Slung out of the Block for my last night at Erlestoke, I found myself on the newest wing. For a Cat-C prison it was weird, acres of steel and festooned with CCTV. Stranger still, the cells appeared to be taller than they were long, psychologically "heavy", like sleeping at the bottom of a freshly dug grave.
Twiddling my thumbs all morning waiting for my transfer, I became increasingly uneasy as the hours passed. Lunchtime came simultaneously with the wagon. Dragging my piles of books and papers I made my way between the wings to be met by a gaggle of staff waiting at the sweat box. Prison verbals were bandied between us.
My blood ran cold when I heard the escort mention in passing that we may arrive too late and so I may get dumped in another prison. The Cardiff episode lurched from my memory and I made it very clear that I'd raise hell if yet another move to Open was screwed up.
Being the only man on the wagon I was offered a choice of cubicle. The sweat-box was a new design that lacked a communal radio to while the miles away, promising a dull 3 hour journey. The seat was a tormenting sheet of horizontal plastic that made no attempt to acknowledge human physiology. After 3 hours my back was in agony.
Pulling up outside of Reception I began the seemingly endless wait as my property was unloaded and my file cracked open. At last. The escort began to unlock my cubicle, paused, then asked himself why he was reaching for his handcuffs in an Open prison...?
Excellent news but lets hope you don't end up with a room in the Modular Temporary Unit (i.e. ex-shipping container converted into individual cells and shipped over from China as a cheap option for expanding the prison estate) as they can be bloody freezing in winter.
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