6.00 pm
I’m writing at my desk when I hear shouting and screaming in the corridor. I leave my cell to investigate, and see half a dozen prisoners standing outside a cell door at the far end of the corridor. I’m told by Darren that the occupant, Danny (burglar) will be released in the morning, and some of his friends wished to give him a farewell present. Half a dozen inmates have filled a black bin liner with water, and added tea bags, sugar, stale bread, butter and beans. They are now all peeing into it. They then empty the contents onto the hapless prisoner’s bed just before we are due to be banged up. This ensures that he will have to spend his final night cleaning up the cell if he hopes to be released in the morning.
9.00 pm
Dr Starkey continues his excellent series on the six wives of Henry VIII. Tonight it’s Anne Boleyn. Although Starkey spends the whole hour being fairly critical of the queen, one cannot but admire the lady’s last sentiment before being beheaded. Her short speech was full of grace, with no fault placed at the door of Henry VIII She can’t have been all bad.
DAY 62 - TUESDAY 18 SEPTEMBER 2001
Pottery. Carry on producing long worms for my pot, much to the amusement of the other prisoners, all of whom show far more promise than I do. Craig (GBH) is making a horse for his mother, Lloyd (drugs), a heart-shaped jewellery box for his girlfriend, Peter (burglary), another bowl for his aunt and Paul (murder), yet another Christ on the cross.
6.00 am
It’s been a week since the terrorists struck New York and Washington. It now seems unlikely that any more bodies will be rescued from beneath the rubble, although Mayor Giuliani is a long way off giving orders to stop the search while there’s the slimmest hope that anyone might still be alive. He’s lost so many firemen, policemen and city workers and was nearly killed himself that I can’t see him calling off the search for at least another week; this despite the fact that nobody other than the closest of relatives believes that anyone else can have survived.
8.30 am
Danny, the prisoner who had his cell sacked last night, is now bidding farewell to everyone on the spur as he’s due to be released within the hour. He seems to bear no grudges and I watch him shaking hands with Jimmy who tells me later that Danny was probably thankful that his departing gift wasn’t physical, as it was on Mel’s last night. Jimmy doesn’t go into any detail but does admit that Mel had to spend his last few hours on the hospital wing.
11.45 am
Call Alison. David’s picked up the package from Sale and she has sent the Botero details plus photos to Sotheby’s for a realistic valuation, with copies to me. She has also dispatched the Botero catalogue raisonne as a gift to the library. At least that way I will get to see the great artist’s works rather than have the book confiscated and not returned until I am finally released. Alison has handed the necklace over to James, who awaits my instructions. Still no valuation on the emerald.
6.00 pm
Nothing else worth reporting today, except Jimmy (captain of everything) has just returned from town leave, and looks as if he’s had sex. Sex is allowed when you’re on town leave. How could they stop it? Jimmy has been out so much recently that he almost treats Wayland like a bed and breakfast motel. Still, to be fair, he’ll only be with us for another three weeks. Will he leave Wayland before I do?
DAY 63 - WEDNESDAY 19 SEPTEMBER 2001
6.04 am
Things American still dominate the news, as I feel sure they will for some time to come. Tony Blair has seized the initiative and flown to Berlin and Paris for talks with the chancellor and the president. In The Times this morning Peter Riddell describes him as having ‘a good war’, but the truth is that everyone is waiting to find out what George W. Bush’s response will be to the Taliban’s stonewalling.
9.00 am
Pottery. I finish my masterpiece. My tutor Anne asks the rest of the class to gather round and help her decide what it is. Four opt for a flowerpot, three an upside-down hat, and one inmate feels I should have pressed on and produced an umbrella stand.
11.00 am
Another welcome flood of letters today, including one from John Major and another from George Carey (see opposite). Both are handwritten and full of understanding and kindness.
Mary tells me in her letter that she’s been in touch with KPMG who are doing a very thorough job and refusing to be hurried. David Smith, one of their senior partners, plans to come and see me next Monday together with my solicitor. She feels, as I have nothing to hide, that I should agree to the meeting. I had never planned to do otherwise.
12 noon
Lunch. Every day you select a number from the lunch list (see opposite). I always choose the vegetarian option for reasons I have already explained. As I pass Mr Shepperson, he calls out two which turns out to be a beef burger. I point out politely that there must be some mistake. He immediately checks the master list to discover that the mistake is mine. I’ve circled two, not five. Result? No lunch today. He makes no attempt to offer me an alternative because all the dishes are pre-selected, he explains. In any case, that would set a precedent.
Carl (GBH, goal scorer) who serves the puddings on the end of the line, offers me a second orange and turning to Shepperson says, ‘His lordship has never been the same since I introduced him to cannabis.’ This is greeted by cheers from the waiting queue. Even Shepperson manages a smile.
