Sometimes, Your Honour, one gets up in the morning and one has no idea of the dramatic events that will unfold even before one has a mid-morning coffee.
Honestly, I had no idea when I got out of bed on that Thursday that I would stab my wife to death with the kitchen carving knife even before we had breakfast. Usually we do the dishes in the evening after dinner, but on this occasion the dishes weren’t done. We had had a little disagreement the night before and my wife had stormed off to the sitting room to watch some facile television program which is what she usually does. I went to the computer and looked up things about nothing. If we hadn’t had the disagreement we wouldn’t have been doing the dishes the next morning and I wouldn’t have been drying the carving knife and spontaneously plunging it into her bosom.
I’m not telling you this to get off the charge that my wife is dead, but I have no idea why such an event happened. I was going to spend the morning in the garden. She was going to town to buy a knitting pattern to make gloves for the grandchildren. And suddenly, WHAM, I had stabbed her. So it wasn’t at all premeditated. It is an unexplainable action for which I would plead leniency.
I believe the claims made by the detectives are false. Someone must have planted something. I certainly wouldn’t have typed into the search engine: What is the most effective place to stab someone dead with a carving knife?
Warren had one regret in life: he wanted to be called to jury service. All his friends, at some time in their lives, had been called up. Names were selected at random (apparently) from electoral rolls. Warren felt deep down that his time would come.
He didn’t want to sit on a jury that tried piffling little nothings. There’s nothing interesting about a woman called Mabel sneaking cannabis tucked in her pantyhose into a prison. There’s nothing interesting about a twenty-year old five-fingered discount personage called Norman swiping vacuum cleaner bags from a two dollar shop.
No! Warren wanted to sit on a jury that tried murder, and not just any murder, but a murder trial that went on for weeks. Something complex, with lots of intrigue and blood. That would certainly add a spice to his life.
Such an invitation to possibly spice up his life came last Thursday. Warren nonchalantly, almost absent-mindedly, went out to his mail box on the side of the road. There was a letter for him with a logo at the top that he did not recognize. Yes! He was summoned to jury service! He should make an appearance in court next week. Goodness! At last! At last!
So as we come to bury Warren today let us remember that he saw that his lifelong ambition was about to be fulfilled: jury service. This fulfilment was the last thing he saw before being hit by a passing car as he stood too far out on the road engrossed in reading his mail.