Episode Transcript
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During the three and a halfyears I was in prison, I wrote
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over a million words by hand.
Tales from the Jails is acontemporaneous account of my
life, and attempts to thriverather than merely survive
whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed,but the events have not.
Episode 40 Happiness Is NotWelcome It's the 26th of
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October, 2016.
I have a theory which isbecoming a belief.
Life is quite simple andstraightforward and seemingly
only complicated by ourselves.
Is it the case each of us isdysfunctional to some degree,
and what is any one of us tryingto prove, to whom and why?
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It is nine months since Idescended the stairs from the
courtroom and began thisincarceration.
The harshest life-changing eventI've ever experienced, and I'm
51.
However, this is surpassed bythe daily life bombs we share
and endure In here.
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Nothing is straightforward, fromthe prison system, to the staff,
the inmates, and the conditionswe are forced to live in.
I'm at the desk back from workan hour or so.
It's been a long day.
Chaos again, fighting in theholding room, loads of lads on
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trials.
We deal with them returning asthey don't need to be
reprocessed, but depending onwhat time of the day they
return, they're allowed toshower and can have something to
eat, especially if they'vemissed tea on the wings, etc.
And they receive a breakfastpack.
There's still no pretend CocoPops.
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Most lads returning just takethe baby sized carton of milk.
On top of the trial lads, therewere 22 new arrivals.
A mixture of remanded or justsentenced.
The prison is at bursting point,vastly overcrowded and equally
understaffed.
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The new arrivals fall into twoother categories, those who have
been in prison before, and thosewho are first timers regardless
of their crime or status.
Reception is the buffer betweenyour old life and the new.
Worse is to come though.
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Once you pass through the gatesand the doors and are introduced
to the wings, it's intimidating,it's scary, and always intense.
I started to write a list of myperks down in reception.
Stuff I value and appreciate.
Number one is I'm off the wingall day unless there's a
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lockdown or major incident.
More times than not, there's anextra hour on visits.
That's a game changer,especially if you're in love.
There's regular gym includingthe over 45s on Sundays and
managing four, five, or sixworkouts a week, but you can
never take this for granted.
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The first time officers get awhiff that we take it for
granted, or expect it, they cooloff.
If Mr.
P is on you can expect to cancelgym.
He knows we love it, and so hedenies it when he's on duty.
He's playing with us.
He gets off on that.
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Another big perk is the use ofthe washing machine and the
iron.
The iron comes in handy forvisits.
We can iron our clothes and makean effort.
It makes an enormous differenceto be showered, have clean
clothes, usually a visitsoutfit.
Basically the best of what youhave.
It makes all the difference.
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Imagine if your family or yourmissus turns up and the best you
can do is look like Stig of theDump.
That's the only option for manyof the lads throughout the
prison.
On the wings, there's a laundryservice, but really it's a
washing machine and dryer, twoinmates working them, and pot
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luck if your face fits or if youpay, then you're guaranteed.
But even then, it's still basic.
They have to leave the dirtywashing in a wash bag, zip it,
and then it's bundled into thewasher with 10 other bags.
Afterwards your bag is throwninto the dryer.
You might as well expect thateverything will come back two
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sizes smaller as almosteverything shrinks In the
industrial size dryer.
However, working in receptionmeans we can use the showers and
toiletries and clean towels.
It all makes a big difference tohow you feel about yourself,
maintaining cleanliness andstandards, etc.
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You may be surprised to hear wedon't wash our sheets and pillow
slips, etc.
No, we can replenish insteadwith new ones, again a big perk.
And although we receive the samefood as the wings generally
there is more of it.
Each day the designatedreception officer has to guess
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or calculate how many arrivalswe'll be receiving so that there
is enough food for them.
That's compulsory.
As I say, the food isn't goodand I'm still eating porridge
twice a day to supplement thelack of choice or quality of the
food.
Becoming frugal I have managedto increase my prison savings
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account aka canteen.
I earn£23.60 for working allweek in reception.
One of the best wages in here.
Any money sent in from people,friends, I try to spend
sparingly.
Since February until now, mycanteen sheets and savings are
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£102.
Phone credit is£25 to£30 perweek, and my greatest
indulgence.
My purchases off the canteeneach week are a packet of
digestives, a tin of fakeAmbrosia rice and coffee.
That's my second greatestindulgence.
I budget myself to no more than£10 per week for the treats.
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Porridge comes from work, sodoes the milk, although that's
always contentious and causesall kinds of problems and grief.
I cut hair, but do not charge,averaging now about 10 cuts per
week.
I love it and it brings me asmuch satisfaction as writing.
I'm a Listener and do not getpaid, but I do receive an extra
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visit, which makes all thedifference.
I at least have one a week,whereas many of the lads are
stuck on two per month.
The VP holding room ie, thevulnerable prisoners' holding
room, that was busy today, andany inmate segregated in this
category and in that room, whichis really a cell, well, they'll
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feel highly anxious for theirsafety and overwhelmed by the
stigma that they in that roomattracts.
Ironically, it has a prisonphone in it, and that's the one
that we lads use the most if theroom is empty.
Thankfully I managed to speak toT just before we left work.
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She was thrilled to hear fromme.
Not expecting it to be honest.
She thought we were back inlockdown again.
I kept it short.
10 of the lads from work wereonly four feet away from the
phone.
It's been quite a frenetic typeof day and my new pad mate and I
Macca are back in our Waltonoasis decompressing from the
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day's madness.
He's reading a letter from hislad and has a legal one waiting,
and I'm writing.
We've left the TV on, but justfor the noise, which dampens our
conversations.
