It is well known to those who know it well – which each of you should know yourselves to be – that we’re all extremely lucky to be a part of something so special.

We’ve an oft-debated inception but I do remember two particularly prominent days, the first of which saw a young man’s t-shirt destroyed by brown sauce while 3 soon-to-be Miltonians awaited news of the arrival of a fourth while enjoying Varsity Melts at their first meeting of their final year. As far as my dismal memory goes by the end of the day a huge number of us found ourselves in our spiritual home that very evening in numbers unseen before with a thirst for poor lager and a hunger for antics, escapades, camaraderie and a collective support for one another.

The second date that sticks in my head came when bonds already ran deep, many adventures had already been had, many goals scored, beers drank and hangovers endured. We’d seen our favourite American model several options and selected the one and only. We’d feverishly tinkered away on designs while sourcing the best option. Finally, after months of effort and waiting, our hallowed threads arrived.

The Milton shirt was born.

Each one unique – numbered and branded with our names to make it easier to yell at each other as we stumbled around Storthes Hall or New Milton Fields. Long sleeved to help with the horrific local climate and shorts & socks to match.

I love that kit. It’ll always symbolise the birth of something beyond words that’s grown stronger with every passing year.

But the truth is the kit’s nowhere near as important as each and every one of you. Whether you sank watered-down lager from day one, were born into it, or became a part of it along the way, it’s about you.

You are responsible for the memories, the laughter, the companionship and the love.

You are Milton.