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‘Don’t let knowledge of the laws worry you,’ said Mr Maiden, ‘we’ll still be able to use you.’
The session ends with a look at the changing room, the shower facilities and, more importantly, clean lavatories. I’m issued with a plastic gym card and look forward to returning to my old training regime.
5.00 pm
Back in the cell, I find Jules sitting on the top bunk reading. I settle down to another session of writing before we’re called for supper.
6.00 pm
I select the vegetarian pie and chips and am handed the obligatory yellow lollipop, which is identical to those we were given at Belmarsh. If it’s the same company who makes and supplies them to every one of Her Majesty’s prisons, that must be a contract worth having. Although it’s only my third meal since I arrived, I think I’ve already spotted the power behind the hotplate. He’s a man of about thirty-five, six foot three and must weigh around twenty-seven stone. As I pass him I ask if we could meet later. He nods in the manner of a man who knows that in the kingdom of the blind… I can only hope that I’ve located Wayland’s ‘Del Boy’.
After supper we are allowed to be out of our cells for a couple of hours (Association) until we’re banged up at eight.
What a contrast to Belmarsh. I use the time to roam around the corridors and familiarize myself with the layout. The main office is on the first landing and is the hub of the whole wing. From there everything is an offshoot. I also check where all the phones are situated, and when a prisoner comes off one he warns me, ‘Never use the phone on the induction landing, Jeff, because the conversations are taped. Use this one. It’s a screw-free line.’
I thank him and call Mary in Cambridge. She’s relieved that I’ve rung as she has no way of contacting me, and can’t come to see me until she’s been sent a visiting order. I promise to put one in tomorrow’s post, and then she may even be able to drive across next Tuesday or Wednesday. I remind her to bring some form of identification and that she mustn’t try to pass anything over to me, not even a letter.
Mary then tells me that she’s accepted an invitation to go on the Today programme with John Humphrys. She intends to ask Baroness Nicholson to withdraw her accusation that I stole money from the Kurds, so that I can be reinstated as a D-cat prisoner and quickly transferred to an open prison. I tell Mary that I consider this an unlikely scenario.
‘She’s not decent enough to consider such a Christian act,’ I warn my wife.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Mary replies, ‘but I will be able to refer to Lynda Chafer’s parliamentary reply on the subject and ask why Ms Nicholson wasn’t in the House that day if she cares so much about the Kurds, or why had she not at least read the report in Hansard the following morning.’ Mary adds that the BBC have told her that they accept I have no case to answer.
‘When are you going on?’
‘Next Wednesday or Thursday, so it’s important I see you before then.’
I quickly agree as my units are running out. I then ask Mary to warn James that I’ll phone him at the office at eleven tomorrow morning, and will call her again on Sunday evening. My units are now down to ten so I say a quick goodbye.
I continue my exploration of the wing and discover that the main Association room and the servery/hotplate double up. The room is about thirty paces by twenty and has a full-size snooker table which is so popular that you have to book a week in advance. There is also a pool table and a table-tennis table, but no TV, as it would be redundant when there’s one in every cell.
I’m walking back upstairs when I bump into the hotplate man. He introduces himself as Dale, and invites me to join him in his cell, telling me on the way that he’s serving eight years for wounding with intent to endanger life. He leads me down a flight of stone steps onto the lower-ground floor. This is an area I would never have come across, as it’s reserved for enhanced prisoners only - the chosen few who have proper jobs and are considered by the officers to be trustworthy. As you can’t be granted enhanced status for at least three months, I will never enjoy such luxury, as I am hoping to be moved to a D-cat fairly quickly.
Although Dale’s cell is exactly t
he same size as mine, there the similarity ends. His brick walls are in two tones of blue, and he has nine five-by-five-inch steel mirrors over his wash-basin shaped in a large triangle. In our cell, Jules and I have one mirror between us. Dale also has two pillows, both soft, and an extra blanket. On the wall are photos of his twin sons, but no sign of a wife - just the centrefold of a couple of Chinese girls, Blu-tacked above his bed. He pours me a Coca-Cola, my first since William and James visited me in Belmarsh, and asks if he can help in any way.
In every way, I suspect. ‘I would like a soft pillow, a fresh towel every day and my washing taken care of.’
‘No problem,’ he says, like a banker who can make an electronic transfer of a million dollars to New York by simply pressing a button - as long as you have a million dollars.
‘Anything else? Phonecards, food, drink?’
‘I could do with some more phonecards and several items from the canteen.’
‘I can also solve that problem,’ Dale says. ‘Just write out a list of what you want and I’ll have everything delivered to your cell.’
‘But how do I pay you?’
That’s the easy part. Send in a postal order and ask for the money to be placed against my account. Just make sure the name Archer isn’t involved, otherwise there’s bound to be an investigation. I won’t charge you double-bubble, just bubble and a half.’
Three or four other prisoners stroll into Dale’s cell, so he immediately changes the subject. Within minutes the atmosphere feels more like a club than a prison, as they all seem so relaxed in each other’s company. Jimmy, who’s serving a three-and-a-half year sentence for being an Ecstasy courier (carrying packages from one club to another), wants to know if I play cricket
The occasional charity match, about twice a year I admit.
‘Good, then you’ll be batting number three next week, against D wing.’
‘But I usually go in at number eleven’ I protest, ‘and have been known to bat as high as number ten.’
