Discussion
Published? Probably not. Quality (or lack of, more like) aside, proceeds of crime would mean I wouldn't see a penny!
My first cell mate Mark was 27, on his 7th visit to prison in the past 7 years, this time on remand for theft offences to feed a drug habit. He channel hopped the TV on average every 30 seconds and drove me insane for 5 days before I was moved into a normal wing follwing my induction. Also, he didn't try to bugger me, which was nice.
As for further diary entries, I've only got the first day typed. I'll try to get day two done later on.
My first cell mate Mark was 27, on his 7th visit to prison in the past 7 years, this time on remand for theft offences to feed a drug habit. He channel hopped the TV on average every 30 seconds and drove me insane for 5 days before I was moved into a normal wing follwing my induction. Also, he didn't try to bugger me, which was nice.
As for further diary entries, I've only got the first day typed. I'll try to get day two done later on.
Edited by 10 Pence Short on Tuesday 25th September 09:52
10 Pence Short said:
DIARY
I remember following your thread in SP&L with great interest.I want to second what others are saying. Please keep the posts coming, so far they are rivetting and provide an insight into circumstances and situations that many won't ever see.
Thanks!
Edited by mystomachehurts on Tuesday 25th September 10:40
Good write up 10 pence,unfortunately i have been on the wrong end twice,once when i was 17 and i recieved the 'Short Sharp Shock' with 3 months detention Centre....believe me it does work,changes people and teaches respect.
And also later down the line i found myself mixed up in a dubious situation and ended up on remand for some months in HMP,only to be released months later after the case was dropped,i was told at one point i was looking at ten years
,again its not as easy as people paint on here and is a total change to the outside with a different set of rules.
Nicest moment was sloshing out in the mornings
,best moment was seeing someone trying to avoid 'Rule 43' and try to be invisible in a normal wing,didnt last long and once the screws went AWOL they carried him out unconsious.
w
r of the wing was the Camberley pig murderour[as i called him],he didnt murder pigs but used them to get rid of the remains once he had done his girlfreinds in,he was on the top floor under 'Cat A' and only got out once to exersize once the top floor was 'locked off',whilst we were all watching a film on the bottom floor of the wing..we couldnt believe they let him out in full veiw 
,big mistake and the minute he started to do push ups on the bars there was nearly a riot and they had to get the bastard locked away again quick,consolation was hearing him at night banging his head against the door and we used to call back to him,letting him know he was facing life 
Drugs were obtainable,it wasnt unusual to smoke a joint before 'bedybyes',and i was lucky to have the good company of an RAF chappy to share the cell with.
And also later down the line i found myself mixed up in a dubious situation and ended up on remand for some months in HMP,only to be released months later after the case was dropped,i was told at one point i was looking at ten years
,again its not as easy as people paint on here and is a total change to the outside with a different set of rules.Nicest moment was sloshing out in the mornings
,best moment was seeing someone trying to avoid 'Rule 43' and try to be invisible in a normal wing,didnt last long and once the screws went AWOL they carried him out unconsious.w
r of the wing was the Camberley pig murderour[as i called him],he didnt murder pigs but used them to get rid of the remains once he had done his girlfreinds in,he was on the top floor under 'Cat A' and only got out once to exersize once the top floor was 'locked off',whilst we were all watching a film on the bottom floor of the wing..we couldnt believe they let him out in full veiw ,big mistake and the minute he started to do push ups on the bars there was nearly a riot and they had to get the bastard locked away again quick,consolation was hearing him at night banging his head against the door and we used to call back to him,letting him know he was facing life Drugs were obtainable,it wasnt unusual to smoke a joint before 'bedybyes',and i was lucky to have the good company of an RAF chappy to share the cell with.
