6 Apr

I oversleep, I turn up late for my class after being unable to sleep for the lion’s share of the night, nothing happens.

No discipline… and to think I was a little nervous walking over.

An orchestra of nasal and mucus sounds in the wee hours, had left me only able to finally rest, as the morning arrived.

If you want to use the gym during the education session in the evening, I have to first put my name down on a gym list over in the main education block. The list fills up fast with many trying to sneak into an additional gym session, in the hope the list is not checked accurately.  I get my name down before I’d walked across to my morning’s learning, via a public road. A car or two slow down as the lights change to red. I saunter across, marked out to the viewing public, in my green cargo trousers and grey prison issue jumper. A middle-aged chap, a passenger in a small hatchback stares at me as I cross his field of view. He raises a finger and remarks something indeterminable in my direction. He smirks as he nudges his female driving companion. Emboldened the moment the light turned green; silent before.

Ostracized as I serve my punishment, “Nice”, par for the course I guess. I’m sure he is an infinitely better person than I. Although our views differ somewhat on judging people before knowing them. I wonder if he gives people a chance at redemption once they’ve served their time?

My mum’s list of items comes via email and bless her, I’ve told her a dozen times no food; but she’s still intending to bring in coffee and peanut butter. The influx of drugs in prison means little home comforts once allowed, are now no longer permitted. My mum thinks, just one jar of each shouldn’t matter.

No, it shouldn’t.

But ‘If in doubt, panic’ imposed prison ideology, means it does.

One jar of each will be going right back home to Essex.

My digital radio still hasn’t been approved by the property office as safe following a ‘PAT’ test. A simple electrical appliance test that takes less than 30seconds. Think little green pass labels on the back of your computer at work. It is unsurprising therefore that a jar of peanut butter would incur far more difficulty and as such is contraband. I’m a crunchy fan and we only have smooth on the prison shop list.

Conspiracy theorists here say the contraband on food is perhaps more to do with directing revenue into the prison linked retailer: DHL/Aramark. I’ve heard more than once that Governor’s can earn an annual bonus dependent on the prison’s income through its canteen system. If it’s true, there must be questions over whether there is a conflict of interest here; it would be easy to aid your chances of an annual bonus.

I’ve gone off topic here, I just want my radio. Being out in the country, we struggle to pick up certain stations, digital would mean I can hear Radio 1 again and most importantly shut out the noise of Delroy.



One Response to “Pah”

  1. mydadisaconvict April 7, 2012 at 10:53 pm #

    People constantly judge others wrong on first impressions.
    People judge others by what they have done…
    But judge themselves by what they’re capable of.

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