Sober as a Judge

A crown court judge was out on the town one Friday evening, partaking of some of London's finest drinking establishments. Returning home to his good lady wife in the wee small hours, he realised he was going to be for the high jump when she saw the state he was in. His Saville Row suit had vomit1 all the way down it.

Charles she bellowed2.

What on EARTH have you been doing?

Thinking on his feet, he replied Oh...... a dreadful ruffian discharged his ample evening's excesses all over me as I was about to head home. As fortune would have it, he was arrested shortly after, and I will be hearing his case on Monday morning.

Monday morning came, with the judge conducting his business free of controversy3. He still had this nagging4 feeling however, that he'd need to have his story straight for his wife when returning home. She was an inquisitive5 woman, with an eye for detail. Then, out of the blue, she rang him in his chambers6.

Charles, what happened to that oik who sullied your jacket on Friday night?

she asked.

Well he replied.

He hasn't appeared before me yet. The case was adjourned7 until this afternoon, but I'll give him three months in prison for sure.

Frankly8 Charles, I think you'd better give him six months -- he's shit in your trousers as well!