Purgatory: A Prison Diary Volume 2 by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

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.
8.20 am
    Breakfast: 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 assemble 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 If there had been a few out-of-date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 passed 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 name badges. 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