The Children's Court: Tuesday, June 13th, 10.45 a.m: You can tell he's been here many times before, the way he sweeps into the courtroom and slides proprietorially on to the wooden bench. Carl O'Brien reports.
The 17-year-old, in a blue-and-white Le Coq Sportif tracksuit and Irish football jersey, has just been arrested for failing to turn up in court.
"I fell off a motorbike," the boy says, his legs jiggling impatiently. "I was in a coma."
"You fell off a motorbike?" Judge Michael Connellan says in disbelief. "Wonderful." The garda applies for the boy to be remanded in custody, while his solicitor, Mr John Quinn, asks that he be given another chance.
The judge releases him on bail on condition that he signs on at his local Garda station twice a day, resides at home and stays away from Dublin City University, an area where he is accused of committing several offences.
"And if he breaches any of these conditions, I'll deal with him," the judge says, stamping a document with a flourish. "He'll go straight into custody like a rocket."
Tuesday, June 13th, 3.50 p.m.
The boy is led into the courtroom, this time from the door which leads down to the cells. He was arrested at 12.40 p.m., about an hour-and-a-half after leaving the Children's Court, on suspicion of shop-lifting in a city-centre sports shop.
"He went straight out and committed a further offence," the garda says in a resigned voice. Without ceremony, Judge Connellan remands him to Cloverhill prison for appearance in court the next day.
Wednesday, July 14th, 11.10 a.m.
The boy slides on to the bench again. Judge Michael Connellan wants to know why his parents aren't here.
"I don't think my Ma knows I'm here," the red-haired boy says, his eyes wide and bright.
The solicitor points out that the mother has four younger children and no husband.
Judge Connellan releases the boy on bail, on condition that he stays away from the city centre.
"No parent in court," he says, writing on a court document. "I'm directing somebody to be here on the next day."
Wednesday, July 14th, 4.10 p.m.
A Garda van pulls up outside the Children's Court and the boy is led out in handcuffs.
He was arrested at 1.30 p.m. for loitering on the grounds of DCU, but it's too late to hear the case as the court has just adjourned for the day.
"This kind of thing happens a lot," a young garda says gloomily. "They're released and we pick them up a few hours later . . . He's not the only one."
Thursday, July 15th, 11.10 a.m.
"The first thing he does is breach his bail conditions," Judge Connellan says indignantly, looking at the boy.
He is remanded in custody until next week where a number of charges against him will be dealt with.
As the 17-year-old is led down to the cells, his tired-looking mother hands him a €20 note.
Thursday, July 22nd, 11 a.m.
The boy has pleaded guilty to a range of offences and is waiting to hear what sentence is in store.
"There is no other way to deal with this matter except by custodial sentence," says Judge Peter Smithwick.
A garda reads robotically through the boy's previous convictions - criminal damage, theft and public order offences - which stretch back over two years.
The judge then reads through the new charges - mostly theft and road traffic offences - followed by the sentences. He receives 10 months detention.
His mother, clutching a creased note from the Mater Hospital with an appointment for the boy, sighs to herself.
The boy, wearing the same blue-and-white tracksuit and Irish jersey as he has worn at every court appearance, sits impassively, his eyes fixed on the judge, his legs still jiggling impatiently.