August 24, 2025 • 27 mins
It's the 16th of December, 2016. It's Friday. Today HMP Birmingham has turned into a riot, resulting in a complete meltdown. The official statement as of 5:00 PM is control has been lost. The G4S private prison has between four and 600 prisoners rioting, and the place is on fire. The news is showing meat wagons waiting to ship out prisoners once the officers take back control. Walton is full. In fact, most prisons are full to capacity. Prison officers and their unions have been predicting this for months. The irony is that it needs a crisis before something begins to change or improve.
During the three and a half years I was in prison I wrote over a million words by hand. Tales From The Jails is a contemporaneous account of my life, and attempts to thrive rather than merely survive, whilst incarcerated.
Most names have been changed. The events have not.
This is a Jekyll & Pride production.
Producer: Trevessa Newton
Title Music taken from The Confession, on the album Crimes Against Poetry (written and performed by The Shadow Poet, produced by Lance Thomas)
Copyright Jekyll & Pride Ltd 2025
@talesfromthejailspodcast
@jekyllandpride2023
@theshadowpoettsp
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
During the three and a halfyears I was in prison, I wrote
(00:03):
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 48 Who Lives In A CellLike This?
(00:38):
It's the 10th of December, 2016,and exactly a year since I was
found guilty in the kangaroocourt.
I'd taken my bag with me withwhat I expected to be my prison
gear.
My legal team were adamant thatI and the rest of my
co-defendants would walk free,but I had a bad feeling, having
(01:00):
lost all faith and trust in thelegal system, and resigned that
the judge was not prepared tolose at any cost.
The guilty verdict came inrecord time.
It may sound a little bitter,but it is not.
From the beginning of the trialI put my faith in the 12 just
(01:21):
people.
However, I think differentlyfrom that now, how they reached
that verdict after everythingthat went on in the courtroom is
a mystery that arousedsuspicion.
The trial lurched from onecrisis to another, torn to
shreds, undermined and flawedfrom its inception.
(01:41):
The prosecution's witnessescould not have been any worse.
The number one witness, thedetective, didn't even recognize
his own evidence submitted incourt stating he'd never seen it
before.
Later he had a meltdown, afterthe prosecutor had had a
breakdown, shouting out loud toeveryone, I'm not going to be
(02:05):
the fall guy for this case.
It was farcical in the extreme,but deadly serious.
One witness with theprosecution, Miss X, said she
was left trembling after ouraccounts departments had rung
her to pay her bill.
She said she was more terrifiedof us than when she fought on
(02:29):
the battlefield.
She was asked which war shefought in and she answered, The
Falklands.
I remember looking at the judgewho looked decidedly
uncomfortable, like a suddencase of the sweats had suddenly
invaded his ruby red face.
He stopped the trial and sentthe jury out.
(02:50):
We all wondered what the fuckwas going on.
The judge spoke to theprosecutor and my barrister
privately.
Then the witness for theprosecution, Miss X, was asked
to confirm what she had said,without the jury present.
She repeated it as convincinglyas the first time.
(03:13):
The trial was stopped again.
The prosecutor took his witnessout of the court.
Then my barrister told us whatwas going on.
Apparently, no female served indirect battle during the
Falklands war.
It was a lie, a fabrication, andcompletely undermined her as a
witness.
We never saw her again.
(03:34):
The judge instructed the jury toreturn and, in favourite
granddad mode, then instructedthem to strike the witness off
the record, and without anyexplanation as to what was
really going on.
He continued as if nothingsignificant had happened.
I wanted to jump up to my feetand shouts over to the jury,
(03:56):
this is what has just takenplace.
This is the truth.
The reality is that during the13 week trial, the jury was sent
home for more than half of it,because the trial was in chaos
almost every day.
The jury never once saw thechaos of what was really taking
place in their absence.
(04:18):
Every time a critical momentagainst the prosecution's case
occurred, they were sent out andit was fudged.
There was so much fudge by wayof the prosecution, that the
jury had switched off two weeksinto the trial.
A year ago I heard those words aperson dreads, the haunting,
(04:40):
harrowing sound of guilty.
However, there was an unexpectedtwist in the macabre drama.
We were given bail untilsentencing day, six weeks later.
It meant I was home forChristmas with the family.
Those six weeks turned out to beand feel like a slow death
(05:04):
march.
No matter how hard I tried to bepositive, upbeat, and tried to
get an appeal started, apervasive doom hung over us that
seeped into one's bones anddevoured one's spirit.
None of it was fair, but it wasthe reality and the fallout hit
with the force of a sunami.
(05:27):
All of those years fighting toclear my name and now my name
and credibility were trashedworse than ever.
