One of the things about being in youth work for a long time is that you never know where or when you might bump into one of the young people you worked with a long time ago. Invariably, the response is a pretty positive one: they look back almost nostalgically on their teenage years and their contact with you.

I once encountered a man in his late twenties in a pub, who waxed lyrical to his mates about me being the "main man" with a "heart of gold". Yet all I could remember of this individual was that he was a constant thorn in my side, and that I had had innumerable confrontations with him.

Sometimes the encounters can be somewhat uncomfortable and potentially compromising. I was in another pub when a voice called me over. Looking around, I spotted a former youth club member with whom I had also subsequently played in a local football team. He was seated at a table in the corner by the window, next to two rather heavily built men in black jackets and opposite two "gangster molls" with blonde hair, short skirts, fishnet tights and long black boots. For a split second, I saw a film set, for each character was a classic stereotype.

As I approached, Martin summoned me to squeeze in and put his right arm warmly round my shoulder. He introduced me with pride to the others, recalling his days at the youth club and my skirmishes down the wing to provide the crosses from which he, as the centre forward, scored a hatful of goals.

And all the while he was reminiscing, a sequence of individuals were arriving to sit next to the girls and engage in brief exchanges with Martin, which he conducted with swift movements of his left hand from his pocket and across the table. Of course, I had some idea what he was up to, but I didn't deign to ask in any detail. Such moments can be fragile. One cannot rely, with complete confidence, on the strength of old relationships.

I was with Martin for perhaps no more than 15 minutes. He said he was doing well, earning "a bob or two". Life was good, he told me, though he missed those old days at the club.

A few days later, I happened to meet one of Martin's contemporaries and told him about the evening. "A bit dodgy, How, don't you think, given what you are doing these days," he said. I said that I had sensed something illicit going on. "Yeah, that's where everyone goes to get their blow," he replied.

As I had reflected briefly at the time, I was just glad that we had been ensconced in the corner and that the window to the busy street outside had been glazed with frosted glass. I was pleased to have seen Martin, but equally relieved that no-one had seen me talking to him.

- Howard Williamson is vice-chair of the Wales Youth Agency and a member of the Youth Justice Board howard.williamson@haynet.com.