Psychology - and the post - delivered at last

Would you believe that there is finally some sort of progress in my being psychologically assessed? Would you credit it! That's quick! I was sent here with indecent haste in March of last year as a matter of urgency for such assessments - and someone from the psychology department has finally come to speak to me. I call that progress. The fact that she only came (I suspect) because the Parole Board ORDERED it is neither here nor there - we should be thankful for small mercies at the Lazy L.

She came on Wednesday 11th and, I have to be fair about this, she seemed perfectly nice about things. We had a chat - a lot longer than she expected to be chatting I think too. I'm not sure that she had met anyone like me before. Most cons approach such interviews fairly aggressively and with the express intent of "having them over" - lying and cheating their way through the interview. Not me. I am no longer interested in putting myself in a good light, cheating and lying to anyone or attempting to create a false impression. I am who and what I am - people can take it or leave it, I don't care. I am comfortable with the fairly reasonable character I have become. I am comfortable with me and my own company. That's not me being clever, that's me being me - ask Boudica.

However, this first little chat was (I suspect) meant to be nothing more than a prelim to what are to be four sessions during the first three days of the coming week starting tomorrow. Next week's "Voice In The Wilderness" might be interesting.

That neatly brings me to mentioning something about the Voice! I write a letter, generally rude and offensive, to Boudica every day. Each end of each day I sit and write about the day just to keep her in the style of boredom I think she deserves. I write these letters and shove them into the postbox every morning. For ten days she had no letters at all - all my fault of course. Oh she wrote to me every day and ostensibly blamed the post-office or the censors here, but really she blamed me. "Where's my letters?" she would demand. I told her, I can write them and I can post them, but after that it's out of my hands. Amongst the missing letters of those ten days were two "Voices In The Wilderness". So if anyone was wondering why nothing was put on the blog for two weeks, now you know.

On Thursday 10th, Boudica was given ten letters by her postman, a man who probably fears knocking on her door much like the postman in "Keeping Up Appearances". Mind, to be fair, Boudica is no Hyacinth Bucket. Oh no, Boudica is much nicer than that and the fact that the "Voice" didn't show up for people to snigger at is not Boudica's fault, although if anyone feels like writing her rude emails about it, be my guest - I'll get the blame anyway.

She keeps all of my letters of course and freely admits that she does so in case she needs one to blackmail me with in the future at any point. "You old goat!" she will cry in her ladylike way, "You said ten years ago that..." blah blah blah "...and here is the bloody letter to prove it." Oh no, I'm getting away with nothing when it comes to her, trust me on this. Boudica forgets nothing. She may not say much about it, but she hasn't forgotten.

Women in general are like that - they forget bugger-all and stand ready to trot out facts and figures from decades ago. In fact, they have got memories like supergrasses - they can remember things that never happened in the first place!

Thinking about it, so can policemen.

The Voice In The Wilderness