That Christmas and those sixweeks drained the final drops of
spirit from us all.
Those weeks were a curse in theend and as I may have said way
(05:47):
back, going down the stairs putan end to the death spiral we
were experiencing.
T is and was amazing, but wewere in free fall with an awful
sad outcome after years oftrying to end the nightmare.
She has been a rock, believed inme, loved me throughout
(06:09):
everything unconditionally.
Who gets that?
And now, a year on from that dayand those dark times, I'm loved
as much and in love.
However, for all of the sadnessborn out of the injustice, I'm
not the victim type.
That consumes and debilitates aperson.
(06:32):
My, our only hope is to win theappeal.
From those first few hours afterthe guilty verdict until now,
I've worked tirelessly to securea legal team to appeal.
Almost a year, and against allodds.
I've made progress, but it'sslow, constantly delayed and
derailed by the judge, butJeremy keeps me focused.
(06:56):
When we get into court, we'llwin.
Of that he and the barrister arecertain.
Both of them say that there aremore grounds for appeal than in
any other case either of themhave seen.
He reminds me of this every timeI see him.
It's a little ironic or that'show it feels.
(07:19):
I'm writing now like I did inthe past.
I used to write everything down,journals everywhere, plans,
ideas, thoughts, meetings, whattook place in meetings.
Scores of books with hundreds ofthousands of words.
Then there were all my computerrecords, all my emails, my phone
(07:41):
records, my digital footprint,as they say.
So much so that the detective incharge could tell me what my
Monday morning meetings with thecompany every week were all
about, and yet out of everywritten word, email, text, every
instruction, there wasn't asingle word that suggested a
(08:02):
crime.
There was no conspiracy.
There are not two words betweentwo people that ever conspired
to defraud, but moreimportantly, not one word or
piece of evidence against me.
In fact, my footprints were allpositive solutions to problems
(08:22):
or issues.
Now I'm in HMP Liverpool, akaWalton, and I'm still writing,
no different than before.
What I experience, what Iobserve.
How I feel and my plans,thoughts and ideas.
(08:44):
That never stops.
It's part of who I am, like itwas in my DNA.
For now though, writing hasbecome more of a conscious
stream of thinking, born out ofexperiencing and observing the
anarchy of prison.
(09:08):
It's Wednesday, the 14th ofDecember.
Number One was escorted out ofreception unceremoniously by two
officers after a very public andexcruciating sacking.
Oh, how the mighty fall, was myfirst thought, and karma works
in mysterious ways, my second.
(09:29):
I do not gloat.
Neither do I wish him any illfeeling even if he has conducted
himself woefully and despicablyat times.
He made his own choices andwielded his own brand of misery
on plenty of lads in here.
His biggest mistake wasbelieving he was invincible down
(09:50):
here in reception.
Toenails too, but he managed toslither out of here to Cat D
last week, or I think he wouldbe suffering the same fate.
Great mystery surrounds thesudden and surprising departure.
He's in for a shock back on thewings as he's got enemies there.
(10:11):
As the hours pass, rumoursgather momentum.
He's had his security riskheightened too.
The lads on reception are notmourning his departure.
No.
Their main concern is, are theremore of us for the chop?
Is this a reception purge?
Interestingly, I'd highlightedto him my own canteen sheet was
(10:35):
down and so was his.
He made a fuss about it to anofficer down here, and when the
officer checked, it appeared heshould have been sacked three
weeks ago.
That would've meant Toenailstoo.
I have my own thoughts about whomay be behind all of this, but
(10:55):
I'm keeping tight lipped.
That will only guarantee me anexit, whether I'm right or
whether I'm wrong.
Ex Number One is now thrust backinto the lion's den of wing
life.
They've started terrorizing himthrough the doors an hour ago.
Mr.
D told us that.
In one swift moment he vacatedthe number one spot, top of the
(11:18):
shit pile, as JC puts it.
He was a gloater against many ofthe lads, a swagger about him
because of his position.
Lads will now be keen to repayhim some of his put downs,
that's for sure.
As the big jail news consumedthe whole of reception from one
theory to another as to what wasgoing on, B pulled me.
(11:43):
Only young, late twenties,losing his hair, and it's
hurting him.
He's facing a very big sentencefor distribution of large
quantities of Class A drugs.
He asked me would I help himcompose a letter to the judge on
his case.
He wanted it to show remorse andexplain the truth about who he
(12:05):
really is and why he did it.
Not a list of excuses but thetruth, that's what I suggested.
We sat down to compose theletter of a lifetime.
I suggested to B the best way toapproach this is to speak
honestly and from the heart.
I'll do the rest.
