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Ten new prisoners who arrived from Leicester last night are waiting to see the doctor. While they sit around, one of them boasts that he can always beat any drugs test, even fool the breathalyser. Although Lee is well aware I’m writing a diary, he’s still quite willing to reveal his secrets. Lee is in his mid-twenties, good looking and well built. However, after one look at the inside of his arm, there’s no doubt that he’s on drugs, and heaven knows what state he’ll be in in ten years’ time.
‘How can you beat an MDT?’ I ask.
‘Easy,’ he says, and produces a tiny bar of soap from his jeans pocket – the kind you find in the washbasin of any small hotel. He breaks the soap in half, puts it in his mouth and begins to suck it as if it were a hard-boiled sweet.
‘What difference does that make?’ I enquire.
‘If I’m tested in the next few hours, my urine sample will be so cloudy that they won’t be able to charge me, and they’re not allowed to test me again for another twenty-eight days. By then I will have had enough time to wash everything out of my system. I can even go on taking heroin up until the twenty-fourth day; it’s only cannabis that takes a month to clear out of the blood stream.’
‘But that can’t apply to the breathalyser?’
‘No,’ he says, laughing, ‘but I’ve got two ways of beating the breathalyser.’ He produces three pennies from another pocket and begins to suck them. After a few moments he removes them and claims that the copper neutralizes the alcohol, and it therefore won’t register.
‘But what happens if the police don’t give you enough time to put the coins in your mouth?’
‘I can still beat them,’ says Lee, ‘using my special breathing technique.’ Every prisoner in the waiting room is now hanging on his every word, and when the next patient is called in to see the doctor, he doesn’t move, for fear of missing the final instalment.
‘When the police hand you the machine to blow into,’ Lee continues, aware of his captive audience, ‘you pump out your chest, but you don’t take a deep breath. For the next four seconds you blow in very little air, until the machine registers orange. You hand back the machine and gasp as if you’ve given everything. You’ll get away with it because green is negative and orange is still clear. It’s only the red you have to worry about, and they can’t charge you once you’ve registered orange. And,’ he goes on, ‘if your eyes are blurred or vacant, I also have a way of getting over that problem. There’s a product you can buy over the counter from any chemist called Z1 which was developed for clubbers to stop their eyes getting irritated by smoke. A combination of the copper, careful breathing and Z1, and you’ll never be charged.’
11.00 am
One of the inmates has been put on suicide watch. He’s a lad of twenty-one, five foot five, seven and a half stone and terrified of his own shadow. He’s in for driving while disqualified, and will be released in two weeks’ time.
He turns up at eleven to collect two new sheets and hands over two in a plastic bag because he wet them last night. While I go off to the cupboard to collect new sheets, he walks around in small circles, muttering to himself.
Gail can’t be sure if it’s all an act, because he’s currently working on the farm and some prisoners will go to any lengths to get themselves off that detail. In fact, when he learns that he will be granted a change of job, he smiles for the first time. However, Gail can’t afford to take any risks so she writes out a detailed report for the unit officer.
Suicide watch in this particular case means that an officer (Mr Jones) will have to check on the inmate every hour until all concerned are confident he is back to normal. This usually takes two to three days. I’ll keep you informed.
7.00 pm
Doug has the flu and Carl is at singing practice with the ‘cons and pros,’ so I’m on my own for the evening.
I read a paper on the effects of heroin on children, written by Dr Simon Wills. I never imagined that Dr Wills would replace Freddie Forsyth as my bedtime reading.
DAY 196
WEDNESDAY 30 JANUARY 2002
9.00 am
Two new inductees arrive from Nottingham (A-cat). A young man serving four months for a driving offence tells me that on his block at Nottingham they had three suicides in three weeks, and all of them prisoners who had not yet been convicted.
The other inmate nods and tells me that he was made to share a cell with a man who was injecting himself with vinegar because he couldn’t afford heroin.
DAY 197
THURSDAY 31 JANUARY 2002
10.00 am
Mr Lewis drops in to see Linda, as it’s his last official day as governor. He’s handed in his keys, handcuffs, whistle, torch, identity card and everything else that denoted his position of authority. An experience he obviously didn’t enjoy. He jokes about suddenly becoming aware of afternoon television, and endless advertisements for comfortable chairs that move with the press of a button, beds that change shape when you turn over and baths that you can easily get out of.
Mr Lewis smiles, says goodbye and we shake hands. I suspect that we will never meet again as we both head towards the world of zimmer frames.
11.00 am
Mr McQuity, the National Health inspector, pays a visit to NSC, and leaves Linda in no doubt that he’s well satisfied with the way she is running the prison hospital.
