Phone Mary, who tells me that the governor has sent all the Prison Service papers showing the stated reasons for my recate-gorization from D-cat to C-cat He wishes it to be known that it is not the Prison Service that is holding up my reinstatement She has other news, but not on the phone.
DAY 66 – SATURDAY 22 SEPTEMBER 2001
11.00 am
Gym. 2,116 metres on the rower in ten minutes; three miles on the running machine in twenty-five minutes fifty-two seconds; and six miles on the bike in ten minutes, making me feel about forty-five, until I see a West Indian replace me on the running machine and do twelve mph for twenty minutes. Still, he is a mere twenty- three.
1.15 pm
I call Chris at the gallery. He’s unhappy about the Boteros because he has only black and white reproductions. I agree to do nothing until Sotheby’s have authenticated them and come back with a low estimate.
7.00 pm
I call James. He’s back in London and tells me that our expert has confirmed that the emerald was a good purchase for $10,000, although he isn’t willing to place a value on it. I am relieved to discover that Sergio isn’t a crook, and what’s more, Mary will end up with a special Christmas present. I wonder where I’ll be this Christmas?
DAY 67 – SUNDAY 23 SEPTEMBER 2001
12.07 pm
Today is dominated by one incident worth recording in detail, and it all began while I was in my cell reading The Times.
I have already explained that during Association a group of West Indians play dominoes in the main room. The amount of noise that emanates from each move would lead one to believe that a heavyweight boxing contest was taking place, which is why a problem arises when a real incident occurs, because the uproar can hardly reach a higher pitch. However, this time the noise was accompanied by the ringing of bells and officers running from every direction towards the Association room. It was like being back in Belmarsh. By the time I made an entrance, the incident was well under control. However, several of the brothers still wished to give me their version of events.
It seems that one of the brothers had been moved from D to A block recently, ostensibly because he had been bullied. It seems that when he was out on a town visit to Norwich a couple of weeks ago, his mates gathered together a large sum of money so that he could pick up an order of drugs. A problem arose when he returned that night and didn’t have any of the gear with him. His excuse was he didn’t think he’d get the skag past the guards. However, he couldn’t come up with a convincing explanation for not being able to return their cash. When he was found cowering in his cell with a cut below his eye and a broken nose, the unit officer quickly moved him across to our block and, they hoped, out of harm’s way. However, during exercise yesterday the brothers on D block informed the brothers on A block how he’d stitched them up, and passed the responsibility of exacting revenge on to them.
Back to the Sunday afternoon game of dominoes, where a row broke out with the culprit. One of the players left the group, walked across to the snooker table, picked up a ball, turned round and hurled it at him. Amazingly, he hit the right man in the back of the head at thirty paces (there were eleven prisoners seated around the table at the time). The ball must have been propelled at about seventy-miles an hour, because it split the man’s head open. The pitcher ended up in segregation, while the victim is on his way to the local hospital. Both will appear in front of the governor later this week.
The usual punishment would be twenty-eight days added to both men’s sentences, which the governor can mete out without recourse to the courts and, in a case like this, an immediate transfer to different A- or B-cat establishments.
I go into great detail to describe this incident simply because those casually reading this diary might be left with an impression that life at Wayland is almost bearable. It isn’t. You can never be sure from one moment to the next if your life is in danger. On this block alone there are a dozen murderers, countless thugs and drug addicts with whom I have to co-exist every day.
I’m not unhappy to see my door slammed shut tonight.
My meeting with KPMG and that an announcement is likely to be made in the next couple of days. He confirms that they have been ready to move me for some time, and they are only waiting for a call from the police.
I return to my cell aware that when KPMG finally announce their findings, and the police confirm that they have dropped their enquiries, that the press coverage will be about a hundredth of that created by Ms Nicholson the day after she had appeared on Newsnight
DAY 69 – TUESDAY 25 SEPTEMBER 2001
9.00 am
‘Burglars.’ This is the cry that goes up from fellow inmates when officers appear on the spur to begin a ‘spin’ – cell search.
I didn’t get to pottery yesterday because of my legal visit, and it looks as if I’m going to miss it again today. We’ve just been told to stay in our cells, as a search is about to be conducted following the snooker hall incident on Sunday. I fail to see how a prisoner throwing a snooker ball at another inmate should result in the whole of A block being searched two days later. However, it’s Shane (GBH, gym orderly) who tells me that when they ‘spun’ the assailant’s cell, they found a nine-inch blade hidden under his mattress, and the governor has ordered a comprehensive search of the whole block.
Searching 112 cells takes the duty officers a little over two hours. Mr Shepperson and a colleague spend ten minutes in my cell only to discover that I have two more towels than I’m entitled to and a T-shirt that Sergio has given me because he’s leaving on Thursday. They don’t comment on these indiscretions as they are obviously looking for more important items.
As I hang around in my cell, I am amused to see the grass outside is littered with different objects that have been thrown out of the windows since the shout of ‘Burglars’ went up. Apparently it’s mainly drugs and other banned substances, but despite a further search amongst the rubbish, no other knives or blades are discovered.
When the ‘spin’ is over, I’m told that Nigel, (GBH, race relations rep, known as the Preacher – see plate section), has had a carpet removed from his cell, and Darren, two pots of sea-green paint. An officer confirms that no other knives were found on our spur which surprises Darren, although he won’t tell me why.
The most common object removed from the cells turns out to be TV remote controls. For some inexplicable reason, remote controls are allowed only on D block (the drug-free block). Result? D blockers trade their remotes for drugs. Prison logic.
12 noon
Exercise. After half an hour of power walking in the fresh air, Darren and I return to the block. As he strolls back through the gate, his eyes light on his two pots of sea-green paint standing in the hallway. I’m afraid I can’t resist it. I pick them both up and deposit them back in his cell. He immediately hides them in the dustbin room at the end of the corridor, explaining that should any officer discover they’re missing, the first cell they would search would be his, and he could end up on report. If he hears nothing for twenty-four hours he’ll feel it’s safe to retrieve them. So much happens in prison every day, that it’s not unlike a national newspaper. Yesterday’s big story is
