Cat News – Not Feline related

14 Mar

The smiling cellmate, raised his issue of categorisation with the team in the office earlier. When it was spotted he was still unclassified after 4 weeks, a wave of embarrassment took over, he gets an apology and a gee up with the guarantee that they would process his now. All being well he can look forward to a seat on an as yet unfilled coach to Ford Open Prison next week. A quick D-Cat could see us both be leaving for pastures new and improved; we shall see.

On his way back to the cell, the fella escorting him is a Mr Disdayne, This is ‘THE’ man behind categorisation here – the go to guy. Capo di tutti capi (Boss of Bosses). Maybe i’m getting a little carried away here, it’s just nice to speak to someone who can actually make a positive difference to your life here. For me too its nice, even to be once removed from the situation, I feel like control has been exercised onto my life. George gives across my prison number: A2292CE and my name. I’m told the matter will be remedied.

As he parts company with George, he asks him how one gets to see the categorisation office usually.

“Oh, just put in an app”

He is off before George can express in no uncertain terms, how fruitful that endeavour would be.

With nothing better to do here than write and dream, it makes for no bad subject matter.

Day 20

Nope, still not categorised.

I’ve finished a great book I brought in with me, I’m at a loose end. I decide to work out roughly how many inmates are as yet uncategorised, working on the basis that there has been no work done on this for at least 4 weeks, considering George’s situation. We come to a figure of more than 100.

It’s 200 prisoners here, that Wandsworth’s bosses and underlings have no idea how dangerous or otherwise these chaps are. This is a workplace to a good many civilians here beside Screws. Stats like that scream, ‘Pending Tragedy Headline’.

It’s kit change day again, so like obedient inmates we offer our services Kitman Mark; in the meantime we have closed our cell doors incase we are gifted with a visit from a thief in our absence. The rest of the landing is on social and domestic (‘S&D’s) and you’d be crazy to think someone won’t chance it. We come back to the locked cell after doing something useful for the wing in general, only to meet with flat refusal to open our door by a Mr Lee. This is an individual who doesn’t seem to notice the efforts his peers put in, with regard to smartness and turn-out. The pink bespectacled, pony-tail sporting cretin obtusely turns his back and walks off. He’s feet from our cell door and we have extended him a good deal more courtesy in one sentence than he gets most of the week. At least he’s consistent in his manner to all.

As he walks away, George follows behind him.

“Sorry, that was just a mumble. What exactly do you mean by walking away after a request has been made…?” George sternly remarks something of this order, he’s met with silence further and more sight of Mr Lee’s back. From this point on I wish to refer to Mr. Lee as ‘The Wise and Trusted’, I shall abbreviate this to T.W.A.T, or just twat. Twat finally relents to a barrage of verbal pressure and a man a foot higher and a foot wider following him around:

“Ask an officer on your own landing, this conversation is finished!”

Ignorant perhaps to how this sounds to man who followed you from the point when you were on his landing and in fact, outside his cell door; he marches into the landing office before slamming the door. In creating this barrier between he and George, he also shuts out the half-dozen or so various inmates, queuing outside on their own journeys of wisdom. It will be a fruitless wait for an answer.

Inside his island calm, his oasis in the desert, shelter in the storm, Twat removes his wallet from his pocket and having switched on the internet begins to transfer details from an item in the card holder, into an entry field in the computer. There are no prizes for guessing what he may be doing here, and whether internet shopping is business or pleasure. There’s a gang of lads, each with a head full of concerns and the man being paid to provide the guidance that’s missing,  is ignoring them to shop online. George takes matters into his own hands. Always happy to help the willing, he deals with all the queries and dispatches them on their way.

Having gone beyond the remit of the role of a wing cleaner; George feels he has earnt himself an audience with Twat.

He bangs on the office door and the screw rises from his seat……



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