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  But I don’t want to hear any more.

  11.45 am

  A prisoner comes in asking to see the doctor urgently. I explain that he left about an hour ago, and sister is over at the administration block, but he could see the doctor tomorrow. He looks anxious, so I ask if I can help.

  ‘I’ve just come back from home leave,’ he explains, ‘and while I was out, I had unprotected sex, and I’d like to check that I haven’t caught anything.’

  ‘Did you know the girl?’ I ask.

  ‘I didn’t know any of them,’ he replies.

  ‘Any of them?’

  ‘Yes, there were seven.’

  When I later tell sister, she doesn’t bat an eyelid, just makes an appointment for him to see the doctor.

  12 noon

  Among the new receptions today is a prisoner called Mitchell (drink driving, three months). While I’m checking his blood pressure, he tells me he hasn’t been back to NSC since 1968, when it was a detention centre.

  ‘It’s changed a bit since then,’ he adds. ‘Mind you, the hospital was still here. But before you saw the doctor, they hosed you down and shaved your head with a blunt razor, to make sure you didn’t have fleas.’

  ‘How about the food?’ I ask.

  ‘Bread and water for the first fortnight, and if you spoke during meals an officer called Raybold banged your head against the wall.’

  I had to smile because I know one or two officers who’d still like to.

  2.30 pm

  The director-general, Martin Narey, has issued a directive requiring all prison officers to address inmates with the prefix Mr.

  When an officer bellows across the car park, ‘Get your fuckin’ arse over here, Archer,’ I courteously point out to her that she must have missed the director-general’s missive.

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about the director-general,’ she replies, ‘I’ll fuckin’ well call you what I like.’

  One prisoner found an unusual way around this problem a few years ago. He changed his name by deed poll to Mister Rogers, but then he did have a twenty-year sentence.

  3.00 pm

  If you work outside the prison, you can earn up to £300 a week, which allows you to send money back to your wife, partner and family, which you certainly can’t do on the amount you are paid working inside. An added bonus is that some companies offer full-time work on release to any prisoner who has proved himself while in their employ.

  Once you’re qualified to work outside, you must first complete a month of CSV (Community Service Volunteer) work, partly as retribution, and also to prove you are both fit and safe to work in the community. Once this has been completed, you can then spend the rest of your sentence working outside, so that when you’re released, in the best scenario, it’s a seamless progression. In the worst …

  Mike was only a few weeks away from that seamless progression when two prison officers turned up at his place of work, and accompanied him back to NSC. It seems that a young lady who worked at the same factory could do nothing to deter his unrequited advances. Her mother also worked there, and reported him to the management. The management, quite rightly, were not willing to condemn the prisoner simply on the mother’s word, and carried out their own investigation. A few days later they sent a full report to the prison governor.

  Mike has subsequently been shipped out of NSC back to Lincoln Prison, a tough B-cat. He was only a few weeks away from parole, and the factory had already offered him a full-time job on release. He has now lost his D-cat status, lost his job, lost his income and possibly lost any chance of parole.

  I am reminded of Robin Williams’s classic remark: ‘God gave man a penis and a brain, but not enough blood to work both at the same time.’

  DAY 314

  TUESDAY 28 MAY 2002

  Few prisoners turn down the opportunity to have weekly visits, or the chance to be tagged and released two months early. Gary is the rare exception.

  Gary was sentenced to two years for theft of a motor vehicle (BMW), and because of good behaviour will only serve twelve months. But why does no one visit him, and why won’t he take up his two-month tagging option and serve only ten months?

  None of Gary’s family or friends knows that he is in prison. His mother believes that he is working with his friend Dave on a one-year contract on an oil rig in Mexican waters. When he arrived in Mexico, Dave sent Gary a large selection of Mexican scenic postcards. Gary pens a weekly card to his mother, sends it back to his friend Dave in Mexico, who then stamps it and forwards the missive to England.

  Gary will be released next week, and seems to have got away with his little subterfuge, because Dave will fly back from Mexico on the same day, when they will meet up at Heathrow and return to Wolverhampton together. During the journey, Dave will brief Gary on what it’s like to work and live on a Mexican oil rig.

  Now that’s what I call a friend.

  DAY 316

  THURSDAY 29 MAY 2002

  North Sea Camp has five doctors who work a rota, and one of them, Dr Harris, is also responsible for the misuse of substances unit in Boston. Dr Harris arrives at the hospital today, accompanied by a male nurse. Nigel, who is in his early thirties and is dressed in a black T-shirt, blue jeans, with a ring in his ear, has come to visit me because he is currently working with young people aged twelve to nineteen who have a heroin problem. I can see why they would feel at ease with him.

  Nigel explains that he can only work with youngsters who want to work with him. He listens to their questions, offers answers, but never judges. They’ve had enough of their parents telling them to grow up, behave themselves and find a job. He outlines the bare statistics – they are terrifying.

  There are currently 220,000 heroin addicts in Britain, of which only 3,000 (11 per cent) are involved in some form of detox programme. One of the problems, Nigel explains, is that if you apply to your local GP for a place on one of these programmes, the wait can be anything up to six weeks, by which time ‘the client’ has often given up trying to come off the drug. The irony is that if you end up in prison, you will be put on a detox programme the following day. Nigel knows of several addicts who commit a crime hoping to be sent to jail so that they can wean themselves off drugs. Nigel works directly with a small group of seven addicts, although he reminds me, ‘You can’t save anyone; you can only help those who want to help themselves.’

  He then guides me through the problems the young are facing today. They start experimenting with cannabis or sniffing solvents, then progress to ecstasy and cocaine, followed by crack cocaine, ending up on heroin. He knows several seventeen year olds who have experienced the full gamut. He adds ruefully that if the letter of the law were adhered to, seven million Britons would be in jail for smoking cannabis, as possession currently has a two-year tariff. A gramme of an A-class drug costs about £40. This explains the massive rise in street crime over the past decade, especially among the young.

  The danger is not just the drugs, but also the needles. Often, drug users live in communes and share the same needles. This is the group that ends up with HIV and hepatitis B and C.

  Today, for example, Nigel has appointments with two girls addicted to heroin, one aged nineteen and the other seventeen, who both want to begin a detox programme. His biggest problem is their boyfriends, who are not only responsible for them being on drugs in the first place, but are also their suppliers, so the last thing they want is for their girlfriends to be cured of the craving. Nigel tells me that there is only a 50-50 chance they will even turn up for the appointment. And if they do, addicts on average make seven attempts to come off heroin before they succeed.

  Nigel’s responsibility is to refer his cases to a specialist GP so that they can be registered for a detox programme. He fears that too many addicts go directly to their own GP, who often prescribes the wrong remedy to cure them.

  Nigel displays no cynicism as he takes me through a typical day in his life, and reminds me that he’s not officially funded, som