Sunday, May 15, 2011
The location I found myself allocated on returning from my brief trip to the gated of Open prison is far removed from the one I had previously occupied. When I left, I lived on B Wing, a classic long, galleried wing of three landings that holds the bulk of the population here. Now I find myself tucked away on D Wing, home of the old execution shed and death cells. It is a tiny warren of narrow corridors and cells.
This changes the social ecology of how we interact. My enclave, three cells at the end of a corridor, entices us to hang around before periods of bang-up to talk what can only be described as utter bollocks!
This evening’s episode focused on pubic hair. One of our number was accused of shaving his pubes, a distinctly odd occupation in a single sex environment - and another swore blind that his pubes were growing longer in prison. This led to a brief, futile, exploration of the proposal that sex wears down pubic hair...
At lunchtime, when someone off the wing was being mentioned that I didn't know, he was described to me as ''he's the paedophile that even the other paedos are embarrassed by''!
Last week, we briefly wandered into the moral and legal complexity that is paedophiliac vampirism. If a man screws an underage girl who is actually a 200 year old vampire, is he a paedo?
Obviously, this just had to expand into the surreal - is dressing a dwarf in a schoolgirl outfit a bit, well, noncey? And just where do the Crankies fit into this psychosexual morass? There was then some general mockery over my pondering whether women get belly-button fluff?
Given the weighty IQ's that populate our tiny corner of this dungeon, you may have hoped for more substantial material. But no; we just talk a slightly better quality of bollocks as we await being locked away.
Labels: prison life