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  Mary is off to Kenya with her sister Janet on Monday, a journey she has wanted to make for some years because of her love of cats, whatever their size.

  What happened to our ninety minutes together?

  6.00 pm

  I’m in my final writing session for the day when there’s a knock on the door. This usually means that a prisoner has a headache and needs some paracetamol, which I am allowed to dispense as long as the inmate has a note from the duty officer. If it’s something more serious, then his unit officer has to be consulted. I open my door and smile up at an inmate, who looks pretty healthy to me.

  ‘Have you got any condoms, Jeff?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ I tell him, aware that Linda keeps a supply for prisoners going on weekend leave, or just about to be released, but even then she only gives them out very sparingly. ‘If you report to surgery at seven-thirty tomorrow morning, Linda will …’

  ‘It’ll be too late by then,’ he says. I look surprised. ‘It’s just that my sister visited me this afternoon and she hasn’t got enough money to get home. A few of the lads are willing to pay her ten quid for a blow job, which usually ends up with them going the whole way and ending up paying twenty.’

  All of which begs several questions when possession of money in a prison is illegal. Is this an indoor or outdoor activity (it’s minus two degrees outside) and is she really his sister?

  ‘Sorry, I can’t help,’ is my only response, and after he has disappeared into the night. I try hard to concentrate on my writing.

  DAY 165

  SUNDAY 30 DECEMBER 2001

  7.30 am

  The security officer on duty today enjoys his job, but never feels fulfilled until he’s put someone on a charge. Mr Vessey rushes into surgery to see sister. During the night he’s found fourteen empty bottles of vodka at the bottom of the skip by the entrance to the prison. A whispered conversation ensues, not that it takes a lot of imagination to realize that he’s asking if any inmates checked into surgery this morning ‘a little worse for wear’. Moments later, he rushes off to the south block.

  In fact, very few inmates were on sick parade this morning as most of them are sleeping in, or sleeping it off, and the ones that appeared were genuinely ill. He will be disappointed.

  10.00 am

  During the morning we have visits from Mr Lewis and Mr Berlyn, the new deputy governor, who join Linda for coffee. Mr Hocking is the next to arrive, with the news that five inmates have failed the breathalyser test. Two of them are CSV workers, who could lose all their privileges. For example, they could be put back to work on the farm for the rest of their sentence.16 Mr Hocking tells me he doubts if the punishment will be that draconian, but the warning will be clear for the future.

  Why would anyone risk losing so much for a couple of vodkas?

  12 noon

  Linda leaves at midday so I spend four of the next six hours editing Belmarsh, volume one of these diaries.

  7.00 pm

  During the evening I read Here is New York by E. B. White, which Will gave me for Christmas. One paragraph towards the end of the essay is eerily prophetic.

  The subtlest change in New York is something people don’t speak much about, but that is in everyone’s mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes, no bigger than a wedge of geese, can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now; in the sound of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest edition.

  This was written in 1949, and the author died in 1985.

  DAY 166

  NEW YEAR’S EYE 2001

  11.00 am

  Four new prisoners arrive at the hospital from Nottingham, looking lost and a little disorientated. I’m surprised that Group 4 has deposited them before lunch as they don’t usually arrive until around four in the afternoon.

  ‘It’s New Year’s Eve,’ explains Linda. ‘They’ll all want to be home by four.’

  12 noon

  Linda checks her books and tells me that NSC had a turnover of just over a thousand prisoners during 2001, so after eleven weeks, I’m already something of an old lag.

  6.00 pm

  Mary and I usually invite eight guest to dinner at the Old Vicarage on New Year’s Eve. This year I’ll have to settle for a KitKat, a glass of Ribena and hope that Doug and Clive are able to join me.

  DAY 167

  NEW YEAR’S DAY 2002

  6.00 am

  The camp is silent, so I begin to go over volume one of these diaries. Reading through those early days when I was so distressed, I can’t believe how much I have made myself forget. And this has become even more pronounced since my appointment as hospital orderly, where I have everything except freedom and the daily company of my wife, family and friends; a punishment in itself, but not purgatory and certainly not hell.

  10.00 am

  Mr New drops into the hospital to say his farewells. He leaves NSC tonight and will, on 8 January, change his uniform for a suit, when he becomes a governor at Norwich Prison. He’s taught me a great deal about good and evil during the past three months.

  6.00 pm

  I miss my wife, I miss my family and I miss my friends. The biggest enemy I have to contend with is boredom, and it’s a killer.

  For many prisoners, it’s the time when they first experiment with drugs. To begin with, drugs are offered by the dealers for nothing, and when they demand more, in exchange for a phonecard and an ounce of tobacco or cash, and finally, when they’re hooked, they’ll give anything for a fix – including their life.

  Tonight, the Lincolnshire constabulary informed sister that a former prisoner called Cole, who left NSC six weeks ago, has been found under a hedge in a quiet country lane.

  He died from an overdose.

  Happy New Year.

  DAY 168

  WEDNESDAY 2 JANUARY 2002

  6.00 am

  I continue to edit A Prison Diary Volume One – Belmarsh: Hell.

  10.00 am

  Mr Berlyn drops in to tell me that he already has plans for my CSV work should my sentence be reduced, and this even before the date of my appeal is known. He wants me to work in an old-age pensioners’ home, as it will be out of sight of the press. He also feels I would benefit from the experience. I had hoped to work in the Red Cross shop in Boston, but Mr Berlyn has discounted that option after Maria brought in, without permission, some books for me to sign before Christmas to raise money for their Afghanistan appeal. The Rev Derek Johnson, the prison chaplain, has been to see him to plead their case, explaining that he is in the forgiveness and rehabilitation business. Mr Berlyn’s immediate retort was, ‘I’m in the punishment and retribution business.’ He must have meant of prisoners; I can’t believe he wishes to punish a hard-working, decent woman trying to run a Red Cross shop.

  4.50 pm

  Linda looks very tired. She’s worked twenty-one of the last twenty-four days. She tells me that she’s going to apply for a job in Boston. My only selfish thought is that I hope she doesn’t leave before I do.

  8.00 pm

  Doug turns up at the hospital for his nightly bath and to watch television. He’s now settled into his job as a driver, which keeps him out of the prison between the hours of 8 am and 7 pm. I wonder if, for prisoners like Doug, it wouldn’t be better to rethink the tagging system, so he could give up his bed for a more worthy candidate.

  DAY 169

  THURSDAY 3 JANUARY 2002

  7.30 am

  Morning surgery is packed with inmates who want to sign up for acupuncture. You must report to hospital between 7.30 and 8 am in order to be booked in for an eleven o’clock appointment. Linda and Gail are both fully qualified, and ‘on the out’ acupuncture could cost up to £40 a session. To an inmate, it’s free of charge, as are all prescriptions.

  The purpose of acupuncture in prison is twof