First Post

20 Feb

David Haye is boxing Wladimir Klitschko in a weeks time and normally I’d be round a pal’s house watching it stuck in the middle of a evening’s debauchery, abusing my liver and my brain. Not this time, they’ll be just around the corner but I’ll make do with a radio.

The radio that I’m still without my plug to power.

I visit a prison officer on the landing during association and ask for permission to access my property. He tells me to fill in an ‘App’. I ask about going on the gym induction after missing mine recently, he tells me to fill in an app.

I fill them in and submit them, I can’t help but think I heard a shredder go off as the forms touched the prison officer’s hands.

I inwardly pray that I’ve put this request in, in sufficient time to be able to grab my radio adaptor and enjoy the big fight commentary.

I mentioned a lad I palmed off a day or two ago, one that reminded me of a scruffy Cityboy. I got a chance to speak to him today. His name’s Terry*, he’s clearly a little off the rails but a sweet enough kid. Wearing the same winklepickers he got nicked in

My intuition was bang on, I’ve trained a ton of lads like him. He worked for the same sorry business that began my ill-fated City career, working for a sharp suited fella by the name of John Gaskin, former floor boss of Halewood International Futures. It was here I got my first chance in financial sales. I was a coupon boy working on a busy floor of brokers, generating warm leads as they knocked out all sorts of yarns on the next big thing.

(*Name Changed)

Back then, I didn’t have a clue about stocks and shares beyond what I’d overheard from my father’s own dealings; but I didn’t need knowledge, just a good work ethic and a hunger. The bosses of these hard sell brokerages would do the rest. They take a hungry, tenacious kid, offer them the world and exploit that desire. I and others like me, never knew what we were truly letting ourselves in for as we battled daily to impress those who’d ‘Gone out on a limb’ for us. Terry and I had a bit in common, like old veterans, we exchanged stories.

Halewood would later rebrand itself to become Square Mile Securities, a ploy to win more punters but by this time I was long gone, to somewhere I thought far more reputable.

It, like many of it’s peer firms lost it’s license and was shut down by the Regulator. Tel had just finished flogging land for another delightful mob; an unregulated haven for banned or unqualified stockbrokers (I won’t be joining them) and was now in the process of setting up a Carbon trading firm. His aspirations obviously dented a little while he serves his time (14 Weeks) but not his desire to see through another ‘Get-rich quick’ scheme.

Meeting someone you share a common thread with is a nice deviation from prison monotony, even an outing to another wing, or a visit to an office to speak to a screw IS an event. Days can drag and a little of the unexpected helps them tick along.

I hear people call prison’s: ‘Holiday camps’, they must have had some horror show holidays: bunking up with rapists and killers, I definitely wouldn’t want to go to one like this.

I write another letter to R, I keep it up every day; I’m getting down at having heard nothing back as yet. I don’t doubt for a second she will write.

Dad’s told me Mum and her speak, but its all second hand information and it reminds me of how much of this we’ll have to soldier.

Dinner is Cornish pastie, chips and beans; its junk but knowing I don’t eat this stuff on the outside, I secretly enjoy feeding the little pig within. The water has been off all day, the toilet doesn’t flush, moan, moan… a sound distracts me.

Post! 🙂


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