As we enter Silk‘s third series that fiery advocate for guilty rapists Martha gets an appeal refused for an old twat client of hers who we’ll call “Johnny Foster” (because that’s his name). She can’t believe it. He was framed by the rozzers and now the beak turns a blind eye. Johnny shouts “That’s wrong! No! Pleeeeeease!” as they drag him away like he’s in an episode of Crown Court which is exactly the kind of behaviour you’d expect from a guilty man. “They fitted him up” fumes Martha “And three years later they’re still fitting him up” and is so incandescent with rage she self mutilates, smashing a glass in the empty courtroom. Yeah, don’t worry about that love – one of the cleaners will get it. These people.
Still, things move fast in the legal world and in no time she’s high tailing it to the party they’ve thrown for Clive to celebrate his silky awesomeness. He’s had an offer of work in Manchester prosecuting the men who made horseracing corrupt and that’s certainly a big fucking job. Just as Martha is about to arrive she buttonholes the appeal judge with a formidable legal argument “Forget the law. Sometimes you just know: Johnny Foster is innocent”. The judge cites the GTFO precedent in the case The Crown vs Deez Nutz and is out like Nicole.
The judge cites the GTFO precedent in the case The Crown vs Deez Nutz and is out like Nicole.
In that great tradition of colossal nauses who have just been put in their place she takes over the party sound system with her iPod. It plays Love Will Tear Us Apart and this heartbreaking display of narcissistic stupidity prompts Clive to tell her he love her long time and they make out in the court room where she collapses under the sheer force of his guilty wouldness.
Over on the oncology ward Billy is told he has somewhere between six months and three years to live. It’s not all bad news though, the doc tells him, because as a cancer treatment bonus he’ll be growing a pair of tits. There is of course the problem of no more morning boners and him blarting like a bairn every half-hour but that won’t last long (because he’s going to be dead soon). He puts that behind him though and arrives at the party in time to inform head of Chambers Anal that his son David (Alex Arnold) is facing a rap for murdering a police cuntbubble. Jesus, talk about a buzz kill.
It’s not all bad news though, the doc tells him, because as a cancer treatment bonus he’ll be growing a pair of tits.
It seems posh Dave was being mildly kettled on some bullshit hippy communist protest and viciously beat a defenceless policeman PC Webster to death. Martha spends the rest of the show trying to prove that he was set up. He wasn’t of course but a combination of dicey policing, an ad hoc diagnosis of “schizophrenia” and some Kevin Costner in JFK monologuing gets him off.
So another public school thug walks after killing a decent working-class cop. In real life the judge would have gone to Eton with Anal Cowdrey and this would have been thrown out in 9/10 of a second so authenticity wins out again.
So another public school thug walks after killing a decent working-class cop.
Martha is insanely happy. She successfully defended a scumbag cop killer and got to pash on Poopert Penury-Blownes. Life doesn’t get any better than this. Certainly doesn’t for Billy who faces a humiliating long agonising death, marking bonerless mornings, afternoons getting fitted for a C cup and evenings crying like Ishe Smith until Mister Mayhem comes to collect what is left of his soul.
The verdict: Murder was the case that they gave me.
Marks out of 10: 7