A Prison Diary Part 3

2.00 pm Gym: I'm the first to set foot in the gym, only to find that the running machine has broken down. d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n.

I warm up and stretch for a few minutes before doing ten minutes on the rower. I manage 1,909 metres, a vast improvement on yesterday. A little light weight training before moving on to a bicycle, the like of which I have never seen before. I can't get the hang of it until Mr Maiden comes to my rescue and explains that once you've set the speed, the peddles just revolve until you stop them. He sets the pace at thirty kilometres per hour, and leaves me to get on with it.

I sweat away for ten minutes, and then realize I don't know how to turn it off. I shout to Everett (GBH) for help - a black man who I sat next to during the dominoes encounter - but he just grins, or simply doesn't understand my predicament. When my screaming goes up a decibel, Mr Maiden finally comes to my rescue. He can't stop laughing as he shows me which b.u.t.ton I have to press to bring the machine to a halt. It's marked STOP - in red. I fall off the bike, exhausted, which causes much mirth among the other prisoners, especially the dominoes players. I use the rest of my time lying on a rubber mat recovering.

As the prisoners begin to make their way back to their cells - no gates, no searches - I'm called to Mr Maiden's office. Once his door is closed and no other prisoner can overhear, he asks, Would you like to join the staff on Friday morning to a.s.sist with a special needs group from Dereham Adult Training Centre?''Of course I would,' I tell him.

Jimmy is the only other prisoner who presently helps that group, so perhaps you should have a word with him.'

I thank Mr Maiden and return to my cell. I don't immediately take a shower as I am still sweating from the bicycle experience, so I use the time to call my PA, Alison.

I tell her I need more A4 pads and pens because I'm currently writing two to three thousand words a day. I also need stamped envelopes addressed to her - large A4 size for the ma.n.u.script and slightly smaller ones so I can turn round my daily postbag. Alison tells me that because of the sackfuls of letters I am receiving both in prison and at the office, as well as having to type two scripts at once, she's putting in even longer hours than when I was a free man.

'And to think that you were worried about losing your job if I were to end up in jail,' I remind her. Just wait until I get my hands back on my novel.t You'll be working weekends as well.'

Alison confirms that the last five chapters of Belmarsh have arrived safely, thanks to the cooperation of Roy, the censor. No such problem at Wayland, where you just drop your envelope in a postbox and off it goes. I remind her that I need the Belmarsh script back as soon as possible, to go over it once again before I let Jonathan Lloyd (my agent) read it for the first time. My final request is to be put through to Will.

He's in Cambridge with Mary.'

Although I check to see how many units are left on the phonecard, I haven't needed to worry about the problem lately as Dale seems to be able to arrange an endless supply of them.

I dial Cambridge and catch Mary, who is just leaving to chair a meeting at Addenbrooke's Hospital, where she is deputy chairman. After a few words, she pa.s.ses me over to Will. He is full of news and tells me Mum has been preparing in her usual diligent way for the Today interview. Since he spoke to me last, Andy Bearpark, who covered Kurdish affairs at the Overseas Development Administration during the relevant time, confirms he has been contacted by KPMG regarding the audit. Will feels the police will be left with little choice but to complete their initial report quickly and reinstate my D-cat. I thank him, particularly for the support he's giving his mother. I then tell him that I've finished the Belmarsh section of the diaries and ask if he'sfound time to read the odd chapter.

1 just can't face it, Dad. It's bad enough that you're there.' I tell him that I have already decided that there will be three volumes of the prison diary: h.e.l.l, Purgatory and Heaven, with an epilogue called 'Back to Earth'. This at least makes him laugh. As I'm telling him this, Jimmy pa.s.ses me in the corridor and I turn to ask if he could spare me a moment. He nods, and waits until I finish my conversation with Will.

Jimmy has also heard that I may be joining them on the enhanced wing, but wonders if Nutboume's information came from on high.

'Exactly my thoughts,' I tell him. I then mention that Mr Maiden has invited me to join them in the gym on Friday morning to a.s.sist with the special needs group. I'm surprised by his reaction.

"You jammy b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' says Jimmy. 'I had to wait a couple of years before I was invited to join that shift, and you get asked after four days.' Funnily enough I hadn't thought of it as a perk, but simply as doing something worthwhile.

Jimmy invites me down to his cell for a drink, my only chance of having a Diet c.o.ke. We're joined by Jason, who spotted me in the corridor. Jason hands me a pair of slippers and a wash bag, which are normally only issued to enhanced prisoners.

