I have become accustomed to regard the serial Garrow’s Law splendid fare for the night of the Sabbath. Yet I dare to venture that the most recent performance was, for the most part, fiction, seeking to achieve greater resonance with its modern-day patrons by featuring a court case that was in regard to the love that dare not speak its name and the ‘criminal conversation’ that one had not only discontinued from the other at the behest of the former’s harridan wife, but had brought it to the attention of the gentlemen of the law. I make the charge that this was not cribbed from archives of the august Old Bailey for late in the tale the judge advises his scribe to strike from the record the whole proceedings, owing to the paucity of convention in its nature. Not that this in away should diminish the inherent quality of this instalment and this is no large surprise, since it was no less than Tony Marchant who cradled the quill that committed finest ink to parchment, he of fame determined by, what was it now, Existence on the roof of the abode of the Roman god of war? I look forward to observe the next social cause Mr Garrow embraces with his rapier wits and how he will deploy his charms as he does battle with the obsequious and maladroit discourse of his peers and betters. Unaldulterated I cannot vouch for, but intensely superior, is this historical escapade.