Purgatory (A Prison Diary 2)

DAY 35 - WEDNESDAY 22 AUGUST 2001

6.04 am

Wake. Fantasize about the possibility of a single cell. Write for two hours.

8.15 am

Breakfast Cornflakes and one slice of toast. Dale is missing from behind the hotplate.

10.00 am

I spot Dale in the corridor. He tells me he’s resigned from his job at the hotplate. He’s sick of getting up thirty minutes before the rest of us just to be abused by inmates who never feel their serve of chips is large enough.

I see my name is chalked up on the blackboard outside the office to report to the SO, Mr Meanwell. I go straight to the e. He has a registered letter for me, and slits it open. He a two-sided typed missive which he hands over, but ; no interest in reading. While he checks inside the envel-I for drugs, money, even stamps, I begin to read the letter, and after only a paragraph, pass it back to Mr Meanwell. When he peruses it, a look of disbelief comes over his face. The writer wants to borrow PS10,000 to invest in ‘an impossible to lose deal’ and he’s willing to split the profits fifty-fifty.

‘How often do you get one of these?’ he asks.

Two or three times a week,’ I confess, ‘asking for sums for as little as fifty pounds right up to a million for yet another ‘impossible to lose deal’.’

‘By the way,’ he says as he hands me the empty envelope, ‘you may be moving today.’ By the way, by the way, by the way - so casual for him, so important to me. ‘One of the chaps on the enhanced spur is being transferred to a prison nearer his home and we’re allocating his cell to an inmate who will take over his responsibilities as cleaner. Once that’s been sorted out, - Mr Meanwell is old enough still to include the word ‘out’ - ‘we’ll move you into his cell. I did think of sending you straight to the enhanced spur,’ he admits, ‘but there were two reasons not to. First, the spur needs a cleaner and you wouldn’t be my first choice for that particular job, and second, I want you on the quieter side where it’s not possible for other prisoners to peer through your window during exercise.’

Once I leave Mr Meanwell, I go in search of David (whisky bootlegger and spur cleaner). I find him attached to the industrial cleaner whirring around the floor of the induction corridor. He invites me along to his present cell on the first floor which, compared to my one up, one down on the induction wing, is the difference between Fawlty Towers and the Ritz.

11.00 am

Exercise. During the first circuit I’m asked by Chris (burglary) if I’ll sponsor him for a half marathon in aid of the NSPCC. I agree to PS1 a mile, as long as it comes out of my private finances and not my canteen account. Otherwise I’ll be without food and bottled water for several weeks. He assures me that the authorities will allow that, so I sign up. He sticks with us for half a circuit, by which time I’ve learnt that he’s the type of burglar our probation officer, Lisa Dada, so despises. He’s twenty-seven years old and has spent eight of the last ten years in jail. He simply considers burglary a way of life. In fact, his parting words are, ‘I’m out in six weeks’ time, Jeff, but don’t worry, your house is safe.’ I realize those of you who have never been to jail may find this strange, but I now feel more sympathy for some of the murderers in Belmarsh than I do for professional burglars.

It was sometime later that I began to ponder on how he could run thirteen miles without occupying half the local constabulary to make sure he didn’t escape. I’ll ask him tomorrow.

Jason (conspiracy to blackmail) joins us on the second circuit and congratulates me on being moved to a single cell.

‘It hasn’t happened yet,’ I remind him.

‘No, but it will this afternoon.’

Prison has many similarities to the outside world. One is that you quickly discover who actually knows what’s going on and who only picks up fag ends. Jason knows exactly what’s happening.

‘Of course, if you want to,’ Jason adds, ‘you can always get yourself transferred to another prison.’

‘And how would I manage that?’

‘Write yourself a note and drop it in the complaints box. You don’t even have to sign it. It’s known as ‘the grass box’.’

‘And what would I have to suggest?’

‘Archer is offering me drugs and I can’t resist much longer, or Archer is bullying me and I’m near breaking point. If they believe it, you’d be transferred the same day. In fact your feet wouldn’t even touch the ground.’

12 noon

Lunch. The hotplate seems empty without the massive frame of Dale dominating proceedings. It looks as if Sergio has been promoted to No. 1 in his place, because he now stands next to the duty officer and hands out the dishes according to whether you’re one, two, three (vegetarian) or four.

Three,’ Sergio says, without even glancing at the list, and then carefully selects my dish. The transfer of power has in no way affected me.

1.45 pm

Gym. The treadmill is working again so I’m almost able to carry out a full programme. With the new medicine ball exercise I’m up to fifteen, with a one-minute break, but after a further nine I’m exhausted and grateful when Mr Maiden blows the five-minute whistle so I can warm down. As we leave, everyone else picks up their assigned gym card before disappearing back to their cells. I no longer have a gym card. It’s been stolen every day since I arrived, and the management have given up bothering to-issue me with a new one.

3.30 pm