September 6 Men in court over 'Lennon bombs'

Michael Blake surveys the pantomime playing out before him and lets out a big, throaty laugh.
All those years of training, the sacrifices made along the way, the years of drudgery it had drudged into once the shine had gone. He'd felt a fraud for at least the last year, sitting in judgement on people, respected, well paid, moral whilst inside just bored out of his head. Just for the money, that was what took him from his bed in the morning before returning him later. Just for the money.

But today, these men and their weird science, man, he felt alive and vital once more, assured of his place in the big chair. The jury were now dressed in white, a grand piano had appeared in the centre of the court, squashing the stenographer. The barrister to his left now clothed in a military jacket, the buttons polished and the epellettes swaying.

" One more ", the short one shouted as he aimed a handful of powder at a duty sergeant who'd thought he'd seen it all ( he hadn't). Michael feels everything fitting together, he laughs and laughs at the circus unfolding.

" Case dismissed " he calls