Utter contempt...

It was Easter 1979, I was only 17 years old and I was summoned to appear with 12 of my friends before Torquay Magistrates' Court.

During the previous week, much to my shame, I'd been arrested in Torquay (along with 12 of my friends) for being drunk and disorderly. We'd all descended on the resort for the bank holiday weekend and, after a day of pub crawling, we'd become a little boisterous and exuberant in our behaviour toward the end of the afternoon.

I don't remember anything about the incident itself, other than being handcuffed, then forced to spend a very uncomfortable night in a local police cell and having the mother of hangovers the following day.

For the return trip to appear in court, we'd all taken the day off work and hired a minibus to ferry us from Penclawdd (just west of Swansea) to Torquay - a 340 mile round trip. Consequently it was an early start and my mother got me up, ironed my shirt and fed me my breakfast. She waved me off, cursing my stupidity all the while.

Again, my memory of this day is patchy - I think out of a deep sense of shame I must've obliterated it from my mind. I can't remember anything of the journey there or back and my recollection of what went on in court, for the most part, is a dim and distant one.

One memory of the court proceedings, however, shines beacon-like in my mind. As all 13 of us stood there, the Clerk of the Court read out our names, including our middle names. This started us gulping back giggles as we learned of the weird names with which our parents had blessed each of us.

It didn't help that the Clerk's voice wreaked of british establishment with its RP accent and vice-like consonantal grip. He sounded like the Queen but an octave lower. I think, despite near asphyxiation, we successfully managed to disguise these giggles.

We weren't so lucky with what came next. The Clerk went on to describe the circumstances of our arrest which we all listened to with interest, as none of us could really recall the details of the actual events. The Clerk continued in his plummy accent:

The thirteen accused then proceeded down Torwood Street shouting, "We are the Welsh. We are the Welsh. Fuck off you English bastards."

There was no way on earth we could disguise the outburst of laughter that followed this, which was, of course, reflected in the fines handed out to us.

Today's run at 17:29
Distance	4.01 km	Time	22:03
Pace	5:30 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Cloudy.