(12:26):
The second irony in one day wasmuch bigger than the first,
Number One's exit.
I asked B out of curiosity, whowas the judge?
I never thought for one moment,it's quite surreal, but here I
was composing the letter thatmay determine a good or bad
sentence to the man, the samejudge, who was trying to bury
(12:50):
me.
I know him acutely well and theunscrupulous manner in which he
works.
I did not tell B He was myjudge.
No, but I did say in myexperience, the one thing these
judges want to hear at thisstage is regret and remorse.
(13:11):
That's key.
B wasn't running a trial, no.,He and his co-defendant pleaded
guilty early on, but he wastrying to negotiate the amount
of drugs against him and salvagemitigation from an early guilty
plea and remorse.
It took two hours to flush outthe final draft.
(13:34):
He thanked me genuinely, tellingall of the lads it was the best
thing he'd ever read.
I advised him to copy what waswritten in his own handwriting
and not to submit the versionI'd penned.
Apparently he wants to hand itinto his solicitor tomorrow on a
legal visit, a last ditchedattempt to gain a reduction on
(13:57):
what may be potentially a veryheavy sentence.
It was only last week the ladswere slammed for 60 kilos.
This runs into hundreds.
It's The 16th of December, 2016.
(14:21):
It's Friday.
Today HMP Birmingham has turnedinto a riot, resulting in a
complete meltdown.
The official statement as of5:00 PM is control has been
lost.
The G4S private prison hasbetween four and 600 prisoners
rioting, and the place is onfire.
(14:42):
The news is showing meat wagonswaiting to ship out prisoners
once the officers take backcontrol.
Walton is full.
In fact, most prisons are fullto capacity.
Prison officers and their unionshave been predicting this for
months.
The irony is that it needs acrisis before something begins
(15:04):
to change or improve.
I shudder to think how thingscould get worse for any of us
presently.
We've been told to expect nowork tomorrow, but this changes
everything.
Last night, there was a dronethat looked or appeared to act
more like a UFO, carrying aparcel as big as a sack.
(15:26):
By all accounts.
The lads who it was delivered tostruggled for 20 minutes to get
it in.
I was awake for most of thenight, less distracted by the
drones, more the racing brain,thinking about my writing.
I was bent like a cripple, sunkin the middle of my top bunk
(15:47):
facing the grim wall of reality.
Normally, deep into the black ofnight it's pretty quiet and
often I'm awake to notice.
It's the 22nd of December, 2016.
(16:11):
Another sleepless night.
The newish mattress isunfortunately sunken in the
middle.
At one time it was as hard asconcrete, but now sadly, it's
moulded to the sagging ironframe that holds me up.
However, for all of thediscomfort, comfortingly there
(16:31):
was no shouting, no screaming,no loud music, no banging, no
spice frenzies, and aftermidnight, no drones.
I ended up thinking about theTFJs, as in, if they make it to
a book.
The three Ms is the workingtitle, Murder, Masturbation and
Mayhem.
(16:53):
I lay thinking for ages aboutthe first of the Ms, M equals
murder.
There is a song by Space,interestingly, from Liverpool
too.
They had a hit in the ninetiescalled, Who Lives in a House
Like This?
Who lives in a house like this,who lives in a house like
(17:18):
this...
I drifted off in thought andawoke to, who lives in a cell
like this, who lives in a celllike this...
I had to write it down.
Luckily, my pad and pens areunder my pillow and the light on
(17:39):
my watch is enough to see whatI'm writing.
Sounds crazy, but try writing ontop bunk in the dark without
moving.
If I turn over on this old ironframe, it rattles like it's been
hit with a five on the Richterscale.
The song takes us behind thedoors of houses in weird and
(18:01):
wonderful ways, and it made methink of doing something
similar, describing the inmatesand characters behind the cell
door.
For instance, behind cell 123lives K a lifer, a Scouser, and
a dead ringer for Lurch in theAddams family.
(18:21):
By day he works in the libraryand at night he's monged on
meds.
Serious time for serious crimes,crying in his sleep like Lady
Macbeth.
I imagine every night someonedrowns in those tears.
Most mornings, he passes me whenI'm on the way to make the love
(18:44):
call.
He's returning from the medscounter.
He's an intimidating figure.
Big, ugly, not blessed with anyredeeming features.
One eye looking at two o'clockeven when he is looking straight
at you.
He's been on the wing since Ilanded and never once said
(19:04):
hello.
Thankfully, there hasn't been adisgruntled grunt in my
direction and I'm grateful forthat.
I can say without any doubt thatneither the good eye nor the bad
have made eye contact with me.
My encounter was completelyunplanned and unexpected.
