My story, while not long, proved to be one of the most embarrassing situations of my life. During the early 1980s, when hooliganism was at its peak, the police were very stringent regarding the items that were brought into Ashton Gate; with umbrellas and various other innocent looking objects confiscated from fans at the turnstiles, which then had to booked in at the security hut just outside the East End. My problem was that I had come straight to the match from a trip to Mothercare – I had left home armed with a list from my wife and strict instructions to buy a few vital last minute essentials ahead of the imminent birth of my son. Unfortunately for me, ‘my’ breast pump was deemed a weapon of mass destruction and, despite my innocent protests, the contraption was taken from me and registered against my name and address and stored somewhere safe until my collection after the final whistle. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, can you can imagine how I squirmed as I awkwardly asked for the pump back at the end of the game, surrounded by some tasty individuals? There was a stunned silence as it was handed back and the other fans glared at me with some very strange expressions on their faces. Suffice to say that since then I have made sure that I turn up to football matches carrying the bare minimum.