Day 35

10 Apr

My canteen sheet’s gone in, I order:

– A fivers phone credit

– Fruit and Nut Euro Shopper Chocolate

– Nivea Creme

– Maxwell House

– Economy Tune Flakes (Sounds appetising) x 6

– Diet Lemonade x 4

– Peanut Butter Smooth

– Dates (I can eat these by the skipfull)

– Pitta bread

– 1 Tub of Marvel

The latter makes a good cheap substitute for protein replacement drinks whilst you’re in prison. The protein powder they do sell, equates to £1+ per drink and the quality is poor. Nor is it flavoured. Online the same money would get you vastly more, that though the benefit of a free market economy. Ours is a closed shop and sees grand profits made by the friendliest tender.

I fancy some diet coke but the amount I drink of this stuff would require an awful larger budget than I currently have.

A Wing and B Wing are playing football in the late afternoon on an old external pitch. Outside of the prison gates but on Her Majesty’s land, the headache involved in guarding these events means they are sadly a rarity. Prison inmates are dotted along the perimeter of the field,  held back by high wire topped fencing. Securely guarding an otherwise unmonitored footpath to town. Before the fences were installed here, a now legendary hole in the face was used by some to take orders and earn an income at Ford providing a mail order service. These days have ceased but there are still the usual ‘Classic’ methods to bring contraband inside; just perhaps not a KFC or large tube of Pringle’s.

Day 35…

I wake with a start at 5 am.

I see a torch beam tearing through the darkness… tearing through the darkness on a route to me.

The sensation of minute blood vessels bursting in my eyes, the evening guards do their rounds and perform the ‘Silent Roll Check’. It’s kind of them to do it in such a considerate manner. The torchlight holds its position for longer than is necessary and always until the point of reaction from a resting inmate. Now I’m awake, I inevitably need to wee and make getting back to sleep that little tougher. The sinus sounds of a sleeping Walrus resonate from the room as I tread the darkened corridor to the bathroom.

As I stand there relieving myself, I pinch my chest.

Just to check

Don’t want this to be a dream

The Real Morning

I’m up again just before 8 and eat the cooked breakfast laid on. As last week, I get some warm food down me and with a book in hand, join the waiting queue to use the gym. Again I can’t switch off to the shameful, regularly incongruous acts of boasting taking place. Retarded peacocks, posturing for acclaim.

Once I’m done I head straight to the property reception. Yesterday I’d been told my Radio would be done by today. I have a kick in my step, it’s saturday, I can listen to Digital Sports and listen to the footy live. I’ll have my radio now please.

Ten minutes later and I am walking through the unseasonably wet weather, badly attired and still damp in sweat from the gym; cold and wearing a forlorn facial expression.

My radio is absent from my grasp.

The afternoon is spent in the library catching up on the tabloids and destroying a packet of custard creams that came in my weekly breakfast pack. Which part of the weekly breakfast, custard creams are meant to occupy I am not completely sure: I shall not grumble however.

I count down the hours until I see my family for the first time tomorrow.



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