Celery – Part Two!

Celery! (Part Two!)

Here is part one in case you didn`t catch it:
http://www.blueisthecolour.net/sitepage.asp?a=19481

‘You are bailed to appear before Birmingham Magistrates on Wednesday, to answer the charges, and if you do not have a Legal representative, one will be appointed to you’…

My head swam on the train back to Plymouth. I didn`t have any money and my dissertation was due in three weeks. Do I plead guilty? How much trouble could I be in?

The CID (!!!) copper who booked me and the duty Sergeant who wrote it up were both quite insistent that I was in a great deal of trouble. Aggravated public order offence. Throwing missiles. Section nine of the football offences act. The longer the time went on, the more trouble I felt I was in. What started out as a small, laughing matter, like a tiny, inconsequential little rash, got bigger, and bigger, and bigger, until I was proper worried, and the small red patch had become something far, far more worrying. Like the clap, this was one dose I could ill-afford and seriously do without.

Tuesday came, and I hauled myself onto a train up to Brum again to go to court. Read FHM that day on the train, and gritted my teeth through a rather unnecessarily graphic account of a well-known Irish celeb’s month doing porridge in Dublin. Surely they wouldn`t send me down for it? I knew this was unlikely. I knew a fine was much, much more likely. I had to borrow the £40 for the train and didn`t have the cash for a sodding Burger King, let alone a punitive fine at Her Majesty’s behest. So if you can`t pay, they send you to prison don`t they? Do they? Where did I read that? Am I sure? How long would it be? Would I miss my dissertation hand-in? What if I plead not-guilty and hope they have the trial after my dissertation? What’s prison food like? Will I get bummed?

So, lots to be thinking about on the train up there. Like the aforementioned red patch, I had managed to convince myself through a heady mix of insomnia-caused paranoia and putting myself through some crass media generalisations, that I was going to jail. There was no way that I was walking free, and so I should take it, keep my chin up, bottle up the anger, and chin someone big time on my first day inside or something. However, deep down, deep, deep down there was this shining light, this tiny blue beacon of hope, that the red patch was not anything to do with that really, really nasty Plymouth bird i woke up next to the other week, and that I would get a slap on the wrist.

One sleepless (and unpaid for) hotel night later, and I went to court. I wore a blue suit, blue shirt, Chelsea cufflinks, and a (tasteful) Chelsea tie, with very small vomit stain on it. Birmingham Magistrates is an amazing building if you’ve ever seen it. It looks like it should be in London, and I find it difficult to believe that the Midlands has such a grand building. Didn`t they only just discover electricity? I wandered around looking for the public defence office. I found it. So did about ninety other people all of whom wanted legal aid. The hearing was in half an hour, and I had no chance of getting anywhere near a lawyer until then. Great. Blinding.

Just then a bloke walked up to me and shook me warmly by the hand. I noticed him straight away because of the fantastic suit he was wearing. You when you see someone wearing such a good suit, such an absolutely awesome suit, that you have to look? Well this bloke had one. He was tall, and had this strut on him that looked like he owned the place, but not in an arrogant way.

‘Good Morning Mr Morgan, I’m Simon Carver of Carver and Bailey, here is my card, how are you doing?’

He knew me. How did this guy, a Partner at a legal firm, know my name?

‘Umm, yeah, cosmic, thanks mate cheers’ was all I could muster.

He went on.

‘I’ve looked at the case, and…’

‘How, are you the public defendant free lawyer?’ I interrupted again.

‘No, I’ll be representing you today Mr Morgan. Don`t worry, everything’s going to be fine.’ His voice was clipped, and completely accentless.

‘Listen mate, we’ve got a problem. I don`t have any money, and cant pay you. I am a student, and I don`t have that kind of cash mate I’m sorry…’

Carver smiled, revealing a row of pristine white, immaculately sharkish teeth, and gave a short laugh.

‘No, don`t worry about it, my account has been taken care of, please do not worry about a thing’

‘Who paid?’

‘My client has asked not to be named, Mr Morgan, I`m sure you understand. Anyway, as I said, I’ve looked at the case, and you’ve got nothing to worry about, it`s all fine, I’m going to ask that the court binds you over…’

‘Binds me over what?’ I cut in. This sounded medieval.

‘It`s a legal term Mr Morgan, it means that you are bound to keep the peace and its not a criminal conviction, and basically we will hear no more about it. Rather good option I`d say.’

‘I’ll have that. Nice one.’

Standing in the dock, I looked at the judge. I remember him having a Northern name like Grimmshaw, or Bagshaw or something, and having an awful thought that he might be a Dirty Leeds fan, and how suddenly, my choice of tie was looking quite ill-advised. We rose and sat about five times, and I confirmed my name and address for the record. I remember how tinny and young my voice sounded in that big, cold courtroom. Then, to my horror, Carver started kicking off at the Judge.

‘It beggars belief, your Honour, that my client, Mr Morgan has been brought up in front of you today. I would respectfully contend that the court has better things to do than to deal with fatuous charges, the pursuit of which benefit nobody!’

I seriously wanted to have a word with him right that moment. Don`t give the Judge the arseache, please! This guy is going to chuck me in chokey and you having a pop at him cannot be helping! Oh my God I’m going to throw up again.

The Judge agreed. I was just stood there, open mouthed. They took about ten seconds to bind me over to keep the peace, and I was free to go. Bosh. Just like that. I was ushered out, and that was that. Done. Over.

Bit of an anticlimax really.

When all is said and done, and looking back, it was always going to happen like that, but you just don`t know do you?

I walked free, and the other four lads who were up on the same charge did likewise. We got in the paper, and on Five Live. I was well upset when the Mirror printed that I was 22, from Plymouth (well you would be wouldn`t you?).

The final was good. I watched it on telly, and was absolutely over-the-moon to see Batesy giving an interview with a geezer in a celery costume stood behind. He was grinning all over his face, and although I never found out who paid for Mr Carver to come and do his Johnny Cochrane thing, I suspect I may not be too far wrong when I look in his direction. So, to whoever it was, thank-you very, very much indeed. Much appreciated.

I still sing the Celery song at games and always have a wry grin when I see it being chucked about, but what have I learned?

1 – Celery is in fact a deadly missile, and in the eyes of the Law, equal to any other root vegetable you care to mention, such as pumpkins or even marrows.
2 – West Midlands police hate Chelsea.
3 – Smacking a copper whilst out on remand is indeed violation of bail.
4 – Vomit stains do not come out of silk.