A Prison Diary Part 9

'First they cross the prisoner's wrists before handcuffing him. Then they handcuff him to two officers with two separate pairs of handcuffs, one on either side.'

Thank G.o.d they didn't do that to me when I attended my mother's funeral.

It's an irony that an hour later, when going through my mail, I find a razor-blade paper attached to the top of one of my letters, with the message 'Just in case you've had enough.' The blade itself had been removed by an officer.

6.00 pm Exercise. Shaun (forgery) has begun to work on an outline drawing of the montage. His first model is Dale (wounding with intent), who is standing on the gra.s.s in the sun, arms folded -not a natural model (see plate section). Dale scowls as we pa.s.s him, while a few of the other prisoners shout obscenities.

8.00 pm Nothing worth watching on television, so I finish Graham Greene's The Man Within.

10.00 pm I remove the newly washed clothes from all over my bed, where I had laid them out to dry. They are still wet so I hang them from every other available s.p.a.ce - cupboard doors, the sink, my chair, even the curtain rail.

I fall asleep, still worrying about the KPMG report and how long it will take for the police to agree that there isno case to answer. By the time you read this, Wayland will be a thing of the past. But for now, it remains purgatory.

DAY 37

FRIDAY 24 AUGUST 2001

6.08 am

I draw my newly acquired curtains to allow the rising sun to enter my cell. I discovered during exercise yesterday evening that they used to belong to Dennis (VAT fraud). No one knows how much of the 17.5 per cent he retained for himself, but as he was sentenced to six years, we have to a.s.sume it was several millions.

Dennis applied for parole after two and a half years, having been a model prisoner. He heard nothing, so a.s.sumed that his request had been turned down. Yesterday, at 8 am, they opened his cell door and told him to pack his belongings. He was being released within the hour. The order had come from the Home Office the week before but, as his probation officer was on leave, no message had got through.

Dennis had to borrow a phonecard - against prison regulations - to ask his wife to come and pick him up. He caught her just as she was leaving for work, otherwise he would have been standing outside the gates all day. That is how I inherited the fine net curtains which now adorn my cell, and when I leave they will be pa.s.sed on to the new resident. I just hope I'm given a little more notice.

Jimmy was also let out yesterday, but only for the day. He has just a few weeks left to serve before his release date, so they allow him out once a month on a town visit, from 9 am to 3 pm. This is part of the rehabilitation programme for any D-cat prisoner. Jimmy has been a D-cat, but resident in a C-cat prison, for over three months. He doesn't want td move to an open prison because he's coming to the end of his sentence and his family lives locally.

Yesterday Jimmy visited Dereham. He was accompanied by an officer who, for reasons that will become clear, I shall not name. At lunchtime the officer gave Jimmy a fiver to buy them both some fish and chips (Dereham prices) while he went to the bank to cash a cheque. Jimmy collected the fish and chips, strolled over to the National Westminster and waited outside for the officer. When he didn't appear, Jimmy began lunch without him. After the last chip had been devoured, Jimmy began to worry about what had happened to his guard. He went into the bank, but couldn't see him, so ran out andquickly headed towards Lloyds TSB, a hundred yards away. As he turned the corner, he saw the officer running down the street towards him, an anxious look on his face. The two men fell into each other's arms laughing; Jimmy didn't want to be accused of trying to escape only six weeks before his release date, and the officer would have been sacked for giving a prisoner money to a.s.sist in that escape. Jimmy told me later that he's never seen a more relieved man in his life.

"Where are my fish and chips?' demanded the officer, once he had recovered.

'I had to eat them, guv,' Jimmy explained, 'otherwise yours would have gone cold.' He handed over fifty pence change.

8.00 am After breakfast I go in search of Stan (embezzler, 21,000, eighteen months), the spur painter. I ask him if he'd be kind enough to come and look at my cell and see if he can recommend any way of brightening it up. I tell him I hate the white door and the black square around the basin and the black floor skirting.

'I'll see what I can do,' he says, "but I can't promise much. We only get colours that have been discontinued, or the ones no one else wants.'

9.00 am Pottery. I fear this enterprise has proved to be a mistake. I simply don't have any talent with clay. I'm going to ask Wendy if I can be transferred to the library or education. The Sun told its readers yesterday that I had applied to take Dennis's (of curtain fame) job in the library. I didn't even know he worked in the library, but now the Sun has put the idea in my head, 111 ask Steve (conspiring to murder, head librarian) if there's a vacancy.

