AN AGREEABLE weekend awaited. Grapefruit slung his monogrammed Percival Twamp luggage into the back of the Jag and held the door open for Boudicca to spring in and take her place on the passenger seat. 'I need a break from this bloody town,' he mused as he buckled the black labrador's seat belt. 'A break from chambers, a break from all the...morons'.
As he pulled away from his Bayswater flat, Grapefruit spotted a police officer from the feared UA unit - in the trademark bright red helmet - talking into the window of a sky blue Toyota Corolla. Seconds before, a deafening thunder had emanated from the car, the bass notes so low and loud that they could change you on a molecular level if you got too near. The stereo had been turned off and the driver, a pale, scruffy looking man in his late 20s, looked defiant as the copper pulled him out of the car.
'That'll teach you, you selfish little bastard,' thought G (as he referred to himself in more twattish moments), involuntarily clenching his teeth as he drove past the scene. 'See you on Monday sunshine'. Boudicca stuck her head out the window and barked at the man.
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'DID YOU have a pleasant weekend Mr Grapefruit?' asked Perrin, the head usher, in his chirpy, common way. 'Very agreeable Perrin my man, spent it in Stow, lovely part of the world. No mobile phone louts, no car stereos...plenty of R&R'.
'I know what you mean sir, it's good to get away now and then, escape your troubles' Perrin said. 'Just yesterday Brenda had to have a word with the granddaughter.' Perrin lowered his estuary voice to a whisper. 'Between you and me Mr Grapefruit, she dropped a piece of chewing gum outside the butchers, in the parade by our place. If she'd been caught...' Perrin looked away...'Doesn't bear thinking about. She could have been...' Perrin couldn't finish.
'You keep an eye on her Perrin and she'll come to no harm. Did you have a good weekend?'
'Don't ask sir, don't ask. Brenda had me round her sisters. Accident with her curling tongs...'
'How perfectly marvellous!' interjected Grapefruit. 'Now, what's first up?'
'You're in Court number 4 sir. Car stereo case'.
'Excellent, ma cherie', said Grapefruit. 'An attacking start to the week. It's cabbages and kings time Perrin, cabbages and kings.'
'Cabbages and kings sir.'
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COURT NUMBER 4 was hushed. Grapefruit sat at his lectern and looked around. Behind him, only a few people in the public benches - typical Monday. To his right, the defending QC - the lickspittle Cockburn. A bloody leftie do-gooder and, rumour had it, a ghastly mincer to boot. In front - a jury of 12 men and women, all looking straight ahead into nothingness. 'Do your job well my darlings' thought Grapefruit. Justice Pennywhistle entered and the court rose.
Five-twelfths of the jury (including World Of Sport's Dickie Davies, far right) share some banter during the trial
The case was in fact that of the man in the car who Grapefruit had seen on Saturday. He allowed himself a faint flicker of satisfaction. The man's name was Gary Williams. 'Brace yourself Williams, you pointless turd,' thought Grapefruit as he began. A familiar tingling stirred in his Hubert Magjaz silk boxers.
'Tell me, what is the purpose of a car Mr Williams?'
'To get you about innit.'
'Indeed. To get one about. Not, in fact, to play music.'
'Music is good. I like to listen to music when I drive.'
'I'm sure no reasonable man would deny another fellow music. What do you listen to?'
'Dance music.'
'I see. No time for a smidgeon of Puccini? No Bach in your tape player?' Grapefruit smirked, looked round for appreciation. Two women in the jury smiled coyly. He held their looks a fraction longer than was necessary.
'CD.'
'What?'
'It's a CD, not a tape.'
'Well done. Would you say your music is loud, when you're in your car?'
'I wouldn't, no.'
'Tell me Mr... (Grapefruit affected to forget the defendant's name and looked in his papers)...Williams. How many speakers do you have in your car?'
'Two in the front.'
'And?'
'Two in the back.'
'And?'
'Two on the back windowsill.'
'And?'
'Two in the boot.'
'Two in the boot. Of course. So, when you're driving around listening to your 'dance music' do you have all the speakers blaring?'
'Yeah.' Williams looked at Grapefruit like he was retarded. 'You can't turn individual speakers off.'
'So you have all your 'woofers' and 'tweeters' at full ding-dong?'
'Ding-dong?
'Ding-dong. Full blast.'
Er, yeah...whatever.'
A member of the public sniggered. Grapefruit continued.
'You like a bit of volume.'
'A bit.'
'I see.'
'Yes.'
'Mmm-hmm.'
Grapefruit stared hard at the defendant for a few seconds. No reason. He referred to his notes and stood motionless for a bit, holding his smooth chin in best 'pensive solicitor' mode.
'I'm reading the notes from Police Officer Brian Brain of the UA Unit. Do you know what UA stands for, Meester Weeelleeams?
'Dunno. hold on, um Urban...Aggravation?'