10 Pence. You are quite a man to post as you do. You have my utmost respect. There but for the grace of God....
I am sure we'd all like to have the opportunity to read your story. You should really write a piece and send it to a magazine, such as GQ or something. Maybe in that way some good may come of your experiences.
respect for 10pence. it must be alot harder to go to jail for what was an accident. it would be easier if you had gone out to steal something and got caught as you would expect to go to jail! i have been in a holding cell (for possesion of cannabis) at the local police station but that was for like 4 hours and that was hard enough. i just walked around the cell in circles but was surprised how quick the time seemed to go. one family member and a couple of friends have also been in prison and i also know how hard it is to see loved ones in there. anyway it is not an easy ride as some people seem to think.
btw 10pence the diary is excellent reading! pls type up the rest of the diary as i would love to read it!
btw 10pence the diary is excellent reading! pls type up the rest of the diary as i would love to read it!
No direct experience, but a know a guy who's a warden. He's a massive, 6ft 4inch Welsh semi-pro rugby player, who can clearly look after himself. I put the classic 'is it a holiday camp?' question to him once, and he said to me 'If I was going to be banged up for any length of time in any gaol I've worked in, I'd cry like a baby'...
that pretty much answered it for me!
that pretty much answered it for me!
I've heard Durham is one of the nastier places to end up, no idea how true that is though. Someone I know was there earlier this year before they got moved to Kirkham for the remainder of their sentence, he hated Durham and was much happier at Kirkham as it was closer to home and there were people he knew in there.
10p, write up the rest.
Much respect for your posts and for taking reposnsibility for the accidant. It seems to me that your own sense of remorse is perhaps a more effective punishment than prison could ever be.
I wonder if prison does make someone who perhaps feels little or no remorse feel more or if with such people it is simply about keeping them off the streets.
Much respect for the honesty shown on this thread.
FWIW, I spent 9 hours in a police cell but it is a rather dull story and ended with a personal apology from some top cop bloke. I do recall how weird it was being locked into a room and having to ask for so much as a drink of water. That feeling of helplessness was horrible. Obviously, it in no way copares with the experiances of some of the other posters and a few hours in a police cell is hardly the same as a stretch inside.
Much respect for your posts and for taking reposnsibility for the accidant. It seems to me that your own sense of remorse is perhaps a more effective punishment than prison could ever be.
I wonder if prison does make someone who perhaps feels little or no remorse feel more or if with such people it is simply about keeping them off the streets.
Much respect for the honesty shown on this thread.
FWIW, I spent 9 hours in a police cell but it is a rather dull story and ended with a personal apology from some top cop bloke. I do recall how weird it was being locked into a room and having to ask for so much as a drink of water. That feeling of helplessness was horrible. Obviously, it in no way copares with the experiances of some of the other posters and a few hours in a police cell is hardly the same as a stretch inside.
ELAN+2 said:
Think about all the wonderfull stuff you have experienced over the last 5 years..and stuff
Yeah but think of all the fun you have in prison!? You get your own place, free of charge, regular meals, meet lots of new people, free access to a gym everyday, HD projectors, pool tables, internet access.. all for nothing! It's a breeze these days, no wonder people don't care about breaking the law..Prison is not hard enough and IMO needs work in two areas, labour punishment or education to help give the majority of inmates who you will find are from a lower education level a sense of self worth.
Prison on remand is different from Prison sentenced,remand is lazy and mainly locked up for 23 hours with just an hour for exersize and a quick 'out and return' for meals with the odd cinema[set up on the floor of the wing],its not uncommon for some inmates to be on remand for more than a year whilst their cases are being prepared.
I cant speak for prison sentenced as i have never been there
Detention Centre was a whole different ball game altogether and a BIG wake up call,this worked on breaking down and building up a person,you were given a number,run every where or marched everywhere and put to work every minute of the day other than sleep at 8pm till 6am where upon you would have to jump out of bed and spring clean the dorm before quietly queing to march down to Breakfast where you would again sit quietly,if any one got above their station it was not uncommon to hear the door unlocked to the dorm at night and a lad to be dragged to the showers where he would be beaten in a cold shower....only saw that once in our Dorm[there were 3 Large spotless Dorms in total] and every body towed the line there after...some guy also got it for talking in the workshop,he was made to stand on his toes and if his heels touched the floor the screw would bash his ankles with a broom,he was the so called 'Lad',he was reduced to tears that day.