Meanwhile I go off to pottery and waste two hours talking to Shaun (forgery). To be fair, it wasn't a complete waste of time because he brought me up to date on his progress with the book cover and the montage of prisoners (see plate section). I also discover more about his crime.

What I hadn't appreciated was that the forged John Lewis gift vouchers were not used simply to purchase articles from the store. Oh, no, Shaun is far brighter than that. He discovered that if you buy an item and present your gift voucher, the a.s.sistant will hand back the change in cash.

Shaun also found out that if you purchase something for 1,000 (and he saw Chris Eubank buying a television withgenuine vouchers) and return the item an hour later, they don't reimburse you with vouchers.

Once again, they hand over cash.

Armed with this information, Shaun acquired a map of England (kindly supplied by a helpful a.s.sistant) showing every John Lewis outlet in the country. He then began to travel the land, cas.h.i.+ng vouchers in each town he pa.s.sed through. He was finally caught when his co-conspirator panicked, went to the police and gra.s.sed on him (Shaun's words).

I wonder what Shaun will turn his mind to once he's released. I only mention this because when the conversation changed to the clash between Ken Clarke and Iain Duncan Smith, Shaun added a piece of knowledge to the euro debate which neither of the candidates seems to have grasped.

"Have you ever seen a euro note?' Shaun asked.

'No, I haven't,' I admitted.

It's Monopoly money and will be quite easy to reproduce.

From 1 January it will be legal tender in seventeen countries across Europe, and I'll bet most of the shops don't have any way of identifying a fake. Someone's going to make a fortune.'

I recall that Shaun has only three more weeks of his sentence to serve.

11.15 am I return to my cell and find I have a beige door, a neat blue square around my basin and cream skirting. I go in search of Stan, and present him with a phonecard - value: 2; worth: inestimable.

11.30 am I call Paula (Alison is on holiday) and discover to my great relief that the last ten days' text of this script have arrived. It doesn't bear thinking about having to rewrite those 30,000 words. You may well ask why I didn't make a copy. Because there isn't a copier available. Then why don't I hand the papers over to my wife after a visit? Because it's against the regulations. My only chance is to rely on the Post Office, and it hasn't let me down yet.

12 noon Lunch. I mournfully watch the test match while eating my vegetable soup. Australia are piling on the runs at a rate of four an over.

3.00 pm Exercise. Jimmy is chatting about his girlfriends, anddon't forget this is a man who had three women come to see him at his last visit. At some time, he tells me, he's slept with all three of them - not at the same time, he's not kinky, just healthy - and what's more they didn't leave scratching each other's eyes out. Nevertheless, this brings me on to a taboo subject I haven't yet mentioned: s.e.x or the lack of it - unless you are a h.o.m.os.e.xual. Darren reminds us that in Sweden and Holland they allow conjugal visits, which I can't see happening in this country for many years. The current solution is to put a notice on the message board (see opposite) and hope the problem will go away. It will be interesting to see which comes first: the legalization of cannabis or conjugal visits.

After two weeks of walking round the perimeter of Wayland OFFENSIVE AND OBSCENE MATERIAL STA TEMENT OF POLICY 1. At HMP Wayland we feel that it is important that we provide an environment within which visitors, staff and prisoners are able to work and visit without being caused offence by the display of any material.

2. Our aim is to ensure that the dignity of all staff, visitors and prisoners is respected. It is the duty of all staff to help to ensure that our environment remains free from the display of potentially offensive material.

3. Therefore the public display of any material that is potentially offensive will not be permitted in any part of the Prison.

TYPES OF MATERIAL THAT WILL BE RESTRICTED: 4. Any s.e.xually explicit material, eg magazines of a p.o.r.nographic nature which are available from newsagents, will be allowed in possession but must not be on display.

5. "Page 3" type pictures can be placed on prisoners'

noticeboards, but pictures showing full nudity cannot.

Photographs, artwork and other material may be displayed on noticeboards providing it conforms to the criteria outlined above.

6. All managers have a duty to ensure that their areas remain free from the display of any potentially offensive material. This applies to all areas, including offices, rest rooms and other "staff only" areas.

prison, I can now spot evil, fear, helplessness and sadness at thirty paces. But even I am puzzled by a crouching man who always sits alone in the same place every day, huddled up against the fence. He can't be much more than thirty, perhaps thirty-five, and he rarely moves from hissolitary position. I ask Darren about him.