"You jammy b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' repeats Jimmy, before he starts going on about his weight. Jimmy is six foot one, slim and athletic (see plate section). He trains every day in the gym and is known by the inmates as Brad Pitt.

'More like Arm Pitt' says Jason.

Jimmy smiles and continues to grumble, 'I need to put on some weight.'

'I like you as you are, darling,' Jason replies.

I decide this is an ideal opportunity to ask them how drugs are smuggled into prison. Both throw out one-liners to my myriad questions, and between them continue my education on the subject.

Of the six major drugs - cannabis, speed, Ecstasy, cocaine, crack cocaine and heroin - only cannabis and heroin are in daily demand in most prisons. Each wing or block has a dealer, who in turn has runners who handle any new prisoners when they arrive on the induction wing. It's known as Drug Induction. This is usually carried out in the yard during the long exercise break each morning. The price ranges fromdouble the street value to as much as a tenfold mark-up depending on supply and demand; even in prison free enterprise prevails. Payment can be made in several ways. The most common currency is phonecards or tobacco. You can also send in cash to be credited to the dealer's account, but most dealers don't care for that route, as even the dumbest officer can work out what they're up to. The preferred method is for the recipient of the drugs to arrange for a friend to send cash to the dealer's contact on the outside, usually his girlfriend, wife or partner. Just as there is a canteen list of prices taped to the wall outside the main office, so there is an accepted but, unprinted list, of available drugs in any prison. For example, the price of five joints of cannabis would work out at around 10 or five phonecards; a short line of cocaine would cost about 10, while heroin, a joey or a bag, which is about half a gram, can cost as much as 20.

Next we discuss the bigger problem of how to get the gear into prison. Jason tells me that there are several ways. The most obvious is via visits, but this is not common as the punishment for being caught usually fits the crime, for both the visitor and the prisoner. If you are caught, you automatically lose your visits and the use of phonecards. For most prisoners this is their only lifeline to the outside world. Few, other than desperate heroin addicts, are willing to sacrifice being able to see their family and friends once a fortnight or speak to them regularly on the phone. So most dealers revert to other safer methods because were they to be caught twice, they not only lose the right to a phonecard as well as a visit, but will be charged with the offence and can expect to have time added to their sentence.

'What are the other methods?' I ask.

"You can arrange to have gear thrown over the wall at a designated time so it can be picked up by a gardener or a litter collector. Helps to supplement their seven pounds a week wages,' Jason explains. 'But home leave or town visits are still the most common source of drugs coming in. A clever courier can earn some extra cash prior to being released.'

'Mind you,' adds Jimmy, 'if you're caught bringing gear in, not only do you lose all your privileges, but you can be transferred to an A-cat with time added to your sentence.'

'What about by post?' I ask.

'Sending in a ballpoint pen is a common method,' Jason says. 'You half fill the tube with heroin and leave thebottom half full of ink, so that when the screws remove the little cap on the bottom they can only see the ink. They could break the tube in half, but that might mean having to replace as many as a hundred biros a week. But the most common approach still involves brown envelopes and underneath stamps.'

"Envelopes?' I ask.

"Down the side of most large brown envelopes is a flap. If you lift it carefully you can place a line of heroin along the inside and carefully seal it back up again. When it comes in the post it looks like junk mail or a circular, but it could be hiding up to a hundred quid's worth of skag.'

'One prisoner went over the top recently,' says Jimmy.

'He'd been enhanced and put on the special wing. One of our privileges is that we can hang curtains in our cell. When his selected curtains arrived, prison staff found the seams were weighed down with heroin. The inmate was immediately locked up in segregation and lost all his privileges.'

'And did he also get time added to his sentence?'

'No,' Jason replies. Tie claimed that the curtains were sent in by his co-defendant from the original trial in an attempt to st.i.tch him up.' I like the use of the words 'st.i.tch him up' in this context. "Not only did he get away with it,' continues Jimmy, "but the co-defendant ended up being sentenced to five years. Both men were as guilty as sin, but neither of them ended up in jail for the crime they had committed,' Jimmy adds. Not the first time I've heard that.

'But you can also have your privileges taken away and time added if you're caught taking drugs,' Jason reminds me.

True' says Jimmy, "but there are even ways around that. In 1994 the government brought in mandatory drug testing to catch prisoners who were taking illegal substances. But if you're on heroin, all you have to do is purchase a tube of smoker's toothpaste from the canteen and swallow a mouthful soon after you've taken the drug.'