Even sundays had no let up and we would start the day with a kit inspection,if you did well and got full marks from the warden you got given a Mars bar but if you had the worst kit then your bed would be turned over and your kit strewn across the floor,screamed at and publically humiliated in front of the rest of the dorm.
Days were filled with Marching,Workshop and sport[Running and weight training]and by the time i came out i was the most confident self assured person i had ever been,looking back i should have gone in the Forces and continued with the discipline route.
Needless to say i am a strong supporter of National service to help instill more respect in society,ive seen it work.
Prison on remand is different from Prison sentenced,remand is lazy and mainly locked up for 23 hours with just an hour for exersize and a quick 'out and return' for meals with the odd cinema[set up on the floor of the wing],its not uncommon for some inmates to be on remand for more than a year whilst their cases are being prepared.
I cant speak for prison sentenced as i have never been there
Detention Centre was a whole different ball game altogether and a BIG wake up call,this worked on breaking down and building up a person,you were given a number,run every where or marched everywhere and put to work every minute of the day other than sleep at 8pm till 6am where upon you would have to jump out of bed and spring clean the dorm before quietly queing to march down to Breakfast where you would again sit quietly,if any one got above their station it was not uncommon to hear the door unlocked to the dorm at night and a lad to be dragged to the showers where he would be beaten in a cold shower....only saw that once in our Dorm[there were 3 Large spotless Dorms in total] and every body towed the line there after...some guy also got it for talking in the workshop,he was made to stand on his toes and if his heels touched the floor the screw would bash his ankles with a broom,he was the so called 'Lad',he was reduced to tears that day.
Even sundays had no let up and we would start the day with a kit inspection,if you did well and got full marks from the warden you got given a Mars bar but if you had the worst kit then your bed would be turned over and your kit strewn across the floor,screamed at and publically humiliated in front of the rest of the dorm.
Days were filled with Marching,Workshop and sport[Running and weight training]and by the time i came out i was the most confident self assured person i had ever been,looking back i should have gone in the Forces and continued with the discipline route.
Needless to say i am a strong supporter of National service to help instill more respect in society,ive seen it work.
Edited by ZR1cliff on Tuesday 25th September 12:40
TTwiggy said:
No direct experience, but a know a guy who's a warden. He's a massive, 6ft 4inch Welsh semi-pro rugby player, who can clearly look after himself. I put the classic 'is it a holiday camp?' question to him once, and he said to me 'If I was going to be banged up for any length of time in any gaol I've worked in, I'd cry like a baby'...
that pretty much answered it for me!
Think the major difference is that prison in its current state is an absolute deterrent for the already law abiding citizens who have made a mistake through bad judgement or lapse in some respect - i.e. 10 pence short.that pretty much answered it for me!
To the criminal aspect, (certainly those I have spoken to) it's just not a deterrent and seen as an easy life, a laugh.
Not sure on the way forward - it needs to be hell on earth for the repeat offender that sees it as an easy option in life, but to those who were unlikely to make the mistake again anyway, that's not exactly going to help.
The next day...(apologies if there are loads of typos, I'm trying to do 15 things at once today!)
Dans Prison Diary said:
Day two, Saturday 21st April.
I’m getting a visit today. It’s the first thought in my head and it stays with me until breakfast, 8.40am.
