55/56

6 May

Uneventful, gyming, jogging, greasy breakfasting and quizzing.

After last week’s disappointing team collaboration coloured by the poor conversation, George and I decide it would be better to die bravely than wilt slowly. A coxless pair it would be:

“Up two places to joint 3rd” was born. A name picked with the fundamental component of being confusing. As it turns out we score 35 out of 65, over half marks; placing us 9th out of 12th. With all the other teams numbering 5 team members, we requiring only 14 points to win; were in fact pound for pound danger men. I and George will set about recruiting new members this week. We shall build a team capable of winning. In fact if new members can add only 5 extra points each, we will be untouchable.

We fancy ourselves as serious ‘Quizee’ contenders.

After the quiz, I and Spence watch an Eddie Murphy movie and look forward to tomorrow’s visit from my family.

Day 56

A day no dissimilar to any other day on a weekend, coloured by the excitement of seeing my folks.

The weather cleared up in time for the 2pm visit, meaning we could sit outside albeit at the mercy of a committed wasp. I spotted my father’s aviator sunglasses peeking out his shirt breast pocket and seize the opportunity to put them on. I would do the same on the outside too. While it might have been only a little sunny, my desire to adorn myself with this visual protection was more out of the lust to whack on something that I wouldn’t generally get the opportunity to here. I pop them in my Dad’ top pocket, before he takes them out and motions for me to keep them on. I’m confident the screws won’t clock my new acquisition and I’m equally confident that this is a level of danger I’m willing to take on, however I really can’t justify the space a surprisingly awkward to store item requires. For something so small without a case, glasses are very ‘Space Selfish’ don’t you find?

Sunday Lunch is the usual Roast Chicken ‘Left’ Leg, with an added bonus; stuffing is in the buffet – the help yourself section.

No Longer am I forced to accept meagre rations – one stuffing slice apiece. Like a glutton, I pack my tupperware box with potatoes and stuffing, even a helping of gravy makes its way into the confines of the plasticy haven.

Alas, dark clouds converge to scupper my moment of glory. I’m doomed before I’ve begun, no roasted sandwich tonight, a screw stands on guard at the entrance of the dining hall. He foils my plans and I’m stood over the bin emptying what I’d hoped I could liberate from lunch. It seems after a high volume of food poisoning complaints, the prison takes seriously the issue of food/dining hall liberation.

It’s funny that this Screw has only appeared in conjunction with the free-for-all paxo. It will come to pass, that only on ‘every man for himself stuffing’ days,  a screw will be on the exit door. It’s a fruitless attempt to stifle poisoning complaints from inmates taking food away from the canteen. We aren’t allowed to remove warm food from the dining hall, although this rule ignores the massive contradiction that Jacket Potatoes or toasted sandwiches can be brought back to the cell. It’s funny that HM Prison Service cares given that we are forced to eat out of oversized public toilets in Bang-Up jails.

Joanna Lumley gatecrashes my Sunday evening viewing, chronicling her trails of the River Nile. The show inspires that inner lust within me to see parts of Mother Earth a younger Me may not have contemplated. This planet’s a diverse being and one I know too little of. I look forward to the time I can resume my journeys on this lump of rock. As for Joanna Lumley, I hope my missus looks as good as her when she’s that age.

 

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