Never mind the reason

Connect: Poor Philip Dunleavy. The father of one from Bray was released yesterday after spending seven days in Cloverhill Prison. His crime: wearing a T-shirt upon which was printed one of the most famous album covers in the history of rock music.

Dunleavy arrived in Bray District Court eight days ago to face charges of shoplifting from Woodie's DIY store. He was wearing a distinctive yellow and pink T-shirt, emblazoned with the slogan: "Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols".

When Judge Murrough Connellan saw the offending item, he inquired whether the accused had a "good reason" for wearing it. Court reports indicate that the answer was in the negative, though they do not reveal whether it was along the lines of "Ummm, no . . . (incomprehensible mumble)" or: "No! Why do I need a reason anyway? Leave me alone!" Dunleavy is 33.

"It wasn't that Philip got up last night and ironed the T-shirt," Dunleavy's partner, Lorraine Fitzpatrick, told a journalist later. "He follows the Sex Pistols as a group for most of his life, and he wore the T-shirt without thinking about it . . . He [Dunleavy, not Justice Connellan] was a punk rocker from when he was 17 and still likes the music." Fitzpatrick rushed home to get a plain blue T-shirt for her partner, but Dunleavy had already been despatched to Cloverhill for "clear and brazen" contempt of court.

Although he would have been only four years of age when Never Mind the Bollocks was first released, as a Pistols fan of 16 years' standing Dunleavy would surely have been aware of the case heard before Nottingham Magistrates' Court on November 24th, 1977, when that eminent man of letters, John Mortimer QC, successfully defended Virgin Records boss Richard Branson against charges of obscenity over the very same artwork. In a performance worthy of his fictional creation, Rumpole of the Bailey, Mortimer produced expert witnesses who were able to demonstrate that the word "bollocks" was actually a legitimate Old English term originally used to refer to a priest, and which, in the context of the title, simply meant "nonsense". The chairman of the hearing was forced to conclude: "Much as my colleagues and I wholeheartedly deplore the vulgar exploitation of the worst instincts of human nature for the purchases of commercial profits by both you and your company, we must reluctantly find you not guilty."

In 1977, this writer's sympathies would have been firmly on the side of the Pistols (though not of Branson, who, in the robust dialectic of the time, was a bloody hippy and not to be tolerated). But three decades have passed, and now I'm not so sure. Vivienne Westwood, the creative inspiration behind the band's visual shock aesthetic, is a Dame of the British Empire, her bondage trousers displayed in the Victoria and Albert Museum. Richard Branson runs a good airline and a bad train service. John Lydon, formerly Rotten, is a reality TV star and host of wildlife programmes. Punk rock, which, for a few brief months, sent the establishment into a paroxysm of fear and loathing, has long been an integral part of the social fabric. For good or ill, its legacy can be found embedded in every aspect of modern culture. One of the least prepossessing of these, as it happens, is in the world of T-shirts. A direct line can be drawn from the self-consciously transgressive Situationism of Westwood's creations to the imbecilic FCUKs, Porn Stars, and Beer Monsters which litter our streets. Perhaps the good magistrates of Nottingham were right all along.

Returning to court yesterday, sporting a 'Drunk Punk' t-shirt, Dunleavy drew no comment from a different judge. Yet, it seems Irish judges are currently greatly exercised by matters sartorial. In another case this week, a Polish interpreter in Galway District Court was told by Judge Aeneas McCarthy that her clothing - tight, low-cut jeans and a skimpy top which left her midriff exposed - was inappropriate for appearing in a professional capacity before him. Some may point to such incidents as evidence of the irredeemable stuffiness of the legal system; in fact, they're perfectly reasonable and civilised requirements. Clothes are a medium of communication like any other, and the courtesy and respect they convey in a particular context should be judged accordingly. The problem arises you can be sent to the slammer.

Who could possibly agree with Judge Connellan that Philip Dunleavy's T-shirt deserved a week in Cloverhill? After all, the same judge has previously shown a capacity for leniency: only last year he decided not to impose a custodial sentence on Jim McDaid TD for driving the wrong way down the Naas dual carriageway while three times over the legal blood-alcohol limit. As one of the Dáil's most dapper dressers, McDaid was unlikely to commit a fashion faux pas in court, which may have stood to his favour. But one man walks away with a driving ban and a not particularly onerous fine for recklessly endangering innocent people's lives, while another finds himself languishing in prison for wearing a nostalgic T-shirt. Now that's pretty vacant.

Eddie Holt is on leave