Breakfast? As much as I hate the cheeky cockney tw*tter, prison needs Jamie Oliver. It was supposed to be sausage, a plum tomato and scrambled egg. I would have been better off having shat on my plate. And that’s another thing, plates. You get one plastic plate, bowl, spoon, knife and fork. They’re yours, for the duration of your visit. I head down from the 3rd floor of a large Victorian prison wing, to the ground floor, where meals are handed out. Then it’s back up to your cell, with your meal, where you’re locked back in to eat. If you eat all of your food, it’s probably a miracle, or you’re a sadist. Anything left on your plate (likely), you can’t take it back or put it in the tiny bin in the cell. You cut it up into small pieces and flush it down the cell toilet. I bypass most of breakfast and put it straight down the toilet. A bit like being bulimic but without having to taste the food twice. How do you wash your now greasy plate and utensils? In the small cell sink, used also for washing yourself. No washing up liquid, just grease.
The ordeal of my first meal depresses me. Eating is one of my main pleasures, and the food I’ve just tried is borderline inedible. Apparently we don’t get breakfast on the weekdays, maybe that’s a blessing?
Breakfast out of the way and it’s back to remembering I have a visit soon. It’ll be very nearly 24 hours since I last saw Jilly, and in the circumstances, it’s been the hardest 24 hours of my life. 30 minutes feels like 30 hours, but eventually there’s a knock from an officer on the cell door, I’ve got a visit. A handful of us are led to the ground floor, where an officer walks us across the prison through numerous barred gates and locked doors, towards the visiting centre. It reminds me of sheep being moved through pens when they’re being dipped, but not enough that it allows me a smile about it. It’s strange, I’m about to see someone I’ve never been nervous of seeing in my entire life, but I feel apprehensive. When I see her am I going to laugh or burst into tears? Either could happen.
Prisoners from different wings are brought together in a waiting room just by the visiting centre, we’re all wearing the same dark blue jeans and blue striped short sleeved shirts. Some of them obviously know each other and take the opportunity to catch up about their cases and appeals and so on. Listening to them reminds me of Shawshank- no one’s guilty! After 30 minutes or so we’re led to a desk where we have to hand in anything in our pockets, where it’s noted in a book and signed for. We’re pat-down searched and then into the visiting room itself and sent to a numbered table already designated to you. None of the visitors are in yet. I walk over to table 25. It’s one of those tables on a metal frame, seats attached. 3 on one side, one on the other. Like a penal version of a Happy Eater kids table.
Last night I was given a small photocopied booklet by one of the officers, explaining the prison routine and how to organise visits. I brought it with me to the visit, hoping I could take it in to explain to Jilly how she’s going to be able to visit me in future. I had to ask one of the officers if it was OK to take it in with me. Luckily, after it was thoroughly inspected, they brought it over to the table for me. So much has happened I don’t think I could have remembered enough to have been clear, otherwise.
The room itself has about 40 low tables. At one end is our entrance/ exit, at the opposite end a high desk with a couple of officers behind it, viewing footage from the many CCTV cameras dotted throughout the room. Directly in front of me is a small tuck shop, manned by an old woman who looks like an escapee from lollipop lady school. More importantly right now, is the visitors entrance opposite me.
All the prisoners sat for about 10 minutes at their tables before the first visitors were allowed in. Each prisoner’s visitors come in one group at a time, report to a desk to confirm ID, then are allowed to go and sit with their loved one. Every time another group comes through the door I glance up in a kind of ‘I’m not looking’ way, waiting to see some faces I recognise.
As the room begins to fill, mainly with visitors who seem more than experienced with the routine, another idiosyncrasy of the prison system dawns on me. Half the tables and chairs in the room are moulded grey plastic, dour affairs and half are wooden and padded with nicely coloured cushioning. Then it dawns on me, the nice chairs and tables are being used by the remand prisoners, unconvicted, whereas the convicted ones are provided with the harsh ones. Having listened to some of them talking before the visit, I suspect quite a few of the inmates enjoying padded bottoms will soon enough get to sample the plastic seats.
The room’s almost full now, cons and remanders chatting away to their two or three guests like they’ve never been away. There seems to be a worrying amount of bottle blond perma-tanners in here. Like a lot of the prisoners they’re visiting, they also look like they should be locked up for robbing a branch of JJB Sports.
