Purgatory: A Prison Diary Volume 2 Read Free

shaving foam, Robertson’s marmalade and four bottles of Evian water.
12 noon
    Lunch. On Fridays at Wayland lunch
comes in a plastic bag: a packet of crisps, a bar of chocolate, a bread roll
accompanied by a lettuce leaf and a sachet of salad cream. I can only wonder in
which prison workshop and how long ago this meal was packed, because there are
rarely sell-by dates on prison food. I return to my cell to find the canteen
provisions have been deposited on the end of my bed in yet another plastic bag.
I celebrate by thumbing my bread roll in half and spreading Robertson’s Golden
Shred all over it with the aid of my toothbrush handle. I pour myself a mug of
Evian. Already the world is a better place.
12.40 pm
    Part of the induction process is a private session with the
prison chaplain. Mr John Framlington looks to me as if it’s been some years
since he’s administered his own parish. He explains that he’s a ‘fill-in’, as
he shares the work with a younger man. I assure him that I will be attending
the service on Sunday, but would like to know if it clashes with the RCs. He
looks puzzled.
    ‘No, we both use the same chapel. Father Christopher has so
many parishes outside the prison to cover each Sunday he holds his service on a
Saturday morning at ten thirty.’ Mr Framlington is interested to discover why I
wish to attend both services. I tell him about my daily diary, and my failure
to hear Father Kevin’s sermon while at Belmarsh. He sighs.
    ‘You’ll quickly find out that Father Christopher preaches a
far better sermon than I do.’
2.40 pm
    The first setback of the day. Mr
Newport returns, the bearer of bad news. Six new
prisoners have arrived this afternoon, and once again I will have to share. I
learn later that there are indeed six new inductees but as the prison still has
several empty beds there is no real need for me to share. However, there are
several reporters hanging around outside the prison gates, so the authorities
don’t want to leave the press with the impression I might be receiving
preferential treatment. Mr Newport claims he has selected a more suitable
person to share with me. Perhaps this time it won’t be a Stanley-knife stabber,
just a machete murderer.
    I transfer all my personal possessions out of one of the
cupboards and stuff them into the other, along with the prison kit.
3.18 pm
    My new room-mate appears carrying his plastic bag. He
introduces himself as Jules (see plate section). He’s thirty-five and has a
five-year sentence for drug dealing. He’s already been told that I don’t smoke.
    I watch him carefully as he starts to unpack, and I begin to
relax. He has an unusual number of books, as well as an electric chessboard. I
feel confident the evening viewing will not be a rerun of Top of the Pops and
motorbike scrambling. At five to four I leave him to continue his unpacking
while I make my way to the gym for another induction session.
3.55 pm
    Twenty new inmates are escorted to the gym. There are no
doors to be unlocked on our unimpeded journey to the other side of the
building. I also notice that on the way we pass a library. I never even found
the library at Belmarsh.
    The gym is an even bigger shock. It’s quite magnificent.
Wayland has a full-size basketball court, which is fully equipped for badminton
and tennis. The gym instructor asks us to take a seat on a bench where we’re
handed forms to fill in, giving such details as age, weight, height and sports
we are interested in.
    ‘My name is John Maiden,’ he tells us, ‘and I’m happy to be
called John.’ I never learnt the first name of any officer at Belmarsh. He
tells us the different activities available: cricket, basketball, badminton,
football, rugby and, inevitably, weight training. He then takes us into the
next room, an area overcrowded with bars, dumb-bells and weights. Once again
I’m disappointed to discover that there is only one treadmill, three rowing
machines and no step machine. However, there