When set upon criminal endeavour it pays to be sober

My father, George Cawkwell, was highly regarded as a tutor in fifties post war Oxford. However, he could be fairly abrasive if he reckoned that his pupil had not been attending sufficiently to the work in hand. For not all thus criticised took kindly to criticism.

Anyway, my father was working away in his first floor study which overlooked the front of his house - it was set back twenty yards from the road - when his pupil elected to express his personal dislike of my father. There were four sets of sash windows and the pupil took a bottle of Gordon's gin which he had just drained and chucked it at one of the windows. He was unfortunate in that of eight possible glazed targets he misfired since the window he hit was the only window that was open with the result that the bottle sailed through harmlessly. Much to the dismay of the poor aimer.

Nowadays of course some prize legal buffoon, let's call him Lord Hermer, would argue that the pupil needed mental assistance and that my father should get two years in jail.