Following the recent 'Champagne jury' fiasco, James Morton considers the issue of temptation for a member of the jury

I rather suspect that the decision in Regina v Mirza (The Times, January 23) will have dealt a fatal blow to those seeking to upset the decision of the 'Champagne jury' whose forewoman seems to have taken a fancy to the prosecutor, Richard Latham QC.

It seems as though the Court of Appeal will not be able to question the jurors although it would still be possible to order a retrial.

Anyway, what would the jurors have said? 'I was so lily-livered this woman bullied me into voting to find the defendants guilty'?

This is a problem with long jury deliberations.

It becomes a war of attrition.

Once a majority verdict has been given it means that at least 25 per cent of the jurors are unconvinced one way or another.

After that it is a process of bending one person to the will of the majority.

Is this the way we wish to conduct the judicial system?

However, if the decision in Mirza works out, there may still be all sorts of problems.

Lord Hope suggested that jurors be specifically told they should mention 'irregularities' to the trial judge before a verdict is given.

Just think what quarrelling jurors will be able to do to each other.

There's still a lot of mileage left for lawyers and even more for dissenting jurors.

But did the lady's infatuation make any real difference? This isn't the first time such a thing has happened.

There are plenty of stories of barristers who have received overtures from jurors.

The juror in the present case doesn't seem to have contacted Mr Latham until after the trial.

One can see how the Court of Appeal might say it is fanciful that she would wrongly vote for a conviction simply because it might improve her chances of a date with him.

It isn't the same as falling for the defendant, as a divorced juror in a murder trial in Vancouver did back in 1995.

She admitted an affair with the man - who was later acquitted - after meeting him in a nightclub during the trial and received a short sentence for her pains.

A worrying, and seemingly growing, trend is the use of Contempt of Court Act orders preventing convicted defendants being named in cases where there are subsequent related trials.

It seems to have reached its apotheosis recently when Graham Piper, a former London policeman, was named as a drug baron.

He had been sentenced to 14 years' imprisonment some three years ago but it is only now that details of his conviction and criminal career have been released.

What about the case of Kenneth Noye, whose previous conviction and life were all over the papers before his trial for a murder on the M25? After the Krays were convicted of the murders of Cornell and McVitie they received some fairly hostile accounts of their escapades in the newspapers.

Within a few weeks they stood trial for the murder of Frank Mitchell.

No juror could possibly have failed to know everything about their past.

They were asked questions about which newspaper account they had read and a few were stood down.

The remainder, clearly not prejudiced, acquitted the twins on the main charge.

Are jurors such sensitive flowers that such details must be kept from the press in case they read them? I doubt I am alone in thinking that justice out of sight and hearing is disturbing.

* * *

What is to be made of the order against a young man whose sins include repeatedly calling out 'grass' at his neighbours?

Apparently he isn't to use to word in their presence for the next five years.

Even if he is only half literate, there are a number of alternatives open to him.

He could yell peacher, nak or nark, fink, stoolie, Bertie, canary - there is one for every day of the week without even getting around to the offensive word.

More worrying is if, in a fit of communal spirit with the lawnmower, he is overheard saying 'I'm off to cut the squealer'.

Then he might be in really serious trouble.

* * *

Obviously the police do not wish to cause offence, particularly in these sensitive times, but the guidance apparently handed out to the officers in Lothian does seem to be going a bit far.

They are enjoined not to ask people to state whether they are married, nor are they to use words such as accident blackspot.

(May I offer 'redspot', deriving from the gore, as a suitable alternative?) The phrase 'rule of thumb' also has to go.

It is apparently sexist, a suggestion that was arguably first mooted in a letter to the US-based magazine Ms.

in July 1986, suggesting it derives from a law that forbade husbands from beating their wives with any implement thicker than a thumb.

But that seems a bit fanciful, with many etymologists dismissing the theory as folklore.

An alternative is the explanation is that, given the top joint of the thumb is roughly an inch, it was used for measuring.

The one I like best is that the thumb was used as a writing pad by contractors working out a rate of exchange in the south of France in the early 19th century.

James Morton is a former criminal law specialist solicitor and now a freelance journalist