Tragic,' he says. 'Alistair is one of your lot - public school, followed by university, where he graduated as a heroin addict. If he doesn't kick the habit, he'll be in prison for the rest of his life.'

'How can that be possible?' I ask.

'Simple. He regularly gets caught injecting himself, and always ends up with a few more months being added to his sentence. In fact, even on the day he was sent down, he was found with a needle in his arm. Somehow, and it must have been before the judge pa.s.sed sentence or soon after he was taken down, he managed to stuff a needle covered in cellophane, a plunger and ten grams of heroin wrapped in a condom up his backside. He then took a laxative so that he could empty his bowels as soon as he arrived at Belmarsh, Once they'd banged him up that evening - and don't forget there's a lavatory in every cell - he injected himself with heroin and pa.s.sed out. At the nine o'clock flap check the night officer found him lying on the floor with a needle stuck in his arm and several grams of heroin sprinkled on the floor beside him. He must be one of the few prisoners who has managed to have time added to his sentence before breakfast the following morning.'

I look at the tragic, hunched-up figure and wonder if prison is the right answer.

6.00 pm Supper. I can't remember what I eat, but I do recall finding two extra cartons of milk on my window sill. Sergio is exercising his authority as the new No. 1 on the hotplate.

DAY 38

SAt.u.r.dAY 25 AUGUST 2001

'Bien, gracias,y to?'

'No, tu, tu, tu.'

'Tu, tu, tu: 'Bueno. We must meet later today,' Sergio adds, 'for another lesson.' At least ten prisoners standing in the queue, and three officers behind the hotplate, a.s.sume I am simply learning Spanish, as we have no wish for them to find out what we're really up to. But more of that later.

5.11am I wake and think about how I would be spending the August bank holiday weekend if I were not in prison. I also begin to consider whether there are any advantages to being in jail.Certainly, incarceration is something to be added to one's experiences, particularly as it has come at a period in life when I felt I was marking time. I've also had to stretch myself - unfortunate pun. But I've already reached a stage where I am gaining little from the experience. As I could be stuck here for a while longer, it might be wise to have an escape plan - escape of the mind.

I've already completed Belmarsh: h.e.l.l, and have penned 44,000 words of Wayland: Purgatory. I can't wait to get to heaven, whenever and wherever that might be.

8.15 am 'Buenos dias,' I say to Sergio as he pa.s.ses me a boiled egg and a slice of toast.

'Buenos dias,' he repeats. 'Como estas tu?'

I concentrate.' Yo estoy bien, gracias.'

'Bien, gracias, y tu?'

10.00 am Gym. I complete a full programme for the first time since being convicted. I've lost over half a stone and feel a lot fitter. I'm about to take a shower when Mr King tells me that the governor wants a word. I've so far seen three people who claim the t.i.tle of governor, and none of them has been Ms Cawley, the No. 1 governor. Am I about to meet her? No. On this occasion it's a Mr Greenacre, whom I've also never come across before. He informs me, 'You will be receiving a visit from a senior officer at Bel-marsh' - surely they can't be sending me back there, is my first reaction - 'as they are investigating the theft of a chapter of your book.' You will recall that Trevor Kavanagh of the Sun, doyen of political editors, returned those stolen seven pages to Mary. He is well aware of the law of copyright.

It is clear that the culprit must have been an officer as no prisoners at Belmarsh have access to a photocopier. No one else could have unlocked my cell door, removed the script, photocopied and returned it and then sent a copy on to the Sun.

Of course, the deputy governor is only going through the motions. They have no way of finding out which officer was hoping to make a quick buck. The problem the Prison Service is facing is that Trevor will never reveal his source.

Back to the visitor from Belmarsh. Mr Greenacre tells me to expect a senior security officer to interview me on Tuesday morning, which means that, with luck, I'll miss pottery. I'll brief you fully next Tuesday.11.00 am Exercise. My legs are still aching from the gym session, so I find it quite hard to maintain the pace of Jimmy (twenty-nine) and Darren (thirty-five) as they march round the perimeter of the jail, but I'm d.a.m.ned if I'm going to admit it. They are chatting away about an unusual use of mirrors. Every cell has a five-by-five-inch steel mirror screwed to the wall. Jimmy is telling us about two West Indian prisoners who between them raised enough money to purchase a ghetto blaster and a pair of loud speakers. He describes how they went about arranging to listen to the same music in two different cells.

