Note none of the names used here are genuine but you can probably work out who they are…

The trial

Me and Al had nothing better to do so we went down Weatherfield Assizes where they had the trial of the Weatherfield eight going on.

The Judge looked a right twat with a grey wig looking like it were full of dust and robes like something out of King Dick three by Will Shakespeare what we done for the end of term play at Weatherfield comp years ago.

Angie one of the local tarts was giving evidence. She usually worked viaduct street from the Wethy Arms to Timothy Whites. Peroxide blonde, top heavy, nice legs shame about the face type, dressed like Mother Theresa very near, must have been down Oxfam because I never seen her without a Miniskirt and fishnets before though the twin set still couldn’t keep her rack under control.

“Order in Court,” the judge bellows. To be honest I was dreaming about having a few bevvies later and looking at Angies tits and weren’t taking much notice of what was going on until then.

People were laughing.

“Mr Mollineaux, may I remind you that you act for the prosecution?” the Judge bellowed at the weasley git doing the prosecuting.

“Yes your honour, may I continue?” the weasley git asked.

“The witnesses sexual history has no bearing upon this case Mr Mollineaux,” the Judge continued.

Sexual history, bloody hell this could take hours I thought.

“Yes your Honour,” Mollineaux replied, “May I proceed?”

The Judge nodded.

Mollneaux was a waste of space, he was being chucked round like a rag doll in a pit bull’s gob by the defence. The “Eight” though there was actually fourteen of them, paid some fancy London lawyer a bloody fortune to defend them, and they must have been wondering why they bothered as Mollineaux continued to fuck up the prosecution case.

“Miss A,” he asked “Is it not the case that you are a horny little bitch who fucks all comers just to get some relief?”

He had to call her “Miss A” to give her an “Onimity,”

Angie as we called her, went red in the face.

“I only fucks for money your Honour, not cause I likes it,” she replied.

“Come come my dear, remember you’re under oath,” Molineaux prompted.

“What the fucks he at,” Harley Charlie the boke with the moped whispers in my ear, “He’s supposed to be on our side.”

“Dunno,” I says, “If she gets off he’s spending the night at A and E down Weatherfield General.”

I saw Big Dave nodding, “Fucking Cemetary more like?”

Mollineaux tried again, “Do you like fucking, it’s a simple enough question?”

“No, yes, I don’t know,” she snapped, “Its them on trial not me.”

“Is it not true that the very mention of fucking is making you wet down there? “ Mollineaux asked.

“Fucks sake,” “Steely” Dan muttered, “I’m getting a hard on.”

“So’s the Judge,” I added, “Least they’re listening to the bloke now.”

“No,” Angie insisted.

“Remember your are on oath,” Mollineaux insisted.

“No,” she said again as she squirmed awkwardly.

“In that case you won’t mind dropping your knickers so we can all see?” Mollineaux continued.

“I ain’t dropping my knickers for no one,” Angie insisted.

“That fucking Molly’s fucking twisted,” Big Dave whispered in a stage whisper.

“I hardly think this is relevant,” the Judge whined.

“Offer her a tenner,” someone whispered.

“She’ll take it up the ass for that,” someone added, “offer her a fiver.”

“Mister Mollineaux, I fail to see where this line of questioning is leading.” the Judge repeated.

Molineaux ignored him and continued “Is it not true that your pussy is throbbing in anticipation and your secretions are even now soaking your sweet white cotton panties?”

“No you bastard and they’re black with little gold butterflies embroidered,” Angie insisted.

“Mr Mollineaux,” the Judge insisted.

Mollineaux continued, “Miss A, I put it to you that on the occasions in question you went to the derelict warehouse on Viaduct Street willingly and of your own accord to seduce any one present to sate your rampant sexual desires.”

The defence solicitor was gob smacked.