Quote of the Day

Just to give you a sample of the wit that passes for conversation in prison, when we are sitting

around bored out of our skulls...

".. .I'm not gay. I'd never give a blowjob without wearing a condom..."

Trust

Prison life is littered with small indicators of our status, particularly how far we are trusted - or not.

Does a screw step aside on the stairs to ensure that you aren't walking behind him? When he's talking to you, does he look over both your shoulder and his own? In these and other small ways our untrustworthy status is signalled, often to my frustration.

Open prison is the epitome of this. Some are festooned with CCTV cameras, even on the landings.  In others, the windows in the rooms don't open more than a few inches, assuming we'd be heading for the horizon if clambering out was made too easy. Not that a pane of glass hindered an escapologist but as a signal of trust, it sugg­ests that management focus more on "prison" than on "open".

Here, my window opens wide. So wide that I have to use caution not to fall out when I pull it shut. If we wanted to recreate the Greatest Hits of Colditz, circumnavigating a pane of glass wouldn't be on the list of perilous obstacles. I have a key to both my door and the one at the end of the landing. There is no perimeter fence of any significance - the one that does exist is said to be there to deter travellers from sneaking in and joining the dinner queue.

These are small things, but they signify acts of faith on the part of our keepers. Some, a tiny minority, break with that faith and they duly pay the price.

For me, these are significant signs that I am being invested with a measure of sense, that doesn't happen too often in prison.

Moving In

Reception is a low brick building that shows its age - over 60. I don't think that the local architectural society would object if I called the collection of buildings that comprise this prison 'eclectic'.

Old Receptions have a unique atmosphere, as if the walls ooze with the collective activity that they have long contained. New Receptions are sterile, the prison equivalent of MacDonald’s.

My property was searched, classified, listed, with distinct piles for that allowed and that forbidden. Overall the process was relatively painless - always a good start in a new nick.

Prisoners who smoke and those who do not are, as far as possible, not required to share cells. On arriving on the Induction wing this led to 2 non-smokers being swapped about to free up a cell just for me and my filthy habits. Each of them was in a cell by themselves and so both lost out badly in this activity. They end the night shar­ing a cell whereas I am in solitary splendour.

Rule 1 in entering a new prison - don't piss off your neighbours. Sorry, mate.

Moving on Up

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...?

Beware of the Snakes

During the induction talk the staff warned me about the dangers and prevalence of "black mamba".  Lethal snakes in Derby were not on my list of potential Cat-D pitfalls...

Inquiries revealed that Black Mamba is a legal high that substitutes for cannabis and is undetectable on urine testing. Its popularity speaks for its efficacy.

I'm not tempted.  But I will now be treading more cautiously in the long grass...

Victims (yet again)

I don’t recall saying that I would avoid topics which may be uncomfortable, controversial or even offensive.  Putting the full weight of the State on a person and throwing them into prison is a profound act. It is to expel them from their community and to deliberately inflict suffering. Given the seriousness of this, then confining the debate to some comfortable island, to bow to sacred cows, or to merely bandy trite stereotypes around would be cowardly and pointless. As I have a voice, it would be pure ego to use it merely to flatter you or to polish my own image. As the only regular prison blogger in this country then I feel a responsibility to strip away the detritus that often passes for penological debate and attempt to deal with some of the difficult issues. This clearly makes some readers uncomfortable.


One of the most sensitive issues is that of the victims of crime. Those who have followed the blog from its early days will understand that I decline to be led by popular opinion on victims’ issues. At the same time, I refuse to poke at victims’ issues merely to provoke outrage. There are genuine issues to debate and I will on occasion raise them.

This may seem to be indecent and I'm not insensitive to that. People whose lives have been wrecked by crime should receive support and the utmost consideration as indiv­iduals. Human suffering should provoke our empathy.

As a collective, some victims have grouped to form a political lobby whose effects are visible throughout the criminal justice system. Individual victims may - from plain decency - be left in peace but political lobby groups are legitimate targets for debate or criticism. The alternative is to abandon policy-making to the hands of a particular group, whose agenda may not be for the good of the wider society.

Such criticism may seem unseemly. That is the price of debate. That such subjects are being analysed by a murderer seems to be plain crass or foolish, as one commenter alleges. That may be so.

As a member of a society whose criminal justice system is being warped by victims lobbying, I maintain that I have every right to join the debate. Justice should, after all, belong to all of us. As a prisoner whose daily living conditions and progress to release are affected by victims lobbying efforts, I insist that I have a perfect right to be heard. And as a man who lost his sister to a violent crime I myself am a victim and on that basis I feel it should not be viewed as improper that I have a voice. Unless only "nice" victims are allowed to speak?

In some sense I may be uniquely placed to speak on such issues. As the singular prison blogger, and as both the perpetrator and victim of homicidal crime, I may offer a bridge that could span the chasms in these debates.  And if some readers find such debate uncomfortable I can only hope that they examine their beliefs.

An uncomfortable  debate  always holds the potential  to be  a  deeply productive  one  and this blog always  prefers  to  generate   light  rather  than  heat.