The first prisoner levered his thin steel mirror off the wall and inserted a coil of wire through one of the tiny holes in a corner. Every evening, after the nine o'clock flap check, he would slip the mirror under his door, then in one movement, slide it across the corridor until it reached the door opposite. After a few days, he could perform this skill as proficiently as any basketball player dunking a ball through a hoop.

The second prisoner then took the wire and attached it to his speaker so that both men could listen to the same music emanating from one source. Ingenious but - I'm told by anyone who lived within a mile of the jail - unnecessary, because on a still evening you could have danced to the music in Freiston town hall.

12 noon Lunch. England are 200 for 3 and putting up a spirited fight. During the lunch interval I visit Sergio in his cell.

He wastes no words, immediately informing me that he has spoken to his brother in Bogota. He always sounds like a man who has only ten units left on his phonecard. Of course, he may turn out to be a con man who has no intention of trying to find a Botero.

In any case nothing can be done until Sergio has completed his sentence. He is due to be deported on 27 September, a month from today, by which time we expect to have worked out a plan to purchase a Botero. Win or lose, I'll keep you briefed.

3.00 pm I have my hair cut by Matt (arson for insurance, failed to convince Cornhill or the jury, and was sentenced to three years). Matt has the reputation of being the best barber in the prison. In fact several prison officers also have theirhair cut by him. In his last prison, while serving time for a previous offence, Matt enrolled on a hair-styling course, so now he's a semi-professional. He has all the proper equipment, and within moments of sitting on a chair in the corridor outside his cell, I'm in no doubt about his skill. I need to look neat and tidy for Friday, when Mary and William hope to visit me again. I haven't forgotten that Mary commented on the length of my hair when she last came to Wayland.

When Matt's finished the job he even produces a second mirror so I can see the back of my head. He's not Daniel Hersheson, but for ten units of a phonecard he's a pretty good imitation.

6.00 pm At close of play England are 314 for 8 after a gritty 124 not out by Ramprakash a.s.sisted by Gough, who was clinging in there helping to avoid another follow on. The two of them enter the pavilion needing another 31 runs to make Australia bat again.

A couple of years ago Darren Gough asked me to conduct the auction at his London testimonial dinner at the Dorchester.

As a huge fan of Darren's, I happily agreed. When the event finally materialized it fell in the middle of my trial. Mr Justice Potts made it clear to my silk that I should not honour the agreement, even though my name was already printed in the programme. After all, it might influence the jury into believing that I am a charitable man, and I suspect that was the last thing Mr Justice Potts would have wanted.

I'm feeling pretty low, so decide to use the other ten units left on my card to phone Mary. There's no response. I can't get in touch with William or James as they are both abroad. I sit on the end of my bed and recall the words of La Rochefoucauld: Absence diminishes mediocre pa.s.sions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fire.

DAY 39

SUNDAY 26 AUGUST 2001

6.16 am

Sunday is always the longest day in prison. Wayland is short-staffed and there is nothing for inmates to do other than watch wall-to-wall television. In Belmarsh, chapel was a respite as it got you out of your cell, but in Wayland you're out of your cell without anything to keep you occupied. Mindyou, I'd much rather be in Wayland than locked up in Belmarsh for twenty-two hours a day. I write for a couple of hours.

8.20 am Breakfast. While I'm waiting in the queue for the hotplate, I get talking to a West Indian who is on my landing. He asks if he can have my Times and Sunday Times when I've finished with them. I agree to his request if, in return, he will show me how to clean my cell floor. I only mention this because the West Indians keep the cleanest cells. They are not satisfied with sweeping out the dust and dirt, but spend hours buffing up the linoleum floor until you can see your face in it. Although I shower, shave and put on fresh clothes every day, as well as make my bed and have everything in place before the cell door is opened at 8 am, I never look as smart or have as clean a cell as any of the West Indians on my spur.

9.30 am On my way to the library I slip in behind a man who frightens me. He has an evil face and is one of those prisoners who is proud to describe himself as a career criminal. He is a burglar by profession, and I'm somewhat surprised to see him heading off towards the library with a pile of glossy, coffee-table books under his arm. I try to make out the t.i.tles on the spines while we're on the move: The Encyclopaedia of Antiques, Know Your Antiques and Antiques in a Modem Market.

'Are you interested in antiques?' I ask innocently.