As I paced anxiously around the crowded foyer of Leicester Crown Court waiting for my solicitor, I caught sight of the taxi driver I’d hit. I hesitated, then walked over to him.

‘Sorry, mate,’ I said.

‘Okay,’ he murmured

‘You know, it wasn’t racist.’

‘Okay,’ he repeated, and shook my hand.

I don’t know if he believed me, but it hadn’t been a racist attack. I’d ended up in a fight with him in the early hours of the morning, not because he was Asian but because he had stopped the taxi in the middle of nowhere and refused to take me home to Market Harborough unless I gave him more money, claiming the can of Coke I’d spilt had damaged the passenger seat. As I was drunk, my recollections were hazy.

When my solicitor arrived, I said, ‘How do you think it’s likely to go?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ he replied. ‘But if you’ve had community service before and completed it, then there’s a good chance, if you’re found guilty, that the judge may recommend it rather than prison as a punishment.’

‘Yeah?’ I said, hopefully.

Around the same time as the incident with the taxi driver, I’d been found guilty of being in possession of fake currency and given a community service order. This might make me sound like I was a perpetual criminal, but I wasn’t. I’d hit the taxi driver in a moment of drunken anger, and I was found with fake currency because, stupidly, I had taken it to help ease my financial problems.

‘That happens sometimes,’ said the solicitor. ‘By the way, a different barrister has been appointed to represent you.’

‘Why’s that?’

He shrugged.

The barrister arrived at 9.30am, looking flustered. The court case was due to begin at 10am. She briskly introduced herself and ushered me into a room.

‘Right, I’ve read the case notes,’ she said, matter-of-factly.

‘Okay,’ I said.

‘I don’t know what you might be thinking, but you’re going to be found guilty and you’re going to be sent to prison.’

‘Hang on! What do you mean?’

‘You’ve admitted to assaulting the taxi driver, multiple witnesses say they saw you assault him, and one of them says you used a racial slur.’

‘But I didn’t hit him because he was Asian.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Longley, but I have to say I think the jury are going to find you guilty.’

‘You mentioned prison.’

‘That’s right. You might go to prison for a couple of years.’

‘A couple of years!’ I couldn’t take this in.

She smiled thinly. ‘That’s the worst-case scenario. If you plead guilty, you’ll get credit for that. And then we can talk about your RAF career, your daughter, university and so on, and you might get off with community service.’

‘So, you’re saying I should plead guilty?’

‘That’s my advice based on my experience of these sorts of cases. The racial element of this case makes it more serious.’

‘I wasn’t expecting this.’

‘I’m sorry, but I think in these circumstances you have to plead guilty.’

She told me I would have to make my mind up quickly, and left me in the room to think about it. I didn’t want to plead guilty, but if it meant avoiding a prison sentence, then I would have to.

When I was called to enter the court room, I stepped forward feeling anxious. An usher motioned me towards the dock.

The jury hadn’t been sworn in yet. My barrister informed the judge that I wanted to change my plea. A brief conversation ensued between the two of them and the prosecution barrister. In the end the judge nodded. He asked me how I pleaded to the charges of assault occasioning actual bodily harm and racially aggravated assault occasioning actual bodily harm.

‘Guilty,’ I replied. The judge then adjourned the case for a pre-sentencing report.

I left the court room with my head spinning. My life no longer felt within my control. With the threat of prison hanging over me, my emotions were in turmoil.

My barrister explained that a pre-sentencing report was an expert assessment of the nature and causes of an offender’s behaviour and the risk they pose, as well as an independent recommendation of the sentencing options available to the court.

‘What’s the point of it?’ I asked.

‘It provides the court with a greater understanding of the background and the context of the offending behaviour, rather than just the details of the offence,’ she said.

A few days later, I had a meeting with a probation officer at Wigston, just outside Leicester. He interviewed me about the case and told me I should contact the RAF and the University

of Northampton for references.

‘Do you have any Asian friends?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘Do you think any of them will provide character references for you and state that they have never seen you behave in a racist way?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Good. That might help your case.’

My barrister phoned me the following week. She said the pre-sentencing report had recommended community service.

‘That’s brilliant news,’ I said.

‘It is, but the judge isn’t bound by it.’

‘You mean he could still give me a prison sentence?’

‘I’m afraid so. But a community service recommendation is very positive.’

I tried to put the case out of my mind and carry on as normal with my life, but it was hard to do. I just wanted to go to crown court and get it over and done with, so I could move on with my life.

Eventually, I received a letter telling me the date of the sentencing. It had been set for 22 May 2003, a year after the incident. I hired a solicitor and he engaged a barrister to represent me. He told me the barrister would be given all the case notes. I was so worried in the run-up to my appearance, I found it hard to sleep. I used to go for runs around the playing field at the back of the leisure centre and then lie down on the grass because I was so tired. I’d wake up half an hour later.

On the appointed date, I returned to Leicester Crown Court for sentencing at 10am. On the one hand, I was relieved that the day had finally arrived. I told myself that it might be all over in a couple of hours, and I’d just get community service. On the other hand, I was petrified that I might be sent to prison.

When I was summoned into court, I nervously made my way to the dock. The judge stared at me and said, ‘I accept the offence was entirely out of character and I also accept that the assault in this case did not have as its prime motivation racial prejudice of any kind. It is a great shame to see someone of your background in the dock.’

My spirits lifted. I was going to get a community service order.

The judge continued: ‘However, taxi drivers are entitled to the protection of this court. I’ve considered the case carefully, and I’ve decided that I have to give a custodial sentence. I’m not sure how long this should be yet. I’m going to think about it over lunch. In the meantime, I’m remanding you in custody until 2pm.’

I was taken down to the cells. My barrister came in and said, ‘Look, I’m not saying this is going to happen, but I’ve seen it before where a judge tries to make a defendant worried that he’s going to prison and then changes their mind.’

‘Yeah?’ I said.

‘As I say, sometimes this happens.’

Her words gave me some hope. I was in a cell with a guy who was going to be sentenced for sexual assault. We both sat there in silence, each in our own private world, staring at the floor.

I was taken back up to the court room just before 2pm. I was shaking when I entered the dock, where two prison officers were standing.

The judge said, ‘Having weighed up the case carefully, I have decided to give you a custodial sentence of eight months.’

I waited for him to add that he was suspending the sentence, which meant I wouldn’t have to go to prison; but no more words came. I really was going to jail for eight months.

I stood there, utterly stunned, feeling like I had just taken a major punch in the stomach. My mum and dad were with my partner, Sally, on the other side of the courtroom, but I couldn’t look at any of them as I reeled from the sentence. In any case, there was barely time to look at anyone, because the judge was already telling the prison officers to take me down to the cells.

One of them took me by the arm. ‘This way,’ he said in a low voice. He said it kindly, and when we got down below, he shrugged his surprise at me, as if to say he hadn’t been expecting a custodial sentence either.

But there was no arguing. I was about to go to prison, something that would lead me to question the way the criminal justice system worked, as well as changing my life in ways I could never possibly have foreseen.