6.00 pm
Supper. This time I circled the right number, vegetable hotpot, and, because Mr Chapman is on duty, I end up with two portions.
DAY 64 - THURSDAY 20 SEPTEMBER 2001
5.59 am
During the past week George Bush has been criticized - mainly by journalists - for not being able to string a sentence together. But today he confounded his critics (me included) by delivering an elegant and moving speech to Congress. This was not only well written (I read the full text as reproduced in The Times), but the speech writer had caught his voice because he delivered the text with such assurance.
Meanwhile the prime minister’s timing continues to be faultless. He flew into New York following talks with Chirac in Paris and then was driven straight to Ground Zero. He was shown round the smouldering site by Mayor Guiliani, before attending a memorial service at St Patrick’s.
I tune in four hours later to hear the president’s speech to Congress only to find Mr Blair now sitting in the president’s box - Mrs Bush on one side of him and Mayor Giuliani on the other. He’s done more to strengthen the special relationship in one week than anyone since the days of Roosevelt and Churchill.
8.00 am
Mr Clegg arrives outside my door and stares into my cell. He informs me that the decor, as designed by Shaun, has not met with the governor’s approval. The walls must be returned to their original colour by the end of the week. But as the governor hasn’t been seen on A block, let alone my spur, in anyone’s memory, this seems a little unlikely. However, I go in search of Locke…
11.30 am
In my post, among other things, is a catalogue from Sotheby’s New York, for their Latin American sale last May. I walk across to Sergio’s cell and it’s my turn to give him a tutorial. I explain how an auction works, and what is meant by high and low estimates. On the right-hand side of each page is a reproduction of a painting or sculpture. On the left, the artist’s name and any known provenance of the work.
We immediately check out the two oils, two sculptures and five drawings by Botero. A sculpture of a reclining woman had a low estimate of $ 175,000 and sold for $ 190,000. A vast sculpture of a nude woman had a low estimate of $400,000 but only managed $325,000, whereas an oil painting of a bowl of flowers which had a low estimate of $225,000, sold for $425,000. The five drawings, ranging in price from $15,000 to $25,000 failed to reach the hammer price and were BI (bought in) perhaps because the subject (bull fighting) would not have appealed to many Americans.
We then carefully check the photos of Boteros that arrived in the morning post and try to work out what their low e
stimate might be, and see if we can spot a bargain. There is a maquette of a nude woman for which I’m willing to offer $10,000, two small oils, $25,000 and $35,000, a large smiling cat, $200,000, and a magnificent portrait entitled The Card Players (see plate section) which we settle on at $400,000, although the seller wants a million. My bids are all low, and although Sergio will offer the sellers cash, I doubt if we’ll manage to pick up any of them as Botero is, after all, an established international name. However, as Sergio points out, although Christie’s and Sotheby’s have offices in Brazil, Mexico and Argentina, they have no presence in Colombia, which may provide us with a small edge in an overcrowded market. He also adds that September 11th may have caused prices to fall suddenly. We’ll just have to wait and see if he’s right.
When ‘Lock up,’ is bellowed out, I return to my cell.
10.30 pm
I fall asleep dreaming of The Card Players. I even know which wall I would hang it on in London.
DAY 65 - FRIDAY 21 SEPTEMBER 2001
6.11 am
George W. Bush and Tony Blair officially name Osama bin Laden as the man behind the terrorist attack on the twin towers in New York. Although ships and planes are spotted heading for the Gulf, no one seems to know when any retaliation is likely to take place.
Bush has warned the Taliban, give up bin Laden or we strike. The Taliban’s response is that it would be an insult to Allah, but don’t mention the fact that the leader of the Taliban is bin Laden’s father-in-law. When Bush was told their response he appeared on TV offering $30 million for bin Laden, dead or alive. The moment I heard that I feared for the president’s life.
9.00 am
Gym. Alex (special needs group) does three sets of ten sit-ups for the first time and, because he can’t speak, gives me a thumbs-up sign, while Robbie and Les applaud him. They are as yet unaware that I will also expect them to begin sit-ups next week. One of the few experiences I shall miss when I leave Wayland (if I ever escape) will be these weekly sessions.
10.45 am
When I return from the gym the newspapers are on my bed. They are so full of news from both sides of the Atlantic that I don’t discover until page eleven of The Times that the CPS are not going ahead with any assault charges against John Prescott. One or two of the inmates mutter about one rule for New Labour and another for the rest of us. A senior officer is even more appalled by the PM’s flippant remark, ‘Well, that’s John, isn’t it?’ So much for, ‘We’ll deal with crime and the causes of crime.’
3.00 pm
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 quickly replaced by some new incident demanding the staff’s immediate attention. Darren agrees it’s the first time I’ve been able to do something for him.
A Prison Diary Purgatory (2003) Page 19