At last I see Jilly, Mum and Dad walk in. While they present their paperwork at the desk and look around I try not to make immediate eye contact. I still don’t know how I’ll react. They look just like I feel, nervous yet relieved to see each other at the same time. It might have only been 24 hours, but months of emotion have flown through us all, it’s written on our faces. We all get chance to briefly hug, then it’s me on one side of the table looking across at three shocked people. For the first time we all get to talk about the past 24 hours. I was well supported with friends and family at the sentencing, but despite constantly telling them I was going to go to prison, they were knocked for 6 when it was confirmed by Judge Batty. It really wells up inside as Jilly tells me how she was looked after by all our friends, and how many people have offered their help. Apparently the landlady at the local pub had got the champagne on ice, only for the potential party to turn into a wake. Well, I’m not dead yet. In the finest tradition everyone had got absolutely slaughtered, if only I could have joined them. Plenty of time for that in a few months, I suppose.
I do my best to explain the processes I’ve been through and still to go through, but until my induction begins proper on Monday, I’ve got more of my own questions than answers, there’s not a lot I can tell them about what’s going to happen in the next few weeks. How long will I spend in Durham? When will I find out my release date? Will I qualify for early release? I just don’t know. As we talk the feeling of stress lessens and lifts from our shoulders, but there’s something about being emotionally exposed that makes me feel uncomfortable. I can’t pretend all is well, on the other hand I can’t show them how upset I am, either. If I did we’d all end up in a teary mess.
Apparently before they were allowed into the visiting centre, they had to show ID, then they are walked to another room, where they can put their belongings into a locker. Before being allowed into the actual room, they had to stand on a line along the floor and be checked by a sniffer dog for drugs. Only then were they allowed to come into the room. Security is tight, and so it should be.
Dad manages about 4 minutes in the visit room before a b*llocking from one of the roaming officers. All drinks are served in lidded paper cups, with a straw sized opening on the top to drink through, to prevent visitors from passing drugs to inmates via their drinks. Dad removes his and within 30 seconds he’s reminded to put it back on or he can leave!
Jilly and I get a few minutes alone before the end of the visit. She is, of course, still very upset. I think the friends around us, being so good, have cushioned her heavy landing the day before. Like me, she likes to show a brave face, but I doubt either of us can or need to today. In what seems like an instant, the visiting time is over. In a reverse of the process this morning, we’re searched, led back to our wings and back to a day in the cell.
Uneventful describes the rest of the day. Two meals came and went, luckily they weren’t as bad as breakfast. Maybe I won’t starve to death. I would only have slight reservations about feeding someone else’s dog my lunch and dinner. When I went to collect dinner, a white board listed tomorrow’s meals with a number beside each. We have to choose tomorrows food the day before. Seems bizarre.
Thank the lord for snooker, the championship at the crucible has begun. Like watching Golf, snooker can remove vast chunks of time without you realising it, like a kind of baize time machine. With no books and only my writing pad for company, the TV is essential. Ironically, this evening ‘Porridge’ was on. Now I understand the meaning of black humour. It actually seems quite accurate, too.
Ah, while I remember, Saturdays you also get a ‘tea pack’. This is a bundle of tea bags, coffee and sugar sachets to last you until the next Saturday. I won’t be using mine, Mark [my padmate] can have it. He reminds me that anything in short supply has a currency value, so if it’s available for nowt, get it, and sell it!
My final moments of today are whiled away watching match of the day. Usually I’d catch matches live on the telly, well that’s how it happens in freedomland, but today I have to make do with watching Man Utd draw with Borough. Bugger. Let’s hope Chelsea cock up against Newcastle tomorrow. Being in Geordieland, I’m probably not alone.
I’m getting a visit today. It’s the first thought in my head and it stays with me until breakfast, 8.40am.
