Dogwash

The judge, uncharacteristically subdued, addressed the court on Monday morning.

"I fear I must offer you all my apologies for bringing you here today on a wasted errand. I wrote up my judgement in this case while at my country retreat over the weekend, but I now find that I must have left it behind when I set out for London yesterday evening. I have engaged the services of what I believe is known as a motorcycle courier but I am advised that the document will not be here until late afternoon. Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning."

As the court prepared to rise, a solictor's clerk, an ambitious and eager young man of humble north-country origins with a strong regional accent, spoke up from the well of the court.

"Fax it, M'Lud!"

His Lordship, who it has to be said was a touch deaf, peered unsympathetically at the young man over the top of his half-moon spectacles. The hostile stare stretched on and on and the young clerk began to feel rather nervous. Finally the judge's shoulders sagged, and he replied in a resigned tone,

"Yes, I suppose it does, young man."