Heaven (A Prison Diary 3)
5.00 pm
At tea I felt I had to chastise Jean-Noel for getting his priorities wrong and letting the team down. After all, surely the match was more important than seeing his girlfriend, and in any case, how could he forget that she was coming? He laughed, and explained that they’d had a row during the week, and she told him she wouldn’t be turning up. She did, and we lost.
6.00 pm
Another pile of letters awaits me in the hospital, including a long handwritten missive from John Major, who among other things mentions that he’s heard that I’m writing a prison diary. He suggests that reporting the facts will be both interesting and informative, but he also wants to hear about my personal feelings on the issues and the people involved. He adds that he’s not surprised that the public have been so supportive; he says he got far more sympathy and backing when he lost an election than when he won one.
DAY 193
SUNDAY 27 JANUARY 2002
4.00 pm
The members of Club Hospital meet for tea and biscuits. However, as Brian (ostrich farm), Keith (knowingly, etc.) and John (fraud) were released this week, and David (fraud) and Malcolm (fraud) are on town leave, our little band of miscreants has dwindled to five. We discuss whether we should ask anyone else to join the club, as if we were all attending a Conservative committee meeting; and let’s face it the Conservative party seem to be suffering from a similar problem. Some of them have been released, and several more are on temporary leave. But just like prison, one must wonder just how many will in time return.
6.00 pm
I spend a quiet evening reading and bringing the diary up to date.
DAY 194
MONDAY 28 JANUARY 2002
12.45 am
The duty night officer wakes me and asks for an ice pack. I take one out of the fridge and ask if he needs any help.
‘No,’ he says without explanation, and dashes off.
2.15 am
The same officer wakes me again when he returns accompanied by a prisoner called Davis who has a large swelling on his forehead and cuts over his face. Mr Hayes explains that the inmate has been in a fight, and the window in his door has shattered, leaving glass all over the floor. The prisoner can’t remain in his room, because if he were to be injured by a piece of broken glass he could sue the Prison Service for negligence (can you believe it?).
While we make up his bed Davis tells me that the other prisoner involved in the fight was his cell-mate Smith (one of eleven Smiths currently at NSC), who has now been moved to the south block. They have shared a pad for eight months, a sort of forced marriage. Smith, who works in education, often needs to borrow cigarettes. Davis got sick of this and refused to hand over his tobacco, so Smith took a swipe at him. Davis claims he didn’t retaliate, as he’d recently been up on a charge of taking marijuana and didn’t need to be ‘nicked’ again. Once Smith had calmed down, Davis decided to leave the room. As he o
pened the door, Smith picked up a table leg that had broken off during the fight, and took a swipe at Davis – hence the shattered glass and the cuts and bruises.
It doesn’t add up, and I feel sure Davis will have refined his story by the time he comes up in front of the governor. Mind you, I’d like to hear Smith’s version of what took place.
9.00 am
Both prisoners involved in last night’s fracas have to be passed as fit before they come up for adjudication at ten o’clock. They sit chatting to each other like bosom buddies in the corner of the waiting room.
12 noon
Over lunch I learn that the two fighting inmates have both had a fortnight’s wages deducted from their pay packets to cover the damage they caused to the furniture and the broken window in their room. They also have had seven days added to their sentence. This is significant for Smith, because he was due to be released in two weeks’ time. I’m told the reason they didn’t get a tougher punishment was because both apologized to the governor and then to each other. They left almost holding hands.
7.00 pm
I go off to the canteen to buy some Oxo cubes, Evian water, two phonecards and a tin of Princes ham. No chocolate.
Mr Blackman (the officer on duty) asks me if I want a Valentine card and produces a large selection for me to consider. They are all about a foot high in size and contain some of the worst rhyming couplets I have ever come across; more interesting is that there are just as many cards for men as for women. I obviously don’t mask my surprise because Mr Blackman sighs and says, ‘If I didn’t supply them in equal numbers, I’d be accused of discrimination.’
DAY 195
TUESDAY 29 JANUARY 2002
9.00 am