The end of another week…

29 Apr

I have my ‘taxpayer’s breakfast’ as George calls it and do the usual standing/waiting routine to exercise. I am 9th of 35 in the queue. By the time the door opens I feature further down the gym session’s running order. I wind up with two pony 7.5kg dumb-bells and spend the next 1/3 of the gym session, devising a circuit to satiate my activity demands for the remainder of my alloted period.

My legs still end up aching as the session draws to a close; job done.

Spence is one of the prison’s top arrows guys. He’s chucked darts for county level and he is out and about today trying to win us some chocolate in a weekly round robin. I watch Jenson Button win the Hungarian Grand Prix as I wait for my uni-pal Nick to swing by. Anticipating he wouldn’t be able to get here till halfway through the visit session due to another engagement, it was magic to find out he’s here already.

Another hour with a person of your choice, surrounded by such little opportunity for personal decisions – this is bliss.

Nick, as eager to know more about the secrets of life this side of the fence, he asks me the usual questions. I leave him in no doubt that:

I’m not someone’s bitch;

I haven’t dropped the soap; and

We don’t get drunk eating take-aways over Sky Sports.

Chance would be a fine thing – I mean the latter obviously!

Day 50

Mini Milestone! 50 Days, a half century; my next target is in 10 more: Two Monther! I’d be lying if I say I don’t constantly count down my sentence in my head. Life is nothing but a haze of milestones you set for yourself to help you break your time down. Some count down to canteen days, other’ see their sentence as a number of visits to count down until you’re out.


I count any and everything, if you can have more than one of them; then I’ve counted it. It drives me and likely those around me, bananas. Writing a diary only serves to remind me of how many days to go. At the moment I’m still counting up the days, quite a while till I can count them down.

My afternoon allows me time to sit at a desk in the education department and write home, while learning a little spanish. Rocking up to the ed block with a couple of writing pads and pens in hand, felt a decent way to do my bird.

The late afternoon of a Ford Summer is characterised by the lazy heat, the stifled meanderings and an absence of urgency, beyond making one’s way down to the dinner hall. Men with little better to do than walk slowly to no determinable point.

Why? Because they can.

After a session in the gym their is a prospectus from the Open University that I’d requested. I put it to one side and walk a few laps with my Wandsworth comrade.

I find out that he competed in the ’98 Commonwealth Games and is a big fan of Astrology

Interesting chap. 🙂


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