Saturday, May 29, 2010

Delays are inevitable, resistance is futile

I have had a letter this week from my solicitor. He has been chasing up both the Parole Board AND the prison here at the Lazy L in connection with reports and such other mundane matters which mean nothing to them but which are life-affecting from my point of view - but my point of view doesn't matter.

Reading the letter, which enclosed a document from the parole board, I get the feeling that the board is less than delighted with the reports submitted in my parole dossier. In particular they seem to be wanting to know why their previous instructions appear to have been ignored. I may be reading this all wrong of course but that's the impression I get. The board seems to be giving the prison until the 7th November to comply with their previous instructions. That isn't for the prison just to produce the necessary documents, it is the deadline for their production and submission, allowing time for my solicitor to digest the content, time for us to respond, if any response is necessary, AND a month in which to organise everything.

It takes the prison service an age to turn around, never mind adhere to instructions as complicated as 'Tell the truth,' so I can see problems ahead. My solicitor has actually sent a letter direct to the prison asking for some kind of clarification on dates when we can expect things to be done by. I very much doubt that he will get any sort of sensible answer. The simple facts are that the system is in chaos and nobody has the nous to get anything done properly. All they seem to be capable of is harping on about matters which took place forty or fifty years ago and which had nothing to do with me in the first place!

In the meanwhile I sit here in my kennel and sedately rot away. As a rule I never indulge in self-pity, and I'm not about to do it now, but I have known a certain amount of hardship during the years since 1986 and yet I am expected to pretend none of it happened and forget it all. Okay, fine. I can be pragmatic about it all and put it out of my mind - the past is gone and done so let's leave it in the past, it's the best place for it.

If I can do that (and all I say is leave it in the past - I will never forget it of course and certainly will never forgive it, but it IS the past, let's leave it there). If I can do that, why can't the prison service? Why this silly, unrelenting harping on about things from fifty years ago which had nothing to do with me in the first place?

I shall answer that question myself. Because they have nothing else to point a finger at me for! Nothing! (Bless me, I must be a saint.)

"0oooo!" they say. "There is no evidence of change!"

What cobblers! Pure, unmitigated shite. I challenge anyone, or any living entity, to look back over the last quarter of a century and ask themselves, "Have I changed in that twenty-five years?"

The answer? "Of course I have! Everyone does!"

So, if everyone on the planet can see and understand that, why can these trainee psychologists not see it? These young girls, these children, are daily destroying lives on a much greater scale than any prisoner incarcerated within the system and subject to their mercies. And the most frightening part of all is that they don't care! They have neither thought nor remorse for the destruction they create, the lives they ruin unthinkingly, the hearts they break, the misery they create, the children who cry for their fathers and the despair which lives in the cells around the place. They care for none of that in their arrogance - they care not.

As for me? Well, I care. Every night when I get into bed and wait for the encompassing arms of Orpheus (or should that be Morpheus?) to take me away to the Land of Nod - a process which never takes more than a few minutes - I have a little soul-search. I review the day in my mind and if I think I have said or done anything which may have offended anyone, I apologise the next day. But that's just me. I'm a bad person, I must be - the trainee fraudsters say so.

Oh well, I am going to go for a drive now in a fast car with the police chasing me at speeds of up to 241 mph - that's as fast as the game will go. All good for my rehabilitation I expect.

The Voice In The Wilderness

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