Lazy (Every Day) Afternoon

31 Mar

As I did yesterday, I spend my afternoon reading the papers in the library. I take a copy of an english paper to skim through, before loaning the french language paper, ‘Figaro’. Sat there with a pad of paper, a pen and a franglais dictionary, I practise my french reading skills. I’m likely to still be reading yesterday’s paper the day I’m released, the pace at which I’m crawling with this task. It’s a chore that makes me feel my time is of some use to me for the future.

I remember at Uni I changed courses. I spent the year doing very little indeed, beyond melting days in a purple haze, sat on an inflatable arm-chair playing on an X-Box. I looked back some years ago, angry at such a wasteful attitude to a year of my youth. I swore I’d never waste a year of my life again. If I have to spend a year in prison then by hook or by crook, it won’t be without some benefit to me.

(This Blog is sponsored by The Gregg’s – Hot Cornish Pasty for Free Foundation: T.G.H.C.P.F.F.F.)

The prison library is open of an evening and for a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon. Nicely bridging the gap between lunch and Radio 5-Live’s football commentary. I’ll say now: when there is no football on a Saturday, the day drags something awful.

I am beginning to see the draw in a quiet haven. It’s missing in prison, certainly in open places like Ford. You can’t walk ten paces without hearing someone hack up their throat or spit. People who can’t control the volume of their voices or lack consideration for others. I can see it spooning me out, I’ve been here a few days only and I’m struggling to cope with my cellmate and the constant disturbance. Tuna tin in a sock is a little beyond my mental state, maybe a soft-boiled egg in a glove would get my point across.

I sense I’ll snap soon

I do

I snap

No tuna tins in socks, no soft-boiled eggs and no gloves. I’m much more diplomatic:

“When I’m writing, if you don’t mind awfully, can you shut the F*** up”. This is what I should have said.

I went with the far weaker:

“I’m off to the library!”

I’ll put in an app to move, or have him moved come monday. Constant inane questions and then every comment I make leads him back to a tale from his past. A story that while he feels is related AND relevant, I assure you now reader, they are neither. They are trivial, deathly boring and I imagine his face decomposing as he begins his vocal meanderings. Interspersed with belches, snorts, sniffs, farts and loud scratching. He is the very antithesis of me, this is an effective punishment.

I’m thankful for headphones, although I don’t have my radio yet. Every electrical item here is PAT Tested, to confirm it isn’t going to erupt in the user’s face or assassinate anyone. Mine’s brand new, they even took it out of its sealed box to test it! I brought a small battery radio job too, I put anything I can receive on and shut myself inside my head as I write. In  the corner of my eye, I detect a flicker of movement, a mouth uttering silence, attempting a one way conversation that hasn’t run out of steam.

I get it

He isn’t waiting for a response, he does this on his own too.

Crud

 

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