-smoking girlfriends, furtive stash-points and – as reported earlier this week – happy slapping clips of the murder and defendants speaking in an unintelligible ‘eggy’ dialect, the trial is shaping up to be a classic. Congratulations to all parties involved; they’re doing the Northfield ghetto proud.
Also in the Press & Journal today was the launch of Aberdeen Monopoly. While such landmarks as the red light district, Mugger’s Lane, Peep Peep’s Bar and Victoria Park are strangely absent, at least one seedy quarter is represented – Duthie Park, a favourite gay haunt. Not favourite with me, you understand (I prefer Seaton Park), but certainly favourite with men fond of ‘riding the Hershey highway’ as bum love was beautifully described in a recent episode of The Sopranos. Playing Aberdeen Monopoly won’t be the first time they’ve collected rent from Duthie Park. Unfortunately, the Press & Journal notes that ‘one it will not feature after mass public outrage is a Go To Dundee square in place of the usual Go To Jail.’ The outraged public, presumably, being Aberdonians begging to be sent to jail rather than Go To Dundee.
The Sun was also in fine form today, proving to be a rich source of copy for bloggers seeking incongruous anecdotes to pontificate on. On page 24 there is a retraction from the tabloid for its erroneous reporting. That is not unusual, for The Sun often buries apologies for its journalistic inaccuracies deep within the paper. This one appeared to be somewhat tenuous however: ‘A picture of the Invergowrie Inn was used in yesterday’s Scottish Sun to illustrate a report of a con nipping out for a pint. [The convict had been caught leaving Castle Huntly open prison after the 5pm headcount to visit his local.] The Invergowrie Inn assure us that he did not attend that pub. We are happy to set the record straight.’ That’s right: a shitty drinking hole in Invergowrie (I know it’s shitty because its grim exterior was pictured in yesterday’s paper) is affronted by the suggestion that a convict might have been drinking there. Presumably all the other patrons of this fine establishment are judges and Lords, subjected to a full Disclosure check and annual membership fee before being allowed to knock back their pints of heavy and munch on Scampi Nik-Naks.
And finally a bizarre death story, the sort that The Sun seems to specialise in, not by instigating (although I don’t doubt that Murdoch has blood on his hands by proxy) but by reporting. You don’t find gems like this in the Press & Journal: ‘A former soldier strangled his girlfriend, cut her up and ate her before jumping to his death. A suicide note found on Zackery Bowen led cops to the couple’s New Orleans flat and the remains of Addie Hall, 27. They found her charred head in a pan on the hob, her hands and feet in another. The rest of her body was in the fridge.’ And wait for the punch-line, delivered as deadpan as you like: ‘Police chief Anthony Canatella said: “It’s not easy to see a human body wasted like that.”’ Before adding, presumably, ‘If it was me, I’d have barbecued the torso and then boiled the bones to make stock.’ Perhaps Dean Jamieson’s fate wasn’t so grisly after all.
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