Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Possession of truth

When oft I sit in pensive mood, (a small classical reference there) and ponder upon my lot in general, and on current difficulties in particular, something always comes to mind, and it's the same thought every time - whatever may be bothering me today will have been completely forgotten by this time next year and I will have a whole new series of things to worry about. 

That's all life is you see! Well, it is for the vast majority of us anyway. We spend it all lurching from problem to crisis, day after day. Alfred E. Newman used to say:

What! ME! WORRY!
That's the frame of mind we need to aim at I think.

My missing (well not missing exactly, because we know exactly where they are) documents, which form part of 'An Abuse of Justice', have still not been returned to me, although I DID get an answer to a complaint which said that if I demanded they be returned to me that would delay their posting out! I have never heard so much gammon in my life! Some of those documents have been illegally held by the Security here in Long Lartin for almost two months! How long does it take to put something in the post? I could have trained a pigeon to drag the package to Sheffield in two months. I have demanded the return of the documents.

I think the part that is bothering them is the fact that I am not creating havoc, making waves or issuing threats, throwing dummies out of prams, ranting and raving or anything else that could be seen as anti-social. I see no reason why I should. The thing is that they can deal with that sort of behaviour, they have the mentality to do so, and the equipment. What they can't deal with is someone who is honest about everything and calmly reasonable. The prison system doesn't do 'honest' you see, they don't understand it. They actually struggle with the whole idea and concept of 'honest' because they do not employ it.

Let me put it this way:

Does a snake understand how an eagle flies?
The snake has no conception of the thing, but it DOES know that the flying creature above is a danger to it. Well, that's how it is with the prison system and an honest prisoner. They have no idea what to do about him but do understand the fact that he is dangerous. The danger comes not from the honesty but from the attitude of those running things in the prison system. And I do not mean the ordinary kangaroo who has to deal with prisoners on a daily basis. Oh no, most of them do their best. It is the upper echelons who sneak about in dark corners, whispering behind their hands and misleading, lying and backstabbing. How high up the food chain they climb actually depends on their ability to lie and mislead.

Let me give a perfect example of this. Every prison security department knows the identity of every junkie and dealer within its environs, but do they give them weekly drug tests? Do they hell. They give weekly tests to the prisoners they KNOW do NOT take drugs because that gives them a good figure for their quarterly report on drug management policies. 1t is a fraud, smoke and mirrors to fool the general public. "Look!" they cry. "Our test figures show that we are sucessfully tackling the drug problem!"

All lies of course. They make no attempt whatsoever to tackle the drug problem, not so much as lift a finger. In fact it is quite the opposite because they actively encourage drug taking as a control measure.

They deal in a murky world as second nature! This is why they have no idea what to do when they come up against an honest man. They have no reference points to work from.

Now, having said all I have said, it will be seen as subversive and troublemaking. It's not their fault, it never is, it has to be the fault of the prisoner.

Wasn't it John Locke who wrote:

"It is one thing to show a man that he is in error, and another to put him in possession of truth."

The Voice In The Wilderness

Monday, September 21, 2009

... and again!

Well, when the fickle ould whore gives me one of her periodic size tens in the gusset, I've got to give her credit for never doing things by halves. Oh no, no slipshod work where that wicked strumpet is concerned. She sits at night with her gang - you know them: Chaos, Panic, Plague, Pestilence and my personal officer - plotting and planning to seek out even further ways to make my life just that little bit more difficult. And the gang have done it again!

Some time ago, when I was downgraded from Cat A to Cat B, I put in a request for transfer to a Cat B retirement prison. There is only one that I know of - Kingston in Portsmouth. Well, at sixty-two I can't have much longer on this wonderful little rock and I thought I'd like to spend a short time in the sun before handing in my dinner pail.

So, I made the application on the correct form and handed it to my personal officer for her to complete her section and to pass it on through "channels". Then I sat back and patiently waited for the answer from the powers that be. I asked my solicitor, Mike Pemberton, to take the matter up too - it never hurts to fire extra arrows. Mike wrote several letters to the prison asking about the transfer request but all were ignored, until this week. Clearly fed up with him badgering them, they sent him a letter telling him that there had been no request or application from me for such a transfer, and that I should submit one.

What can I say?

I have now made a further request for transfer and this time I handed it personally to a Senior Officer who assured me that she would see to it personally. We will see.

So once again, Lady Luck has booted me,
assisted by my personal officer - and I'd been so nice to her too! Maybe she isn't used to anyone being nice to her; perhaps she has no reference point for it. Well it won't happen again. I won't be nasty. I don't do nasty, I just do ignorance. I've learned how from the Prison Service.

The Voice In The Wilderness

Lady Luck does it again

She's done it again!

Once again, that fickle ould tart Lady Luck has donned her well-polished Doctor Martin eighteen-holers, grinned wickedly at the other Fates, Muses and Lesser Gods, taken careful aim and ... KABOOM... right in the family jewels.

As I lie writhing in agony on the floor, it occurs to me that it is about time she turned her attention elsewhere to be honest. It is a well-established and historical fact, that every time I feel that things are finally beginning to go right for me, along she comes, sashaying along the boulevards in her five-oh-ones and her D.M.s, swinging her handbag at any nearby pigeons.

Some time ago, when I was downgraded from Cat A to Cat B, I wrote about the fact in this blog. In that vignette I mentioned my personal officer and, as far as I recall, I was quite nice about her. Well, apparently this sort of thing is frowned upon within the prison estate because it seems that she complained and became 'concerned' about it. Before anyone asks the obvious question - I don't know why! Okay?

For a long time now, I have been writing a document about my case to assist in the struggle for justice, the title of which is "An Abuse of Justice". I have been sending out regular weekly instalments to Andrew, who manages my website. Every fact, every figure is taken from my diaries and, where I can, I include legal documents to verify what I say. The output so far is about 1,450 pages, and I have reached the year 2003.

On August 10th, I sent the latest instalment, plus supporting documentation, to Andrew - but it never got there! I had sent it, as I always do, by recorded delivery so was obviously confused by its non-arrival. So when I sent out the next instalment on Monday August 31st, this time I sent it by special delivery. That didn't get there either.

Then, on Sunday September 6th, I was called into an office where I met the Security Governor, Mr Ian Dickens, and a Senior Officer. My documents were all on the desk, unposted. Mr Dickens (he's got the name but not the imagination), had apparently been on to my website in response to my personal officer's concerns and had there discovered that the logo encompasses the words "An Abuse of Justice"! He informed me that I had done nothing wrong - everything had been done openly and honestly - and that the matter would be resolved by the middle of the week (i.e. September 9th).

Although the Prison Service is not allowed even to read legal documents, never mind confiscate them or keep them from me, the documents have not been given back to me.

So here I am again - writhing about the floor after Lady Luck's delivery of another one of her specials to the bollocks. The part I particularly like is the fact that I have done nothing wrong, not a thing. I spend my days constructively, never break any rules and generally comport myself with decency and fairness to all, yet I keep getting these steel toecaps in the testicularities. Maybe if I were a thieving, lying, treacherous backstabber of a junkie I would be better thought of. I'm not, so I suppose I will just have to carry on as I am - but I may take a few extra precautions against the lady in the Doc Martens. Does anyone have an old cricket cup they don't need?

The Voice In The Wilderness