Guilty, guilty, guilty.
Guilty of talking in the jury box, making it hard for me to hear evidence.
Guilty of keeping people waiting with your constant toilet trips.
Guilty of slow and surly service in the over-priced, under-tasty canteen.
Guilty of excessive use of the word ‘obviously’ in your transcribed police interview.
Gulity of fouling the court room with your outdated and over-exposed Kings Of Leon ringtone when you should’ve switched your phone off, no matter how cool you think you are Grandad.
Guilty of vending machine misuse, resulting in hours of constant beeping in the Juror’s Assembly Room, just so you could get your precious bag of M&M’s.
Guilty of looking like Anton Ferdinand, minus the unnerving overbite.
Guilty of muttering ‘Holy Moly!’ every single time a piece of compelling evidence is presented.
Possibly guilty of massive murder, not sure yet.