A Different View with Dave O’Connell

Even in a week when the Western World’s autocratic dictator was given a free run to invade a neighbouring state and snatch that country’s President, perhaps the most bizarre story of recent days occurred much closer to home.

It concerned the court appearance of a Welshman who had turned up at a remembrance event in the seaside resort of Llandudno in full military uniform, resplendent with at least a dozen military medals, to lay a wreath at the town’s monument.

Except he wasn’t a military man at all, and he’d bought the medals online. And he hadn’t been invited, but he took centre stage and belted out the national anthem like it was written for him or by him.

This week, 65-year-old Jonathan Carley pleaded guilty to wearing uniform/dress bearing the mark of His Majesty’s Forces without permission. He was ordered to pay a £500 fine, prosecution costs of £85, and a £200 surcharge.

Which frankly seems a bit harsh given that the Royal Family themselves have been turning up at events in full military garb for generations without ever discharging as much as a snowball in anger.

Indeed the man who was once second in line to the throne, that Ginger Rapscallion known as Harry, went a step further and once famously donned a full Nazi uniform for a jape at a fancy dress party.

And the Royal formerly known as Prince – now just plain Andrew – had a variety of military uniforms and medals which he dug out for all occasions/freebies, although in fairness he was once an actual RAF helicopter pilot before he devoted his life to the pursuit of hedonism.

The UK’s future King, Prince William, was the Colonel of the Irish Guards – admittedly an honorary role – a post he held it until 2022, despite being neither Irish nor a soldier.

So you’d have thought that the British judicial system was on thin ice in tackling a harmless, if deluded, pensioner who dressed up for the day and did nothing more offensive than lay a wreath and sing the national anthem with gusto.

And anyway haven’t we all, at some stage, wanted to be someone else?

Why else would rotund supporters insist on wearing football jerseys when they evidently aren’t on the team?

Many years ago, in a different place of employment, the boss – in an effort to improve morale but in retrospect destroying it – issued a strict instruction that the Office Christmas Party was to be fancy dress. And if you didn’t dress up, you weren’t getting in.

This was despite the fact that the party was at one of those corporate nights, where a dozen or more companies share the ballroom of a hotel, because none of them is big enough to hire it out on their own.

So unlike 90 per cent of the room, our merry troupe of revellers had to rent the sort of clothing that would otherwise be found on a skip.

By the time I got to the town’s only fancy dress hire shop, the pickings were slim – so I ended up going as a sort of heavy Elvis, if he’d been dragged through a hedge on his way to the gig.