I've been in a court of law once, for about 11 minutes, it wasn't intimidating to me, because I knew I'd done nothing and there was confusion going on, but it's a story to tell.
It was, I think, a Tuesday morning and there was a sudden shock wave through the whole one room apartment I lived in as the door swung in and move police officers than the room could handle piled in.
This was a West Midlands Police morning wake up call.
They were searching for a Michael something or other... My name is not Michael, and I produced my drivers license. But at that time license had no picture, so they didn't believe it was mine, I needed my passport... Which my girlfriend had...
The trouble therefore was she was at work in Gloucester, and I was under effective arrest in Warwickshire.
Anyway, I was allowed to hastily dress and taken to I think Georges Street police office in Birmingham, so I'm now even further from my passport proof and release.
The girlfriend is on placement as a teacher, so she can't just leave school to bring me the passport. I'm stuck. I've used my call to get hole of the girlfriend and now I'm stuck in a cell.
I get questioned, and they detective seems to think "he might be the bloke".
The deal seemed to be that the previous occupier of my flat, also a white twenty something with a beard, was a drug dealer and they thought I was this person.
It was some national operation to clamp down on the distribution level before drugs could get onto the street, an admiral task, but had nothing at all to do with me.
I don't even want to call my parents, they'd just flap and worry and be no use, my Nan would vouch for me until the worlds end, but none of that is going to prove who I am.
I have no police record, I'm a good boy, so they don't have me on record, and without my being booked in or charged with anything they can't officially take my finger prints or process me. They want Michael something, and they have a guy saying he's "Jonathan".
They're stuck, I'm stuck....
Anyway, around 3 o'clock the girlfriend leaves work, she gets my passport, drives not to Birmingham, but to my flat with it... where she hands it to the police officer who's guarding the broken down door.
He then radio's his control... But he's in Warwickshire remember... I'm now in Worcestershire... Wires get crossed and after 4pm the police decide to let a magistrate see me, as this magistrate knows the person they're looking for; he's apparently very well known to this magistrate...
So, we leave on foot from this building in Brum and walk across past the Palisades shopping centre and into another concrete building, where there's a door, we go straight through and the magistrate is in session, so we sit waiting... eleven minutes, that's how long he took to deliberate on something, he then turned his attention to me, lowered his glasses to see me properly and said... "That's not him".
I've never been apologised to more in my life.
In the rush for them to put it all right I get driven home and they fix the door and I get assured I'll get a letter from the chief apologising in about a week.
I think my turmoil is over, and I go to work the next day. I immediately take my boss aside and start to explain what went off, and he just glazes over, he takes no interest and decides I'm full of shit.
I'd had enough of this chap anyway, I'd had enough of the role to be honest, and so I asked to speak to the directors.... When I walked into the room to speak briefly with the two directors, I didn't find them, I found my boss, his brother-in-law and a neutral secretary.
I just look from one to the other, decide I've been stitched up, and quit...
I was young, carefree and reckless, as the role had been a good two years programming in web interfaces and involved customers like Tesco, Coop and Woolworths. But still, I could not be bothered.
Sure enough a week later I had the letter I wanted, and thought about sending it to the boss... The trouble was...
My name is "Jon Bond"... and the name of the Chief Superintendent on the letter was... "Jon Bond"...