Standing in the dock, the charge is read out. “You’re accused of being too enthusiastic in the morning. How do you plead?”
“Hang on a minute. That isn’t a crime!”
The judge frowned down at me through his pince nez. I would get no sympathy there. I looked over at the jury, hoping that I would get some mercy, but half of them were still asleep and the other half were clearly not amused.
“I’ve heard enough already. You’re sentenced to a public flogging,” declared the judge.
“That’s the last time you’ll sing in the bloody shower,” gloated my wife.
