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I come out of the shower to find Ms Webb waiting for me.
‘When the induction wing is banged up at four o’clock,’ she says, ‘I’ll leave your door open because we’re going to move you across to number two cell on the far spur.’
I think about throwing my arms round Ms Webb, but as I only have a towel covering me, I feel sure she would put me on report, so I simply say, Thank you.’
Once I’m dressed, I place all my belongings into the Belmarsh plastic bag in preparation for the move to the other side of the block. I am packed and ready to leave long before four.
This will be my eighth move in five weeks.
4.06 pm
David (whisky bootlegger) is waiting for me in his old cell. It’s typical of his good manners that he has left the room spotless.
Now that I have an extra cupboard, it takes me nearly an hour to decide where everything should go. Although the cell remains the regulation five paces by three, it suddenly feels much larger when you no longer have to share the cramped space with another prisoner. No more having to keep out of someone else’s way. No more television programmes I don’t want to watch. No more having to check whose slippers you’ve put on, that you’re using your own toothpaste, soap, even lavatory paper. No more
There’s a knock on the cell door and Darren, Jimmy, Sergio and Steve make an entrance.
‘It’s a house-warming party,’ Darren explains, ‘and, like any good party, we come bearing gifts.’
Sergio has three five-by-five-inch steel mirrors, the regulation size. He fixes them on the wall with prison toothpaste. I can now see my head and upper body for the first time in five weeks.
Steve supplies - can you believe it - net curtains to hide my barred window, and at night tone down the glare of the fluorescent lights. Jimmy has brought all the paraphernalia needed - board, Blu-tack, etc. - to attach my family photos to the wall.
Lad Darren demands a roll of drums before h
e will reveal his gift, because he’s come up with every prisoner’s dream: a plug. No longer will I have to shave in my cereal bowl.
‘Anything else you require, my lord?’ Steve enquires.
‘I’m out of Evian.’
For the first time the visiting team admits defeat. A survey has been carried out and it’s been discovered that I am the only prisoner on the block who purchases bottled water from the canteen.
‘So, like the rest of us,’ says Darren, ‘if you want more water, you’ll have to turn on the tap.’
‘However,’ adds Sergio, ‘now that I’m number one on the hotplate,’ he pauses, ‘you will be able to have an extra carton of milk from time to time.’
What more could a man ask for?
7.00 pm
I read over today’s script in my silent cell and when I’ve finished editing I place the six pages in one of my new drawers. Every ten days the sheets are transferred to a large brown envelope (30,000 words) and sent off to Alison to type up.
I settle down on my bed to watch A Touch of Frost. David Jason is as consistent as ever, but the script is too flimsy to sustain itself for two hours, so I switch off the television and, for the first time in ten days, also the light, climb into my single bed and sleep. Goodbye, window warriors, may I never hear from you again.
DAY 36 - THURSDAY 23 AUGUST 2001
5.18 am
I wake, depressed about two matters. When I phoned Mary last night, she told me that the Red Cross have asked KPMG to audit the Simple Truth campaign, because some of their larger donors have been making waves and they want to dose the subject once and for all. Tony Morton-Hooper wrote to the police, pointing out that this internal audit has nothing to do with my involvement with the campaign. Mary and Tony are doing everything they can to get the police to admit that the whole enquiry is a farce and that Ms Nicholson’s accusations were made without a shred of evidence. Despite their efforts I have a feeling the police will not close their enquiry until they’ve considered his report, so it could now be months before my D-cat is reinstated.
I’m also depressed because the Tory party seems to have broken out into civil war, with Margaret Thatcher saying it will be a disaster if Ken Clarke wins, and John Major declaring that if IDS becomes leader well be in Opposition for another decade.
Six years so far.
6.00 am
I write for two hours.