Breakfast? As much as I hate the cheeky cockney tw*tter, prison needs Jamie Oliver. It was supposed to be sausage, a plum tomato and scrambled egg. I would have been better off having shat on my plate. And that’s another thing, plates. You get one plastic plate, bowl, spoon, knife and fork. They’re yours, for the duration of your visit. I head down from the 3rd floor of a large Victorian prison wing, to the ground floor, where meals are handed out. Then it’s back up to your cell, with your meal, where you’re locked back in to eat. If you eat all of your food, it’s probably a miracle, or you’re a sadist. Anything left on your plate (likely), you can’t take it back or put it in the tiny bin in the cell. You cut it up into small pieces and flush it down the cell toilet. I bypass most of breakfast and put it straight down the toilet. A bit like being bulimic but without having to taste the food twice. How do you wash your now greasy plate and utensils? In the small cell sink, used also for washing yourself. No washing up liquid, just grease.
The ordeal of my first meal depresses me. Eating is one of my main pleasures, and the food I’ve just tried is borderline inedible. Apparently we don’t get breakfast on the weekdays, maybe that’s a blessing?
Breakfast out of the way and it’s back to remembering I have a visit soon. It’ll be very nearly 24 hours since I last saw Jilly, and in the circumstances, it’s been the hardest 24 hours of my life. 30 minutes feels like 30 hours, but eventually there’s a knock from an officer on the cell door, I’ve got a visit. A handful of us are led to the ground floor, where an officer walks us across the prison through numerous barred gates and locked doors, towards the visiting centre. It reminds me of sheep being moved through pens when they’re being dipped, but not enough that it allows me a smile about it. It’s strange, I’m about to see someone I’ve never been nervous of seeing in my entire life, but I feel apprehensive. When I see her am I going to laugh or burst into tears? Either could happen.
Prisoners from different wings are brought together in a waiting room just by the visiting centre, we’re all wearing the same dark blue jeans and blue striped short sleeved shirts. Some of them obviously know each other and take the opportunity to catch up about their cases and appeals and so on. Listening to them reminds me of Shawshank- no one’s guilty! After 30 minutes or so we’re led to a desk where we have to hand in anything in our pockets, where it’s noted in a book and signed for. We’re pat-down searched and then into the visiting room itself and sent to a numbered table already designated to you. None of the visitors are in yet. I walk over to table 25. It’s one of those tables on a metal frame, seats attached. 3 on one side, one on the other. Like a penal version of a Happy Eater kids table.
Last night I was given a small photocopied booklet by one of the officers, explaining the prison routine and how to organise visits. I brought it with me to the visit, hoping I could take it in to explain to Jilly how she’s going to be able to visit me in future. I had to ask one of the officers if it was OK to take it in with me. Luckily, after it was thoroughly inspected, they brought it over to the table for me. So much has happened I don’t think I could have remembered enough to have been clear, otherwise.
The room itself has about 40 low tables. At one end is our entrance/ exit, at the opposite end a high desk with a couple of officers behind it, viewing footage from the many CCTV cameras dotted throughout the room. Directly in front of me is a small tuck shop, manned by an old woman who looks like an escapee from lollipop lady school. More importantly right now, is the visitors entrance opposite me.
All the prisoners sat for about 10 minutes at their tables before the first visitors were allowed in. Each prisoner’s visitors come in one group at a time, report to a desk to confirm ID, then are allowed to go and sit with their loved one. Every time another group comes through the door I glance up in a kind of ‘I’m not looking’ way, waiting to see some faces I recognise.
As the room begins to fill, mainly with visitors who seem more than experienced with the routine, another idiosyncrasy of the prison system dawns on me. Half the tables and chairs in the room are moulded grey plastic, dour affairs and half are wooden and padded with nicely coloured cushioning. Then it dawns on me, the nice chairs and tables are being used by the remand prisoners, unconvicted, whereas the convicted ones are provided with the harsh ones. Having listened to some of them talking before the visit, I suspect quite a few of the inmates enjoying padded bottoms will soon enough get to sample the plastic seats.
