Mean Machine

13 Apr

The fella on my course who has a duvet for me goes by the name of ‘Brother Boy’. He’s an English Traveller with a run of the mill name too, but I won’t use that here as I appreciate the discretion they seek. I’ve not met a lot of Travellers and Gypsies in my life, I’ve doubled the figure while I’ve been inside. They are nothing as I expect and certainly not like those portrayed on our tv’s:

Big Fat Gypsy Weddings stretches reality a little it seems.

Prisoner to Prisoner money transfers aren’t allowed through the fear such facilities could encourage bullying. So I can pay this guy for his duvet, we do the old routine of having an outside loved one sending a postal order or cheque into the other lag’s prison money account. When I’ve heard from home the PO is on it’s way, I dash over to my trading partner’s billet after first handling prison dinner (Rubber burger, mountain of chips and rice pudding) and give him the heads up. I leave his cell with a handful of drawing pins, I can use to adorn my room in a more efficient manner, photographically speaking. He’s spent the last week making picture frames and heading off to a new prison he hands out his tacks to me.

Saved bits of sellotape or prison issue toothpaste stick to a limited selection of backing surfaces. Having seen Tom’s notice board, lovingly put together and covered neatly in pictures of his girlfriend; I try to replicate his technique.

Day 38

“Mean Machine” eat your heart out, today is a cricket version at Ford Prison. Prisoners V. Screws.

The match is scheduled for 6pm, although as I write this the weather suggests we may need to keep the covers on. I should be downbeat about this likely missed entertainment; I am however going to miss my own gym session (Cancelled) as the PE Screws will be stood at the crease instead. Having plowed my way through the Lion’s share (Lion bar included) of my canteen collection, I could do with visiting the gym today to burn off some calories. I decide now would be as good time as any then to get cracking with my newly acquired skipping rope.

The rope is too short. Plans scuppered, I scour the workshop for a piece of pull cord or rope to extend the length of my jump-rope. Courtesy of a light fingered buddy in the Travis Perkins workshop, I gain a piece of rope used to start a diesel motor. My Frankenstein skipping rope is complete.


Part 2 of a Hepatitis B Jab today I have signed up for. I was asked on arrival if I’d like the vaccine, given the variety of disease rife in the prison system, I thought it might be a good idea. Vaccines are like a minor superpower I guess. I am impervious to Hepatitis B. If an evil dictator decides to use that disease as a means of a biological attack, I can sit safe in the knowledge, I am INVINCIBLE.

Back to the jab:

Different nurse

Different arm

Distinctly less comfortable sensation

I hear later that this particular nurse has a reputation for making a meal out of routine injections. I’m pleased I hear after.

I sit around waiting to hear if the cricket is on. Spiked cricket balls and flying bats… or is this just the stuff of my bored fantasy.


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