I’d be rubbish as a real judge. I mean, the width of a defence lawyer’s pinstripe could, in itself, lengthen an accused’s sentence. Or maybe one of those nasal, urban accents that cuts right through you. Ten years for that alone.

Fortunately for the world of jurisprudence, that isn’t about to happen any time soon. However, I am scheduled to make my first appearance as a judge of anything, ever, at tomorrow night’s Scottish Slam Championships. I’m not actually sure I can announce this – I mean, following the slightly scary description in the Peter Ross Scotland on Sunday article of competitors howling at judges, I’m not sure if it’s a bit like being a judge at one of those Sicilian Mafia trials where your identity has to be protected, and you arrive at court flanked by gun-toting, shades-wearing bodyguards (I hope so actually, it sounds kind of cool).

Anyhoo. A pretty stellar line up awaits, so I shall need to sharpen my literary wits and prepare to be dazzled but undazed. If you’re not doing anything else tomorrow night, come along.

By the way competitors:  if you’re thinking bribery and corruption, I’m not really financially motivated. You could try corrupting me, but to be honest, I’m pretty far gone already.

And my bodyguards are highly trained female ninjas. You’ll never see them coming.

Scottish Slam Championships, Pleasance Cabaret Bar, Edinburgh, 8.00 p.m.