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10.00 am
After writing for a couple of hours and having breakfast, I report to the gym in my new capacity as football correspondent for the Prison News.
The Wayland team meet in the changing room where they are handed their kit: a light blue shirt, dark blue shorts, blue socks, shin pads and a pair of football boots. As with the cricket match last week, the team are far better equipped than most amateur club sides, and once again all at the tax payers’ expense. All four blocks also have their own strip (A block’s is yellow and black). I assume this is normal practice for every prison across the country.
Once the team has changed, and very smart they look, we’re joined by our coach, Gary, who delivers an unusual team talk. Because the players have been selected from four different blocks and prisoners come and go every week, some of them haven’t even met before. The first thing the eleven men and three subs have to do is to announce their names and the positions they’ll be playing in. You may well consider that this is an insuperable barrier for any team, but not so, because the opposition also have several disadvantages to contend with. To start with, all of Wayland’s fixtures are played at home - think about it - and the rival team are not allowed to bring along any supporters, especially not girlfriends. And when it comes to gamesmanship, our team are in a class of their own, and the officers are just as bad.
The opposition side are met at the gates by sniffer dogs before being searched. The players are then escorted to the changing rooms, accompanied by the boos of prisoners from all four blocks. And if that isn’t enough to contend with, they then have to deal with our captain, Jimmy.
Now Jimmy is all charm and bonhomie as he accompanies the opposition side from the changing room onto the pitch. But he does consider it nothing less than his duty to inform the visitors that they should keep a wary eye on Preston, Wayland’s main striker.
‘Why?’ asks the opposing team captain innoc
ently.
‘He’s in for a double murder - chopped his parents’ heads off while they were asleep.’ Jimmy pauses. ‘Even we don’t like him. He’s already got a twenty-five-year sentence, and as he’s only done three, the occasional broken leg doesn’t seem to worry him too much, especially as he’s only likely to get a yellow card.’
The truth is that our main striker is in for breaking and entering (rather appropriate) but by the time Jimmy has reached the pitch, the Methwold team is convinced that if Hannibal Lecter were at Wayland he would be relegated to the subs bench.
The first half is a shambles; the ball goes up and down the pitch with little speed and even less purpose. Wayland are trying to get to know each other, while Methwold still aren’t sure if they dare risk the occasional tackle. It’s 0-0 when the whistle blows for half-time, and frankly no one deserved to score.
The second half is a complete contrast as I’m made aware of the other advantage Wayland has: fitness. All of our team spend at least an hour every day in the gym, rather than at the local pub, and it begins to show. The first goal is headed in by Carl (GBH), after an excellent cross by our ‘double-murderer1. The second is scored by Dan (armed robbery), another of our strikers, and the third is added by Hitch (arson). We end up winning 3-0, which augurs well for the rest of the season. Perhaps we could even win the league cup this year. But it’s back to disadvantages, because three of the team, including Jimmy, are due to be released before Christmas, and the side we will field at the end of the season will bear no resemblance to the one that lined up for the opening encounter.
Despite the team’s glorious victory, some of the officers are irritated by the fact that they’ve been made to hang around until we return for a late lunch. With the exception of Mr Nutbourne, who makes sure that the team is fed, they can’t wait to get us banged up and go off duty.
The relationship between officers and prisoners is always conducted on a tightrope which both sides walk every day. The officers on duty that Sunday morning unwisely miss an opportunity to make their own lives easier. A few words of praise and allowing an extra minute or two in the shower would have paid huge dividends in the long run. Instead, the victors return to their cells with shrivelled-up pieces of meat covered in cold gravy, unable to shower until we are unlocked again in two hours’ time. Of course I understand that the prison is not run for the convenience of the prisoners, but here was an opportunity for the officers to make their own life easier in the long term. They botched it, with the exception of Mr Nutbourne, who will get far more cooperation and respect from the inmates in the future.
2.00 pm
Board meeting. Sergio has talked to his brother in Bogota. The four emeralds that his brother initially selected have been shortlisted to two and, along with a member of the family who owns the mountain, Sergio’s brother will make the final selection tomorrow. He has also assured him that, whichever one they choose, the gem would retail at three times the price in a London shop. As for paintings, Sergio’s school friend has told him that, through Sergio’s mother, she has made an appointment with Botero’s mother, and will report back by the end of the week. My heart leaps at the thought of finally owning a Botero.
4.00 pm
While I do a circuit with Jimmy, Shaun continues to draw Darren, who surprisingly now proves, unlike Dale, to be a still and patient model. I’m delighted with the preliminary sketches and, more importantly, so is Darren. While Shaun is sketching, I ask Darren about the rabbits. The rabbits, it seems, are no fools. They know when the prisoners are fed, and burrow under the fence to gather up the food thrown out of the windows by the inmates after lockup. They are occasionally joined by a family of ducks. But, and there is always a but in prison, there is also a fox lurking around, who is even more cunning. He also enters under the fence after lock up, and catches the rabbits while they nibble the food dropped from the prisoners’ table. The fox has also worked out that there is no such thing as ‘The Wayland Hunt’.
I tell Shaun that I’ve spoken to Chris Beetles and hope that it will result in his being in receipt (I select the words carefully) of the highest quality drawing paper, chalks, watercolours and pencils, so that his final effort can’t be blamed on his tools. He’s delighted.
6.00 pm
Early lock up because of staff shortages. I will have to remain in my five paces by three cell for the next fourteen hours.
I start reading Jeeves. What a different world Bertie Wooster lived in. How would Bertie have coped with Wayland? I suppose Jeeves would have volunteered to take his place.
DAY 47 - MONDAY 3 SEPTEMBER 2001
5.43 am
I wake to the smell of fresh paint, so I feel I should bring you up to date on my redecoration programme. The white undercoat was finished yesterday, and while I was at pottery Locke (GBH, spur painter) added a coat of magnolia to the walls and beige to the door, window ledge and skirting board.
I have always liked brick as a medium, but I find the solid block of white a little unimaginative, so during pottery class this morning I’m going to suggest to Shaun that he might design a pattern for the walls, and then find out if Locke is willing to add ‘interior decorator’ to his portfolio. It may well cost me another couple of pounds, but I could then enter my cell for the Turner Prize.
9.00 am
During pottery class, Shaun begins to knock out a few ideas for a pattern on my walls, and very imaginative they are.
He then produces his sketch pad and shows me his latest ideas for the book cover. The first one is a cell door with eyes peeping through the little flap, while the second is a prisoner’s card as displayed outside every cell. I wonder if he could somehow combine the two.
12 noon
