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  • Writer's pictureCounty Lines


I went to court today. To be prosecuted for possession of class A drugs.

I was a nervous wreck. I dropped everything, walked into everything, knocked everything over.

I repeatedly apologised to the duty solicitor for not being able to pay him. I cried in the dock. I answered “yes” to a question from the judge followed by “sir…erm I mean your honour…shit I mean…yes your highness….”



His response, directed at the duty solicitor which I was assigned; as a result of giving my solicitor away to a hysterical woman I felt sorry for when I heard her frantically screeching “my baby daddy’s going to jaaaaiiillll because WE DON’T HAVE A SOLICITOR” was-

“What’s she doing in my dock? Am I supposed to prosecute her?”

My free solicitor looked at the judge in bemusement and stated “she has a number of erm… vulnerabilities. Can we adjourn?”.

“Agreed” he replied. “She can’t hack a criminal record. There HAS to be another way?”.

I was stood in the dock still bawling my eyes out, feeling guilty and kicking myself for calling the fucking judge “your highness”.

Upon leaving the court my friend gave me a look of absolute pity. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You fucking gave your solicitor away because you felt sorry for them? No wonder a gang of fucking drug dealers managed to take over your flat. I’m moving in. You’re insane”.

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