(19:26):
Weeks ago, the prison was fullto capacity again.
No work meant no shower down inreception.
It was the wing showers or noshower.
I put my towel under my arm,shampoo and shower gel rolled up
in it, marched off to make thelove call, and then bounced into
the infamous showers.
(19:49):
I thought it would be quietbeing so early.
I waltzed in high on love andbang, straight into Lurch.
The showers are a bleak, filthy,decaying place.
Lads say the drains are alwaysblocked and there's no guarantee
of hot water, but worse, inmatesare attacked viciously in the
(20:11):
showers.
No cameras and no witnesses.
Smurf said, if you don't wearflip flops or keep your socks
on, then your feet are going tocatch something really bad.
Luckily, I've got flip flops.
The first surprise was Lurchalready in the shower cubicle,
(20:33):
and the second, he was singing.
The third surprise caught me offguard.
He stopped singing and offeredme a polite, Alright, George, in
a harsh Scouse accent.
I'd never heard him speakbefore.
I only knew him as Lurch andwhat do you say?
(20:54):
Alright, big guy, how are you?
Are the shower's hot?
Then it was stripped off andinto the cubicle next but one.
The next surprise was really thecase of relief.
Lurch turned out to be athoroughly charming and polite
guy, especially considering he'sdone almost 20 years.
(21:17):
He still retains his acidicScouse humour, what brings you
to this sorry place thismorning?
I explained, it was a lockout,no spaces.
The next 15 minutes or so wereenlightening as much as
intriguing.
Two blokes in a shower room inprison talking like it was
(21:40):
normal.
Well, normal for here.
He was intelligent, knew a lotabout legals.
He'd read a lot.
Said he had too many years onhis hands and the only way to
stay sane in the end was toread.
interestingly, he was veryfamiliar with the appeals
process.
He asked me about mine.
(22:02):
He seemed to know about that,and that I'd applied to Open
Uni.
By the time it was time to dryoff, he landed another surprise.
You write, don't you, George?
I smiled when he said that as Idon't broadcast it.
Then he said, you get the mostmail as well, don't you?
(22:24):
Have you got a fan club on theoutside?
That made me laugh.
Lurch wasn't bitter, but he waspure jail, institutionalized,
surviving on hopes of being outin 18 months.
He told me he had been releasedpreviously, but explained how
(22:45):
difficult probation make it tosurvive out there.
He said, I was lucky to havesomebody out there who loved me
so much.
The love call you call it, don'tyou?
I laughed at that.
I told him, yeah, yes I do.
He said, I envy that, but Idon't envy you, George.
(23:10):
Then he said, as we wereleaving, you're in great shape
for an old fella George.
You must train'ard.
Then he asked me about my diet.
I laughed all day off the backof the surprising encounter.
I've spoken to him twice since.
(23:31):
One was to ask him a favour, andtwo, to say thank you and hand
over a bag of Maltesers, a smallprice for such a favour.
He asked me what I was presentlyreading.
I told him, Sapiens by Harari,but I'm only on chapter one, An
animal of no significance.
(23:53):
I knew Lurch had a single cell,but I didn't know he had a big
screen TV with an aerial cablethrough into the bathroom and
just peeping out of the brokenwindow.
It's sort of discreet.
Not in your face, but a pad spinwould be a ship out, but there's
never a spin.
(24:15):
I remarked his pad was like apenthouse suite compared to
ours.
He said, too many years away andyou get to reach the dizzy
heights of a single cell and bigscreen George.
I've'erd you're still on thewind up radio George.
Yes, it's true.
(24:36):
I confirmed that, told him it'strue.
Less hassle and great when thepower goes off.
I noticed how by this time inthe day, Lurch's meds were
kicking in.
He was freer, looser, and morerelaxed speaking to me.
The last thing he asked me was,why do you stay here in Walton,
(25:00):
George, when you probably don'tneed to?
In that moment it felt right tobe honest, rather than sidestep
it or be disingenuous.
Family is here, parents areseriously ill.
The appeal.
Visits are easier, Receptionhelps.
I'm settled in a strange type ofway and...and the content is
(25:24):
incredible.
He loved that and batted meanother curve ball.
Will I be in your book, George?
Well, what do you say to that?
I didn't see it coming.
I never said I was writing abook, not even to my pad mates
(25:45):
or JC.
People get very twitchy aboutthese things.
I told him I've got to make itbeyond the gate first, and then
read it and hope it's not justthe ramblings of a fool in
prison.
He loved that.
I also told him that at the endof the day, prison is a test of
(26:06):
character.
He was quick to point out thathe'd never heard it described
like that before.
I left big Lurch with thegiggles and tucking into a bag
of Maltesers.
