Day 6 - April 25th 2007

It’s the usual routine for breakfast; I nip down to collect my mini carton of orange and ignore the food. No sooner have I settled down to watch wonderful daytime TV (it’s like a daily, non-surgical lobotomy), than I’m collected with 11 other new arrivals and taken to the assessment centre. Sadly it’s nothing too exciting, just another 5 minutes with a lady probation officer to discuss things. Encouragingly she intimates that they’ll be pushing to get me out on HDC as close as possible to my eligibility date on the 21st July. Coming out of the assessment centre coincides with outdoor exercise time for the rest of the wing, so we’re allowed to join in for the 40 minutes or so. Thankfully it’s a nice sunny morning and warm too, so I join the other lads in lapping the exercise yard. To distant onlookers, we must look like a criminal ant farm, criss-crossing the yard along the concrete paths dividing the grassy areas.

As daft as it sounds I choose to walk on the grass- enjoying any feeling under my feet other than the hard laminate and concrete of the past 6 days.

It happens sooner than I thought; we’re back in the en-suite and a knock on the door disturbs another moment of boredom. The interrupting officer opens the door and shouts “Olley?”. I’m offered an immediate move to C Wing, both the officer and Mark assure me it’s a quiet, drug free wing, not to mention there’s a strong possibility of a job on the wing. Being overwhelmed with alternative offers, it takes me about 50 miliseconds to say ‘OK’. I’ve got 10 minutes to gather up all my belongings into a couple of bin bag sized clear bags and then I’ll bugger off! Despite being a hyperactive, talkaholic channel swapper, Mark’s been a great source of help during my first few days here, so I thank him for everything (whilst allowing him to do most of my packing for me) and even offer him my 3 pack of custard creams. I wouldn’t want to taint my generosity by admitting I’d never have eaten the bastards anyway.

True to his word, the officer’s back and I’m on my travels. He’s a nice, chatty guy which I hope is an indication of what lies ahead in C wing. The prison’s like a maze, possibly not by accident, and our journey to the bottom of the C takes in a few different wings on the way through- including the infamous D Wing, nicknamed Bosnia by some of the guards. As we arrive in C Wing, it’s immediately obvious this place is much smaller then E Wing, perhaps half the length and two thirds the width. It feels much more old fashioned too, more like HMP Slade in Porridge, with narrow landings hemmed by iron railings. My new cell’s on the 3rd floor again, number 1, I’ll be sharing with a big fella from Carlisle called Phil. As I unpack the opening conversation takes the usual prison turns; swap convictions, sentence lengths and a bit of prison slagging off for good measure. Phil’s in here for a short while after a spot of criminal damage and threatening to set fire to his ex-wife in a domestic one drunken night.

He’s a BIG guy, but as nice as pie and happy to admit that it’s the drink that gets him in trouble. I should count my blessings that I’ve found yet another decent cell mate, rather than some insane criminal I could have been landed with.

It feels strange. With the move I’ve done something moderately exciting, but I can’t tell the person I really want to share it with, as C Wing has already had association for the day so there’s no chance of using the phone. If loneliness is being alone in a crowded room, then helplessness is being in safe custody unable to control any aspect of your real life. Ever since I’ve been in here I’ve had the urge to grab my mobile and ring Jilly, then realise I don’t have one, I’ll have to wait.