Five lads in their early 20s spent a Saturday together, drinking in Wilpshire. By common consent, they had a happy and convivial day and, sensibly, one of them meant to limit himself to two pints of shandy so that he could drive them home.

I did not know them. They may have been studious, hard working, responsible lads, the kind one would wish for one's daughter. They may have been the opposite. I do not know. I just know that they were boys and, when they finished drinking, they got into the car and, fuelled by petrol, alcohol and testosterone, they set off on a drive which ended in Mellor and which only four of them survived.

None of us, I am sure, will ever know exactly what happened on that drive but, by all accounts, the car was flying until, tragically, the shandy drinker, Ashley Fielding, lost control and his friend, Ashley Connell, may he rest in peace, had his young life snuffed out.

I condone nothing. I forgive nothing. I excuse nothing. I do, however, challenge every man who reads this column to say that, during his youth, there was never an uninhibited, crazy, exhilarating moment of fun with his friends when he came within a whisker of the fate of these two Ashleys and sat at the side of the road, deathly pale, in a cold sweat, trembling slightly and wondering why on earth he had done it and how, in heaven's name, he had survived. I did it on the M1. My father did it in Egypt, on an army motorcycle with a sidecar full of friends.

My son did it in Palma de Majorca.

How fortunate we all are and how thankful we all must be that we were not in the shoes of those two Ashleys and that we do not stand now in the shoes of their parents.

There used to be words for it; "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord". Somehow, they do not seem to work so well, these days.

We cannot comprehend the loss of the Connell family. A moment of madness has seared their heart and left a scar that will never heal.

We can only offer them our condolences. And what can we say to the Fieldings whose much loved son now sits in prison for the deathly consequences of a jaunt which we have all taken, but which ended differently for us?

What can we say? We have to say that it is right that he sits there. It would be unbearably cruel to the Connells to see him walk free and they have suffered enough.

It would encourage irresponsibility were he to walk free and be the cause of death. He is no worse a man than us, but he must serve his time.

There, but for the grace of God…