I'm experienced enough to knowhe looked like he was enjoying a
bout of the munchies.
My days and life are entwinedwith murderers, VPs, drugs
(26:29):
barons, violent thugs andgangsters, as well as rapists,
thieves, and desperate men.
On the short walk back to mycell, I could see and feel the
eyes of curiosity hanging overthe landings, watching me,
wondering why I was leavingLurch's pad.
And laughing too.
(26:50):
I told Macca when I got back,we'll have to stop calling him
Lurch.
It doesn't feel right anymore.
During the three and a halfyears I was in prison, I wrote
(00:03):
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 48 Who Lives In A CellLike This?
(00:38):
It's the 10th of December, 2016,and exactly a year since I was
found guilty in the kangaroocourt.
I'd taken my bag with me withwhat I expected to be my prison
gear.
My legal team were adamant thatI and the rest of my
co-defendants would walk free,but I had a bad feeling, having
(01:00):
lost all faith and trust in thelegal system, and resigned that
the judge was not prepared tolose at any cost.
The guilty verdict came inrecord time.
It may sound a little bitter,but it is not.
From the beginning of the trialI put my faith in the 12 just
(01:21):
people.
However, I think differentlyfrom that now, how they reached
that verdict after everythingthat went on in the courtroom is
a mystery that arousedsuspicion.
The trial lurched from onecrisis to another, torn to
shreds, undermined and flawedfrom its inception.
(01:41):
The prosecution's witnessescould not have been any worse.
The number one witness, thedetective, didn't even recognize
his own evidence submitted incourt stating he'd never seen it
before.
Later he had a meltdown, afterthe prosecutor had had a
breakdown, shouting out loud toeveryone, I'm not going to be
(02:05):
the fall guy for this case.
It was farcical in the extreme,but deadly serious.
One witness with theprosecution, Miss X, said she
was left trembling after ouraccounts departments had rung
her to pay her bill.
She said she was more terrifiedof us than when she fought on
(02:29):
the battlefield.
She was asked which war shefought in and she answered, The
Falklands.
I remember looking at the judgewho looked decidedly
uncomfortable, like a suddencase of the sweats had suddenly
invaded his ruby red face.
He stopped the trial and sentthe jury out.
(02:50):
We all wondered what the fuckwas going on.
The judge spoke to theprosecutor and my barrister
privately.
Then the witness for theprosecution, Miss X, was asked
to confirm what she had said,without the jury present.
She repeated it as convincinglyas the first time.
(03:13):
The trial was stopped again.
The prosecutor took his witnessout of the court.
Then my barrister told us whatwas going on.
Apparently, no female served indirect battle during the
Falklands war.
It was a lie, a fabrication, andcompletely undermined her as a
witness.
We never saw her again.
(03:34):
The judge instructed the jury toreturn and, in favourite
granddad mode, then instructedthem to strike the witness off
the record, and without anyexplanation as to what was
really going on.
He continued as if nothingsignificant had happened.
I wanted to jump up to my feetand shouts over to the jury,
(03:56):
this is what has just takenplace.
This is the truth.
The reality is that during the13 week trial, the jury was sent
home for more than half of it,because the trial was in chaos
almost every day.
The jury never once saw thechaos of what was really taking
place in their absence.
(04:18):
Every time a critical momentagainst the prosecution's case
occurred, they were sent out andit was fudged.
There was so much fudge by wayof the prosecution, that the
jury had switched off two weeksinto the trial.
A year ago I heard those words aperson dreads, the haunting,
(04:40):
harrowing sound of guilty.
However, there was an unexpectedtwist in the macabre drama.
We were given bail untilsentencing day, six weeks later.
It meant I was home forChristmas with the family.
Those six weeks turned out to beand feel like a slow death
(05:04):
march.
No matter how hard I tried to bepositive, upbeat, and tried to
get an appeal started, apervasive doom hung over us that
seeped into one's bones anddevoured one's spirit.
None of it was fair, but it wasthe reality and the fallout hit
with the force of a sunami.
(05:27):
All of those years fighting toclear my name and now my name
and credibility were trashedworse than ever.
That Christmas and those sixweeks drained the final drops of
spirit from us all.
Those weeks were a curse in theend and as I may have said way
(05:47):
back, going down the stairs putan end to the death spiral we
were experiencing.
T is and was amazing, but wewere in free fall with an awful
sad outcome after years oftrying to end the nightmare.
She has been a rock, believed inme, loved me throughout
(06:09):
everything unconditionally.
Who gets that?
And now, a year on from that dayand those dark times, I'm loved
as much and in love.
However, for all of the sadnessborn out of the injustice, I'm
not the victim type.
