In which the lady layeth the legal smackdown:
I WON!
I. won. so. hard.
The judge had already come to his decision before proceedings even began. The contempt oozed from his oozy pores of mighty judgement as Mrs Radish squeaked and squealed impotently from the dock like a wrinkly, meth-addicted chinchilla.
He pwned them, to use that awful word. He pwned them right up the fundament with a rolled up copy of The Housing Act 2004.
I am now £700 better off. Mr Radish will probably be chained to a radiator in Israel by his wife and never seen again. Next week, G has his hearing, but the judge basically told them they're doomed in every possible direction. If they're sensible, they'll just write another cheque.
This, my friends, is karma in action.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to overindulge in gin and whores on the common.