The Mysterious Mind of Management

A governor told me that he was looking to create a new orderly position, duties to include keeping the myriad notice boards up to date.

Negotiations were going well until he suggested the job title - "information orderly".

Was he trying to get me killed?!

The Rules

Sprinkled amongst other posts across Christmas and the New Year will be a number of posts relating to the Prison Rules.

The Prison Rules 1999 are, to you, a few clicks away. It is their meaning, context and the way that they shape prison life which is absent from the prison service website -an information gap which begs to be addressed. I just can't resist it.

Although the Rules are dated 1999 in nearly their entirety they are a rehash of the Rules of 1964...which in themselves were a rehash of the Rules from the end of the 18th century. You will get a flavour of this historical continuity when you realise that the Rules relating to the death penalty were only expunged in 1999 - a full generation after execution was abolished In the UK. Bread and water existed as a disciplinary punishment into the 1980's.

Obviously I wouldn't indulge myself or abuse you with a mere retelling of the Rules. It is their hidden meaning which justifies my writing about them... And if I include the odd tale of my brushes with these Rules, well, the Festive Season is approaching and levity begins to creep in. And to stave off any who may be tempted to bleat about the influence of Human Rights legislation on the Rules, it is worth noting the provisions of Rule 34:

"...a prisoner shall not be permitted to communicate with any person outside the prison, or such person with him, except with the leave of the Secretary of State or as a privilege..."

That's my excuse for failing to deal with my unanswered correspondence - and I'm sticking to it!

Bureaucracy v Reality

Is it not the hallmark of the true bureaucrat that, unless the proper procedure is followed and the correct paperwork completed, then he is able to deny the reality standing before him?

A prisoner in the block was on hunger strike. He simply refused to attend the hotplate where I daily offered the best in prison service catering...After missing three consec­utive meals this is logged by staff as an official "food refusal". Paperwork begins to be generated, procedures swing into action.

One member of staff took the view that he wouldn't log this as a food refusal because by his reckoning the prisoner was not following the "proper procedure". That the man would be just as dead in several weeks was neither here nor there, proper procedures MUST be followed. In their absence, the reality of starvation could be denied.

Is this not a sign of a lack of humanity? An indication that bureaucracy can become a reality in its own right and one that denies something in the human spirit?

And should such a corroded, misguided soul ever be given authority over the welfare of other human beings?

Smokin*

Just to state the bleeding obvious, prisons are not pubs. There are severe restrictions on where we can now smoke in prison; essentially nowhere except in the open air and in the sanctity of our cells. The analogy is that our cell is our home.

Those who suspect that the under-occupation of the Isle of Man prison is related to it being a wholly non-smoking institution, and therefore unwelcoming to the criminal classes, are fixating on an overly simplistic idea. All prisons for young prisoners (under 18) are non smoking and their places are wildly over-subscribed. There is no correlation between prison conditions and crime rates, for the reason that no criminal believes he will be caught before setting out to commit his wicked deeds.

Meanies

The wages prisoners receive for our labours are pathetically meagre and yet must bear the weight of many demands. One of these is maintaining contact with the outside world through letters and phone calls.

This situation prompts us to save pennies wherever we can and one way is to steam off stamp? from mail received and to re-use them. This is a fraud on our inept pos­tal system that I have no great justification for save necessity.

The prison service, intent on maintaining our poverty, sinks so low as to actually scribble with a biro across stamps on incoming nail, preventing this recycling.

Is this the most menial job being done by a public servant known to Man???

The Coffee Jar

Some while ago we were prohibited from buying any goods which arrived in a glass jar.

Coffee was the most obvious casualty.

This policy - enforced across every prison - was a knee jerk reaction to events in a Block up north. It was alleged that a prisoner attempted to murder three screws by way of a broken bottle of sauce. History does not recall whether it was tomato or brown.

The prisoner has now been acquitted. Pity he can't celebrate with a nice cup of Nescafe...!

The Orwell Prize

Having fallen last year as my writing attempted to leap the gap between the longlist and the shortlist, I hesitate slightly to put myself forward again.

The past year has been a difficult one, where my writing has been frequently disrupted. Throw in the loss of my word-processor and a blown central fuse and I do wonder if I have produced ten posts which are worthy of submission. Sans internet access, I also haven't a clue as to what I've written and cannot look it up. A strange situation.

The Editor will obviously have a prominent role in organising this year’s submission, although she will have to read my whole year’s output. as I did last year, I also invite readers to pop over to read the Orwell criteria and highlight any of my posts which they think may be worthy of submission.

I'd like to say that if I won, then I'd take you all out for a drink...

And as look back over the past year, I must thank you for your patience. How, and what, I write is obviously a reflection of the state of my life and the vagaries of my mental state. Neither has been at its peak this year and that you hang about reading what even the Editor has characterised as being crap on occasion, I can only count my blessings that I have the only real comfort for any scribbler - an audience.

As I regain my mental footing and refuel the fires in my belly, I hope that I may repay your patience.

A Novel Resettlement Scheme

The willingness of Britain's Upper legislative chamber, the House of Lords, to continue to employ members on their release from prison warms my heart.

If only other enterprises were so open minded...