That consumes and debilitates aperson.
(06:32):
My, our only hope is to win theappeal.
From those first few hours afterthe guilty verdict until now,
I've worked tirelessly to securea legal team to appeal.
Almost a year, and against allodds.
I've made progress, but it'sslow, constantly delayed and
derailed by the judge, butJeremy keeps me focused.
(06:56):
When we get into court, we'llwin.
Of that he and the barrister arecertain.
Both of them say that there aremore grounds for appeal than in
any other case either of themhave seen.
He reminds me of this every timeI see him.
It's a little ironic or that'show it feels.
(07:19):
I'm writing now like I did inthe past.
I used to write everything down,journals everywhere, plans,
ideas, thoughts, meetings, whattook place in meetings.
Scores of books with hundreds ofthousands of words.
Then there were all my computerrecords, all my emails, my phone
(07:41):
records, my digital footprint,as they say.
So much so that the detective incharge could tell me what my
Monday morning meetings with thecompany every week were all
about, and yet out of everywritten word, email, text, every
instruction, there wasn't asingle word that suggested a
(08:02):
crime.
There was no conspiracy.
There are not two words betweentwo people that ever conspired
to defraud, but moreimportantly, not one word or
piece of evidence against me.
In fact, my footprints were allpositive solutions to problems
(08:22):
or issues.
Now I'm in HMP Liverpool, akaWalton, and I'm still writing,
no different than before.
What I experience, what Iobserve.
How I feel and my plans,thoughts and ideas.
(08:44):
That never stops.
It's part of who I am, like itwas in my DNA.
For now though, writing hasbecome more of a conscious
stream of thinking, born out ofexperiencing and observing the
anarchy of prison.
(09:08):
It's Wednesday, the 14th ofDecember.
Number One was escorted out ofreception unceremoniously by two
officers after a very public andexcruciating sacking.
Oh, how the mighty fall, was myfirst thought, and karma works
in mysterious ways, my second.
(09:29):
I do not gloat.
Neither do I wish him any illfeeling even if he has conducted
himself woefully and despicablyat times.
He made his own choices andwielded his own brand of misery
on plenty of lads in here.
His biggest mistake wasbelieving he was invincible down
(09:50):
here in reception.
Toenails too, but he managed toslither out of here to Cat D
last week, or I think he wouldbe suffering the same fate.
Great mystery surrounds thesudden and surprising departure.
He's in for a shock back on thewings as he's got enemies there.
(10:11):
As the hours pass, rumoursgather momentum.
He's had his security riskheightened too.
The lads on reception are notmourning his departure.
No.
Their main concern is, are theremore of us for the chop?
Is this a reception purge?
Interestingly, I'd highlightedto him my own canteen sheet was
(10:35):
down and so was his.
He made a fuss about it to anofficer down here, and when the
officer checked, it appeared heshould have been sacked three
weeks ago.
That would've meant Toenailstoo.
I have my own thoughts about whomay be behind all of this, but
(10:55):
I'm keeping tight lipped.
That will only guarantee me anexit, whether I'm right or
whether I'm wrong.
Ex Number One is now thrust backinto the lion's den of wing
life.
They've started terrorizing himthrough the doors an hour ago.
Mr.
D told us that.
In one swift moment he vacatedthe number one spot, top of the
(11:18):
shit pile, as JC puts it.
He was a gloater against many ofthe lads, a swagger about him
because of his position.
Lads will now be keen to repayhim some of his put downs,
that's for sure.
As the big jail news consumedthe whole of reception from one
theory to another as to what wasgoing on, B pulled me.
(11:43):
Only young, late twenties,losing his hair, and it's
hurting him.
He's facing a very big sentencefor distribution of large
quantities of Class A drugs.
He asked me would I help himcompose a letter to the judge on
his case.
He wanted it to show remorse andexplain the truth about who he
(12:05):
really is and why he did it.
Not a list of excuses but thetruth, that's what I suggested.
We sat down to compose theletter of a lifetime.
I suggested to B the best way toapproach this is to speak
honestly and from the heart.
I'll do the rest.
(12:26):
The second irony in one day wasmuch bigger than the first,
Number One's exit.
I asked B out of curiosity, whowas the judge?
I never thought for one moment,it's quite surreal, but here I
was composing the letter thatmay determine a good or bad
sentence to the man, the samejudge, who was trying to bury
(12:50):
me.
I know him acutely well and theunscrupulous manner in which he
works.
I did not tell B He was myjudge.
No, but I did say in myexperience, the one thing these
judges want to hear at thisstage is regret and remorse.
(13:11):
That's key.