'Yes, that's right. Urban Aggravation. PC Brain's notes from the time of your arrest state:
"Decibel reading at time of arrest registered 120 dB inside the car and 100 outside. Noise was three times over the limit as prescribed in the Car Stereos (Voume) Act of 2010. Bass rumble registered 8.3 on the Entwistle Scale, 5.3 points above acceptable limit described by said Act. Defendant claimed he had hearing difficulty, independent analysis by registered physician found no ear problems. Defendant then claimed minicab driver immunity. Defendant was told this amnesty ran out in December 2005 when minicabs were outlawed."
The stenographer finished her sentence. The court was perfectly still.
'What kind of music were you listening to, Herr Villiams?
'Dance.'
'Yes, as you said. But what subgenre of 'dance' was it?'
'Dunno.' The defendant somehow managed to shrug aggressively.
'You dunno. Well, I do. I refer to the PC's notes: "Suspect was listening to hardcore trance (definition laid down in Car Stereos (Volume Act) 2010."
'You were listening to hardcore trance. The very worst crime of all in terms of the Act. Hardcore trance, a quiet street, early on a Saturday morning.
Williams shrugged again. Mistake.
'I put it you Williams, boyo, that you are nothing but a selfish, aggravating, mentally subnormal nuisance! You probably drive through pedestrian crossings when the green man is on. I have no doubt you throw empty confectionery wrappers out of your window as you manouevre that..raft...you drive through the streets of this once fine city. Well time is up for your sort Gary Williams Esquire! The UA unit is scourging this town of your ilk. The UA unit sees no colour. Black, white, European, African, Muslim, Christian - it makes no difference. We - sorry, they - are out to get you. NO MORE chewing gum shall stick to my Thierry Dogfish loafers. NO MORE will car stereos shake the very foundations of my home. It's the dawn of a new age. NO MORE M'LUD.'
Grapefruit wiped a tear from his eye and briefly fondled himself as he sat down. The two women in the jury who had eyeballed him earlier looked ready to burst with admiration. The defendant shrank slightly in the dock and involuntarily farted as he took his seat.
'Is this an appropriate moment?' said Pennywhistle in his rhetorical way. The court emptied for lunch.
Lord Chief Justice Pennywhistle in happier times.
_________________________
WILLIAMS' counsel never stood a chance. Another grandstand performance from Grapefruit would more than likely get a result. Cockburn waffled on about freedom of expression...blah blah...personal space...rhubarb...beauty of music and so on. Grapefruit looked disdainfully at him as he went through the motions. He noticed a stray pubic hair stuck on his rival QC's cloak and knew then the jury would be on his side. It came to the moment of truth.
'Foreman of the jury have you reached a verdict?' asked Pennywhistle.
'Yes M'lud' said the foreman.
'And it is?'
'We find the defendant guilty.'
'Thank ee, my luvver.' (Pennywhistle was known to affect a thick West Country accent when he was pleased).
__________________
PENNYWHISTLE turned to the man in the dock. 'Mr Williams. You have been found guilty of one of the most serious crimes of all. A crime that the Government specifically set out to crush when it formed the Urban Aggravation Unit. A crime that had been ripping the fabric of our neighbourhoods apart for years until someone was brave enough to take action. You knew what you were doing was illegal. Yet you chose to carry on regardless. You have shown no remorse for your actions. This grieves me. I see from your file you have been found guilty of other such offences...2006, picking your feet on the Tube...2007 dropping a Mars bar wrapper out of your car window...just last year, jumping the queue at an ATM bank machine. Need I go on? I have no option but to deliver the sternest sentence possible.'
Pennywhistle reached for something under his desk.
'Mr Williams,' he continued, placing the black cap on his head, 'For a grade 1 breach of the Car Stereos (volume) Act 2010, I sentence you to be taken from this court to the Millennium Dome Penal Colony and hanged by the neck until you are dead. Court dismissed.' Pennywhistle brought his gavel down with excess force. Death penalties always got his adrenalin flowing.
Williams was led away by a bobby in the dreaded red helmet of the UAU. He managed to shout 'Fascist cunts!' back into the court before he was subdued with a shot from the policeman's Tazer stun gun. Grapefruit and Pennywhistle exchanged mutedly gleeful smiles as they exited the court through their respective doors. Both knew what the other was thinking. 'One less scumbag'.
BACK in the sanctity of his chambers, Grapefruit chucked Boudicca under the chops and sipped a sherry. 'Another successful day, eh Bouddy!' The dog licked Grapefruit's face in assent. There was a rap at the door.
'Come in,' barked the ebullient QC. The two female jury members entered. 'Have you heard about my performance in State vs Mobile Phone Shouter, 2006?' asked Grapefruit. 'Come closer, let's have a drink and I'll tell you all about it...'
Next time: The person who didn't realise that having the original Nokia ringtone - the one that goes Diddle-der-der, diddle-der-der, diddle der-der-DERRRR and makes you feel like an invisible torturer is sticking miniature, sharpened, stainless steel knitting needles into your temporal lobe - is punishable by being sent to live in Middlesborough for 700 years.
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