'How does that help?' I ask.

'If they ask for a urine sample' explains Darren, 'smoker's toothpaste will cloud it, and they have to wait another twenty-four hours before testing you again. By the time they conduct a second test, a couple of gallons of water will have cleared any trace of heroin out of your system. You may be up all night peeing, but you don't lose yourprivileges or have time added.'

"But that's not possible with cannabis?' I ask.t "No, cannabis remains in your bloodstream for at least a month. But it's still big business whatever the risk, and you can be fairly certain that the dealers never touch any drugs themselves. They all have their mules and their sellers. They end up only taking a small cut, and are rarely caught.'

'And some of them even manage to make more money inside prison than they did outside' adds Jason.

The call for tea is bellowed down the corridor by an officer. I close my notepad, thank Jason for the slippers and wash bag, not to mention the tutorial, and return to my cell.

5.00 pm Supper: vegetarian pie and two potatoes. If I become enhanced, I will be allowed to have my own plate plus a mug or cup sent in, not to mention curtains.

6.00 pm Write for just over an hour.

7.15 pm Watch Sue Barker and Roger Black sum up the World Athletics Championship, which has been a disaster for Britain. One gold for Jonathan Edwards in the triple jump and a bronze for Dean Macey in the decathlon. The worst result for Britain since the games began in 1983, and that was following such a successful Olympics in Sydney. I'm almost able to convince myself that I'm glad I was prevented from attending.

8.00 pm Read through my letters. Just over a hundred today.

9.00 pm Jules and I watch a modern version of Great Expectations with Robert De Niro and Gwyneth Paltrow. If I hadn't been in prison, I would have walked out after fifteen minutes.

I begin to read Famous Trials selected by John Mortimer. I start with Rattenbury and Stones, the problem of a younger man falling in love with an older woman. Now that's something I haven't experienced. I fall asleep around eleven.

DAY 27

TUESDAY 14 AUGUST 2001

6.18 am

Overslept. After a night's rain, the sun is peeping through my four-bar window. I write for a couple of hours.

820 amBreakfast: two Weetabix, one hard-boiled egg and a piece of toast.

10.56 am I've been writing for about an hour when the cell door is opened; Mr Clarke tells me that as part of my induction I must attend a meeting with a representative from the BoV (Board of Visitors). Everything has an acronym nowadays.

Nine prisoners a.s.semble in a waiting room opposite Mr Newport's office. There are eleven comfortable chairs set in a semicircle, and a low table in the middle of the room. If there had been a few out-of-date magazines scattered on the table, it could have pa.s.sed for a GP's waiting room. We have to hang around for a few minutes before being joined by a man in his late fifties, who looks like a retired solicitor or bank manager. He's about five foot nine with greying hair and a warm smile. He wears an open-neck shirt and a pair of grey flannels. I suspect that the only other time he's this casually dressed is on a Sunday afternoon.

He introduces himself as Keith Flintcroft, and goes on to explain that the Board is made up of sixteen local people appointed by the Home Office. They are not paid, which gives them their independence.

'We can see the governor or any officer on request, and although we have no power, we do have considerable influence.

Our main purpose,' he continues, 'is to deal with prisoners'

complaints. However, our authority ends when it comes to an order of the governor. For example, we cannot stop a prisoner being placed in segregation, but we can make sure that we are supplied with details of the offence within a period of seventy-two hours. We can also read any written material on a prisoner with the exception of their legal papers or medical records.'

Mr Flintcroft comes over as a thoroughly decent bloke, a man who obviously believes in giving service to the local community. Just like so many thousands of citizens up and down the country he expects little reward other than the satisfaction of doing a worthwhile job. I believe that if he felt a prisoner was getting a rough deal, he would, within the limits of his power, try to do something about it.

He ends his ten-minute chat by saying, "You'll find that we spend a lot of our time roaming around the prison. You can't miss us because we wear these distinctive buff-coloured namebadges. So feel free to come and talk to us whenever you want to - in complete confidence. Now, are there any questions?'

To my surprise, there are none. Why doesn't anyone mention the state of the cells on the induction wing compared with the rest of the prison? Why, when there is a painter on each wing, who I observe working every day, isn't there one to spruce up the induction wing? Do they leave the wing in a filthy condition so that when inmates are moved to another part of the prison they'll feel it's an improvement, or is it that they just can't cope with the turnover of prisoners?