B wasn't running a trial, no.,He and his co-defendant pleaded
guilty early on, but he wastrying to negotiate the amount
of drugs against him and salvagemitigation from an early guilty
plea and remorse.
It took two hours to flush outthe final draft.
(13:34):
He thanked me genuinely, tellingall of the lads it was the best
thing he'd ever read.
I advised him to copy what waswritten in his own handwriting
and not to submit the versionI'd penned.
Apparently he wants to hand itinto his solicitor tomorrow on a
legal visit, a last ditchedattempt to gain a reduction on
(13:57):
what may be potentially a veryheavy sentence.
It was only last week the ladswere slammed for 60 kilos.
This runs into hundreds.
It's The 16th of December, 2016.
(14:21):
It's Friday.
Today HMP Birmingham has turnedinto a riot, resulting in a
complete meltdown.
The official statement as of5:00 PM is control has been
lost.
The G4S private prison hasbetween four and 600 prisoners
rioting, and the place is onfire.
(14:42):
The news is showing meat wagonswaiting to ship out prisoners
once the officers take backcontrol.
Walton is full.
In fact, most prisons are fullto capacity.
Prison officers and their unionshave been predicting this for
months.
The irony is that it needs acrisis before something begins
(15:04):
to change or improve.
I shudder to think how thingscould get worse for any of us
presently.
We've been told to expect nowork tomorrow, but this changes
everything.
Last night, there was a dronethat looked or appeared to act
more like a UFO, carrying aparcel as big as a sack.
(15:26):
By all accounts.
The lads who it was delivered tostruggled for 20 minutes to get
it in.
I was awake for most of thenight, less distracted by the
drones, more the racing brain,thinking about my writing.
I was bent like a cripple, sunkin the middle of my top bunk
(15:47):
facing the grim wall of reality.
Normally, deep into the black ofnight it's pretty quiet and
often I'm awake to notice.
It's the 22nd of December, 2016.
(16:11):
Another sleepless night.
The newish mattress isunfortunately sunken in the
middle.
At one time it was as hard asconcrete, but now sadly, it's
moulded to the sagging ironframe that holds me up.
However, for all of thediscomfort, comfortingly there
(16:31):
was no shouting, no screaming,no loud music, no banging, no
spice frenzies, and aftermidnight, no drones.
I ended up thinking about theTFJs, as in, if they make it to
a book.
The three Ms is the workingtitle, Murder, Masturbation and
Mayhem.
(16:53):
I lay thinking for ages aboutthe first of the Ms, M equals
murder.
There is a song by Space,interestingly, from Liverpool
too.
They had a hit in the ninetiescalled, Who Lives in a House
Like This?
Who lives in a house like this,who lives in a house like
(17:18):
this...
I drifted off in thought andawoke to, who lives in a cell
like this, who lives in a celllike this...
I had to write it down.
Luckily, my pad and pens areunder my pillow and the light on
(17:39):
my watch is enough to see whatI'm writing.
Sounds crazy, but try writing ontop bunk in the dark without
moving.
If I turn over on this old ironframe, it rattles like it's been
hit with a five on the Richterscale.
The song takes us behind thedoors of houses in weird and
(18:01):
wonderful ways, and it made methink of doing something
similar, describing the inmatesand characters behind the cell
door.
For instance, behind cell 123lives K a lifer, a Scouser, and
a dead ringer for Lurch in theAddams family.
(18:21):
By day he works in the libraryand at night he's monged on
meds.
Serious time for serious crimes,crying in his sleep like Lady
Macbeth.
I imagine every night someonedrowns in those tears.
Most mornings, he passes me whenI'm on the way to make the love
(18:44):
call.
He's returning from the medscounter.
He's an intimidating figure.
Big, ugly, not blessed with anyredeeming features.
One eye looking at two o'clockeven when he is looking straight
at you.
He's been on the wing since Ilanded and never once said
(19:04):
hello.
Thankfully, there hasn't been adisgruntled grunt in my
direction and I'm grateful forthat.
I can say without any doubt thatneither the good eye nor the bad
have made eye contact with me.
My encounter was completelyunplanned and unexpected.
(19:26):
Weeks ago, the prison was fullto capacity again.
No work meant no shower down inreception.
It was the wing showers or noshower.
I put my towel under my arm,shampoo and shower gel rolled up
in it, marched off to make thelove call, and then bounced into
the infamous showers.
(19:49):
I thought it would be quietbeing so early.
I waltzed in high on love andbang, straight into Lurch.
The showers are a bleak, filthy,decaying place.
Lads say the drains are alwaysblocked and there's no guarantee
of hot water, but worse, inmatesare attacked viciously in the
(20:11):
showers.