The room’s almost full now, cons and remanders chatting away to their two or three guests like they’ve never been away. There seems to be a worrying amount of bottle blond perma-tanners in here. Like a lot of the prisoners they’re visiting, they also look like they should be locked up for robbing a branch of JJB Sports.
At last I see Jilly, Mum and Dad walk in. While they present their paperwork at the desk and look around I try not to make immediate eye contact. I still don’t know how I’ll react. They look just like I feel, nervous yet relieved to see each other at the same time. It might have only been 24 hours, but months of emotion have flown through us all, it’s written on our faces. We all get chance to briefly hug, then it’s me on one side of the table looking across at three shocked people. For the first time we all get to talk about the past 24 hours. I was well supported with friends and family at the sentencing, but despite constantly telling them I was going to go to prison, they were knocked for 6 when it was confirmed by Judge Batty. It really wells up inside as Jilly tells me how she was looked after by all our friends, and how many people have offered their help. Apparently the landlady at the local pub had got the champagne on ice, only for the potential party to turn into a wake. Well, I’m not dead yet. In the finest tradition everyone had got absolutely slaughtered, if only I could have joined them. Plenty of time for that in a few months, I suppose.
I do my best to explain the processes I’ve been through and still to go through, but until my induction begins proper on Monday, I’ve got more of my own questions than answers, there’s not a lot I can tell them about what’s going to happen in the next few weeks. How long will I spend in Durham? When will I find out my release date? Will I qualify for early release? I just don’t know. As we talk the feeling of stress lessens and lifts from our shoulders, but there’s something about being emotionally exposed that makes me feel uncomfortable. I can’t pretend all is well, on the other hand I can’t show them how upset I am, either. If I did we’d all end up in a teary mess.
Apparently before they were allowed into the visiting centre, they had to show ID, then they are walked to another room, where they can put their belongings into a locker. Before being allowed into the actual room, they had to stand on a line along the floor and be checked by a sniffer dog for drugs. Only then were they allowed to come into the room. Security is tight, and so it should be.
Dad manages about 4 minutes in the visit room before a b*llocking from one of the roaming officers. All drinks are served in lidded paper cups, with a straw sized opening on the top to drink through, to prevent visitors from passing drugs to inmates via their drinks. Dad removes his and within 30 seconds he’s reminded to put it back on or he can leave!
Jilly and I get a few minutes alone before the end of the visit. She is, of course, still very upset. I think the friends around us, being so good, have cushioned her heavy landing the day before. Like me, she likes to show a brave face, but I doubt either of us can or need to today. In what seems like an instant, the visiting time is over. In a reverse of the process this morning, we’re searched, led back to our wings and back to a day in the cell.
Uneventful describes the rest of the day. Two meals came and went, luckily they weren’t as bad as breakfast. Maybe I won’t starve to death. I would only have slight reservations about feeding someone else’s dog my lunch and dinner. When I went to collect dinner, a white board listed tomorrow’s meals with a number beside each. We have to choose tomorrows food the day before. Seems bizarre.
Thank the lord for snooker, the championship at the crucible has begun. Like watching Golf, snooker can remove vast chunks of time without you realising it, like a kind of baize time machine. With no books and only my writing pad for company, the TV is essential. Ironically, this evening ‘Porridge’ was on. Now I understand the meaning of black humour. It actually seems quite accurate, too.
Ah, while I remember, Saturdays you also get a ‘tea pack’. This is a bundle of tea bags, coffee and sugar sachets to last you until the next Saturday. I won’t be using mine, Mark [my padmate] can have it. He reminds me that anything in short supply has a currency value, so if it’s available for nowt, get it, and sell it!
My final moments of today are whiled away watching match of the day. Usually I’d catch matches live on the telly, well that’s how it happens in freedomland, but today I have to make do with watching Man Utd draw with Borough. Bugger. Let’s hope Chelsea cock up against Newcastle tomorrow. Being in Geordieland, I’m probably not alone.
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