Either way, I would like to tell Governor Kate Cawley (I've discovered the governor's name on a notice board, but haven't yet come across her) that it's degrading, and a blip in an otherwise well-run prison. Why are the induction prisoners locked up for such long hours while the rest of the inmates are given far more freedom? And why ... And then it hits me.

I am the only person in that room who hasn't been through this process before, and the others either simply don't give a d.a.m.n or can't see the point of it. They are mostly hardened criminals who just want to complete their sentence and have as easy a time as possible before returning to a life of crime. They believe that the likes of Mr Flintcroft will make absolutely no difference to their lives. I suspect that the likes of Mr Flintcroft have, over the years, made a great deal of difference to their lives, without their ever realizing or appreciating it.

Once Mr Flintcroft accepts that there are going to be no questions, we all file out and return to our cells. I stop and thank him for carrying out his thankless task.

12 noon Mr Chapman tells me I have a large parcel in reception, which I can pick up after dinner (lunch).

12.15 pm Lunch: spam fritters, two potatoes and a gla.s.s of Evian.

HELP! I'm running out of Evian.

1235 pm I report to reception and collect my parcel, or what's left of it. It originally consisted of two books: Alan Clark's Diaries, and The Diving Bell and the b.u.t.terfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby, which has been sent in by Anton, one of James's closest friends. They're accompanied by a long letter about the latest bust-up with his girlfriend (I do love the young - only their problems exist) and, from Alison, a dozenwriting pads, two packets of liquid-point pens and six books of first-cla.s.s stamps. Mr Chapman explains that I can keep the long letter from Anton, but everything else will be placed in my box at reception and returned to me only when I'm transferred or released.

3.15 pm I have become so accustomed to prison life that I not only remember to take my gym card, but also a towel and a bottle of water to my afternoon gym session. The running machine still isn't working, so I'm back to ten minutes on the rower (1,837 metres - not very impressive) followed by a light weight-training session and ten minutes on the bike, which I now know how to turn on and, more importantly, turn off.

Everett (GBH) leaves his 240-pound bench press, and asks if he can have a swig of my Evian. I nod, as I don't think there's much of an alternative. A moment later his black weight-lifting partner - taller and wider - strolls across and takes a swig without asking. By the time I've finished stretching, the bottle is empty.

Once I'm back on my wing I try to take a shower, but the door is locked. I look through the tiny window. It's all steamed up, and two prisoners are banging on the door trying to get out. I cannot believe that it is prison policy to lock them in and me out. I hang around for about ten minutes with a couple of other prisoners before an officer eventually appears. I tell him I'd like to have a shower.

'You've missed your chance.'

'I didn't have a chance,' I tell him. It's been locked for the past ten minutes.'

'I've only been away for a minute, maybe two,' he says.

'I've been standing here for nearly ten minutes,' I politely point out.

If I say it's one minute, it's one minute,' he says.

I return to my cell. I now feel cold and sweaty. I sit down to write.

6.00 pm Supper. A bowl of thick, oily soup is all I can face. Back in my cell I pour myself half a mug of blackcurrant juice.

The only luxury left. At least I'm still losing weight.

630 pm Exercise: I walk around the perimeter fence with Jimmy and Darren. Just their presence stops most inmates from giving me a hard time.7.00 pm I finally manage a shower. I then put on a prison tracksuit, grey and baggy, but comfortable. I decide to call Mary. There is a queue for the phone as this is the most popular time of day. When it's my turn, I dial the Old Vicarage only to find that the line is engaged.

I spot Dale hanging around in the corridor, obviously wanting to speak to me. He tells me that the money hasn't arrived. I a.s.sure him that if it isn't in the morning post, I'll chase it up. I try Mary again - still engaged. I go back to my cell and prepare my desk for an evening session. I check my watch. It's 7.55 pm. I'll only have one more chance.

Back to the phone. I call Cambridge. Still engaged. I return to my cell to find an officer standing by the door. I'm banged up for another twelve hours.

8.00 pm I read through today's script and then prepare outline notes for the first session tomorrow, to the accompaniment of two West Indians hollering at each other from cells on opposite sides of the wing. I remark to Jules that they seem to be shouting even louder than usual. He resignedly replies that there's not a lot you can do about window warriors. I wonder. Should I push my luck? I go over to the window and suggest in a polite but firm voice that they don't need to shout at each other. A black face appears at the opposite window. I wait for the usual diatribe.

'Sorry, Jeff,' he says, and continues the conversation in a normal voice. Well, you can only ask.

DAY 28 WEDNESDAY 15 AUGUST 2001

6.04 am

I wake, only to remember where I am.