No cameras and no witnesses.
Smurf said, if you don't wearflip flops or keep your socks
on, then your feet are going tocatch something really bad.
Luckily, I've got flip flops.
The first surprise was Lurchalready in the shower cubicle,
(20:33):
and the second, he was singing.
The third surprise caught me offguard.
He stopped singing and offeredme a polite, Alright, George, in
a harsh Scouse accent.
I'd never heard him speakbefore.
I only knew him as Lurch andwhat do you say?
(20:54):
Alright, big guy, how are you?
Are the shower's hot?
Then it was stripped off andinto the cubicle next but one.
The next surprise was really thecase of relief.
Lurch turned out to be athoroughly charming and polite
guy, especially considering he'sdone almost 20 years.
(21:17):
He still retains his acidicScouse humour, what brings you
to this sorry place thismorning?
I explained, it was a lockout,no spaces.
The next 15 minutes or so wereenlightening as much as
intriguing.
Two blokes in a shower room inprison talking like it was
(21:40):
normal.
Well, normal for here.
He was intelligent, knew a lotabout legals.
He'd read a lot.
Said he had too many years onhis hands and the only way to
stay sane in the end was toread.
interestingly, he was veryfamiliar with the appeals
process.
He asked me about mine.
(22:02):
He seemed to know about that,and that I'd applied to Open
Uni.
By the time it was time to dryoff, he landed another surprise.
You write, don't you, George?
I smiled when he said that as Idon't broadcast it.
Then he said, you get the mostmail as well, don't you?
(22:24):
Have you got a fan club on theoutside?
That made me laugh.
Lurch wasn't bitter, but he waspure jail, institutionalized,
surviving on hopes of being outin 18 months.
He told me he had been releasedpreviously, but explained how
(22:45):
difficult probation make it tosurvive out there.
He said, I was lucky to havesomebody out there who loved me
so much.
The love call you call it, don'tyou?
I laughed at that.
I told him, yeah, yes I do.
He said, I envy that, but Idon't envy you, George.
(23:10):
Then he said, as we wereleaving, you're in great shape
for an old fella George.
You must train'ard.
Then he asked me about my diet.
I laughed all day off the backof the surprising encounter.
I've spoken to him twice since.
(23:31):
One was to ask him a favour, andtwo, to say thank you and hand
over a bag of Maltesers, a smallprice for such a favour.
He asked me what I was presentlyreading.
I told him, Sapiens by Harari,but I'm only on chapter one, An
animal of no significance.
(23:53):
I knew Lurch had a single cell,but I didn't know he had a big
screen TV with an aerial cablethrough into the bathroom and
just peeping out of the brokenwindow.
It's sort of discreet.
Not in your face, but a pad spinwould be a ship out, but there's
never a spin.
(24:15):
I remarked his pad was like apenthouse suite compared to
ours.
He said, too many years away andyou get to reach the dizzy
heights of a single cell and bigscreen George.
I've'erd you're still on thewind up radio George.
Yes, it's true.
(24:36):
I confirmed that, told him it'strue.
Less hassle and great when thepower goes off.
I noticed how by this time inthe day, Lurch's meds were
kicking in.
He was freer, looser, and morerelaxed speaking to me.
The last thing he asked me was,why do you stay here in Walton,
(25:00):
George, when you probably don'tneed to?
In that moment it felt right tobe honest, rather than sidestep
it or be disingenuous.
Family is here, parents areseriously ill.
The appeal.
Visits are easier, Receptionhelps.
I'm settled in a strange type ofway and...and the content is
(25:24):
incredible.
He loved that and batted meanother curve ball.
Will I be in your book, George?
Well, what do you say to that?
I didn't see it coming.
I never said I was writing abook, not even to my pad mates
(25:45):
or JC.
People get very twitchy aboutthese things.
I told him I've got to make itbeyond the gate first, and then
read it and hope it's not justthe ramblings of a fool in
prison.
He loved that.
I also told him that at the endof the day, prison is a test of
(26:06):
character.
He was quick to point out thathe'd never heard it described
like that before.
I left big Lurch with thegiggles and tucking into a bag
of Maltesers.
I'm experienced enough to knowhe looked like he was enjoying a
bout of the munchies.
My days and life are entwinedwith murderers, VPs, drugs
(26:29):
barons, violent thugs andgangsters, as well as rapists,
thieves, and desperate men.
On the short walk back to mycell, I could see and feel the
eyes of curiosity hanging overthe landings, watching me,
wondering why I was leavingLurch's pad.
And laughing too.
(26:50):
I told Macca when I got back,we'll have to stop calling him
Lurch.
It doesn't feel right anymore.
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