I'm not being paranoid but thewalls do have ears as they say.
The reality is, my voicecarries.
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You can hear the lads talkingthrough the pipes, and an
officer can hear quite clearlyon the other side of the door
when there is no noise to dampenthe sound.
Things are going well.
We're training together.
Get on really well.
He's super funny and really laidback, not violent and not crazy.
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Well, not so far.
It's now six months since Ifirst tried to enroll for Open
University.
My pad mate was laughing earlierhow I've kept all the copies of
the applications and paperwork.
He was impressed that I'dmanaged to get the university
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application photocopied.
I told him that if the prisonhad its act together or they
believed it served a meaningfuland purposeful outcome, or they
believe education is aworthwhile path whilst in
prison, then I'd have startedback in September.
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Without giving the person away,I've already been told why,
which to some degree is theprison hierarchy and purse
string holders wishing to bat medown the line for when I move to
a new prison and there is noappetite for this sort of thing.
Also, I'm running an appeal andthe system does not like that,
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especially the hierarchy.
I filled out two applicationsthis time, one to the Governor
and the other to OMU, theOffender Management Unit.
We're all supposed to beallocated a personal officer to
set out and implement what theycall a sentence plan.
Nothing and no one so far, butI'm undeterred.
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I've composed an app that bringsthem into it, whoever it is I'm
supposed to be assigned to.
The prison, and everything itpromises to offer on its posters
and its rules and regulations ispreventing me from making
progress.
The other app, to the Governor,explains why I'm in No Man's
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Land waiting, and I have stillheard nothing back from a
previous app.
They don't like that either,although I do choose my words
and tone carefully.
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It's the 27th of the tenth,2016.
All I can say is happiness.
What's wrong with it, or theproblems and issues with
happiness and being happy.
How do you respond or react tosomeone when they are seemingly
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happy and you feel lousy?
It takes on a whole new meaningin here, manifesting in anger,
violence, or malicious acts toderail your happiness.
I've said it many times, inprison most officers and most
inmates loathe happiness.
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It breeds envy, jealousy, andarouses suspicion.
It's often interpreted that thehappy person has probably won
some favour or perk, and thatperson is happy because of this.
I'd like to think I'm a bitdifferent to that model.
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It has been noticed and oftenraised that I'm usually happy or
positive, but I'd like to thinkI'm only positive by way of
making the best from a very badsituation.
I get on with stuff, soak up theunpleasantries, and don't react
by shouting and screaming orthrowing strops, nor do I get
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too down, or worse, remainparked in moodiness or
depression.
All the above pisses guys andstaff off.
Many of the other guys were justfucked up or struggling to cope,
even though they're acting likethey're tough.
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The reality is that most peopleunder this toxic roof don't feel
pretty good about themselves orthe situation.
This perpetuates the moodinessand slyness, and so any form of
getting on with it or happinessis frowned upon in the extreme.
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I'm an advocate for beingyourself.
But the problem with thatapproach in here is too many
people are broken to the pointthey cannot or do not wish to
change.
Everything, or most things inhere, are met with resistance,
which turns into undermining,humiliating, or direct bullying.
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Happiness arouses suspicion, isdespised and crushed if
possible.
The cards is a daily ritual Ienjoy with JC.
He usually bounces in largerthan life after fulfilling his
Listeners work.
He's a Red, season ticket holderor was until this.
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I make us a cup of coffee and hesits down at the table, which is
really more of grabbing thecards and shuffling them.
We're not in Vegas, no, we're inWalton.
However, we have got casinochips we use, another perk.
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We play cards, ramble on aboutprison life, put the world to
right and wait for tea or to bedisturbed, whichever comes
first.
I was moaning earlier.
Nothing is running smoothly,I've had the Governors down over
my OU application, and Mr.
P has been a twat.
He was as happy as Toenails thatI was on the ship out bus and
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then moody with me because I'vemanaged to stay.
I found myself saying, J, I'm notrouble, none, the straightest
least hassle prisoner in here.
So why do I receive an unhealthyamount of attention, hassle and
prodding?
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He said to me, listen G, you'redifferent...I mean, what do you
say to that other than, is thata bad thing?
Then he dropped an ace highflush on me, all spades, and I
suddenly realized any thoughtsor rants about feeling sorry for
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myself were over.
I needed to up my game.
That was three in a row and mychips pile looked as sparse as a
prison meal.
It's worth me noting, lads andstaff are noticing me writing
more and more, and I've had anumber of comments about T
writing into me, especially thelove cards.
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No prisoner in here has everreceived this much love
according to Mr.
R and my pad mate, he said thattoo.
T is sending me an average ofthree pounds' worth of stamps
per week.
64 pence for a first class stamppresently, that's over a hundred
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pounds so far this year, and youcan double that with T because
she's writing and sending incards every other day.
It all adds up financially andthe commitment and the time and
effort it takes.
This is our love and our lovestory and I'm very lucky that
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being stuck in Walton hasn'tdismayed or extinguished our
love for each other, especiallyhers for me.
In an ironic type of way, T'scommitment to me and us is
envied by many as much as it'sloathed by others.
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I spoke to my mother earlier.
A full eight minutes and 45seconds.
She and John Boy are on themerry-go-round of hospital
appointments.
He's struggling with a number ofconditions such as diabetes,
amputations, poor circulation,and has no immune system and is
struggling to recover.
My mother, ironically, is doingbetter, but that's only better
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than bad, not better than good.
She's had major cancer surgery,although she's made a good
recovery.
And that's extended her life,but she's on borrowed time as
much as John Boy.
She asked me when I was cominghome.
She asked me when I was comingdown.