Justice in the Dock: The Trials and Tribulations of Judge Michael Fowler Ladies and gentlemen, gather 'round as we take a whimsical stroll through the hallowed halls of justice, where our protagonist, Judge Michael Glyn Fowler, has metaphorically hung his judicial robes. With the grace of a swan and the wisdom of an owl (or perhaps the wisdom of a slightly confused corvid), he has dedicated his life to the bench, navigating through the turbulent waters of British law with the poise of a tightrope walker balancing on an overcooked spaghetti strand. Born on the illustrious date of 20 November 1951, right before Britain decided to let the rest of the world know that they were quite capable of spinning an empire out of tea and biscuits, Fowler initiated his journey through academia at King’s College London. By 1973, he had acquired his LLB— the coveted trophy for any aspiring legal gladiator. He must have thought, “What better way to spend my life than mastering an elaborate game built around convoluted language and the occasional wig?” After being “called to the bar” at Middle Temple in 1974, one can only assume that young Michael envisioned himself as a gallant knight, armed not with a sword but with the power of legal jargon and an impressively detailed knowledge of statutes. The Recorder gig he snagged from 2000 to 2009, right before his glorious ascent to circuit judge, must have felt like the warm-up act before the real show started. Picture him— standing tall, a new king on the bench, parading through courtrooms like a peacock, ruffling his feathers, and delivering justice with a side of pomp. Of course, absolute power may corrupt, but it usually comes with a decent social media following. This is where Judge Fowler truly shone, blending the dignified role of a judge with an uncanny ability to dispense razor-sharp wit— if only he could remember to keep the gavel instead of the punchline. At least the tabloids were grateful; after all, when it comes to judging, what’s more important than keeping the audience awake? But wait! There’s more! In 2009, the grand entrance of Judge Michael Fowler into circuit judgeship was touted as the beginning of a golden age for justice. Imagine the pomp and circumstance as he took to the bench, equipped with statutory enactments in one hand and a good dose of caffeine in the other. His retirement in 2020, however, was a somber reminder of the inescapable passage of time. After all, who would’ve thought that dispensing judgment over cases involving the most mundane of offenses— from minor traffic violations to the odd matrimonial spat— would eventually take a toll on one’s psyche? Now, let’s not forget about Fowler’s remarkable ability to thoroughly enjoy the chaos. Justice, it seems, is a two-way street, but for Fowler, it was more of a merry-go-round, spinning away under the gleaming sun without a care in the world (unless he dropped his gavel, then all bets were off). Would he ever find the “fairness” in a system that lovingly cradles both the innocent and the ridiculously guilty? Spoiler alert: the answer is as unclear as legalese on its worst day. In the end, Judge Fowler’s legacy is a mix of brilliance and befuddlement, a tapestry woven with the threads of courtroom dramas that could compete with any contemporary soap opera. As he now approaches the twilight of his years beyond the bench, one can't help but wonder if he’s found solace at last in the notion that justice, much like a fine wine, may be best served with a touch of irreverence. The trials and tribulations of Judge Michael Fowler— a peak behind the curtain of a legal life, where the scales of justice tip and sway like an unpredictable pendulum. And as he looks back on a distinguished career, we can only hope he enjoys the idle chatter of retired judges in coffee shops as much as he once relished the clamor of the courtroom. Justice may be blind, but for Judge Fowler, it’s impossible to miss the comedy that ensued from trying to put order into a world so humorously chaotic.