In sickness and in health

This week is a sort of mixed bag in many ways, although progress is still elusive - about as rare as unicorn hair really. Nothing from the Parole Board, of course - that would be far too much to expect. Nothing offering any advancement on the recategorisation or reallocation issues either, although my solicitor seems to be doing what he can to get a coherent answer out of this prison on just about anything. Good luck with that. The only way to get anything out of the Lazy L is with either dynamite or a court order - and they ain't too impressed by court orders.

A couple of weeks ago I made the first step in the next step (ha ha, I love that) of my appeal. I wrote to the European Court of Human Rights on the subject, and this week I have had a package sent back giving me a copy of the various protocols (for me to decide which of my human rights have been violated by the legal system), a questionnaire to complete and return - and I've even been given a case number. I am now 9608/11 Wilkinson v UK.

Wonderful - so far. There is a question in there which wants to know if I am already represented legally. I have written three times to my appeal solicitor. Needless to say, she has not bothered to reply or respond in any way to my letters. I could have guessed that - she never made one useful comment or offered anything at all. So it looks like I am on my own in this thing with the ECHR. I don't really mind, I've been on my own legally since 1986. Oh the solicitors are there but they never make any form of input. All they do is allow the prisoner to do all the work and, if it comes to fruition, then they take the credit. If (as is usually the case) it all comes to nothing, then they pocket their fees, shrugging regretfully and saying, "Nothing to do with us" as they head off to Mali or Barbados for a well-earned rest.

Strange, really, the way some solicitors are doing their best, often under difficult circumstances, while others simply take the money and run. I have to say here that if anyone at all needs a solicitor to take up any matters to do with the prison service then my prison solicitor is the man to do it - he can't really be faulted. On the other hand, if it is a criminal matter, then avoid my appeal solicitor like the plague - fucking useless.

So, I will write a brief account of everything for the ECHR and then they can invite me to send whatever documents they need. Incidentally, I've had the same team as my appeal advisors for over ten years and in all that time I have never met either one of them, never spoken to them, and had most of my letters ignored. I wonder what the ECHR will make of that, if anything.

Somebody around here has introduced a nasty infection - I've got it, lots of fellows have had it. It is a bit like a cold but is more of a pulmonary infection. The throat feels like it's been sandpapered by an enthusiastic carpenter, phlegm is being coughed up pretty enough to be made into jade jewellery and sleep becomes impossible because of the coughing. Being a closed environment, these things spread like wildfire once they get into the dump. However, today is my fourth day of abject misery, and I've been taking paracetamols and antibiotics. I have improved slightly this morning, so I can't complain.

No sympathy out of Boudica, of course - she thinks I'm a big girl at the best of times. It's not right - when she's not at her best, I'm the first one with a bit of sympathy for her. She says that doctors make the worst patients - apparently Jo Bruce is a very poor patient. I've told Boudica - I'm not that sort of doctor, I'm not a medical man. Is she listening? The short answer is, no.

So, here I sit with a face like a smacked arse, feeling sorry for myself, and all she does is snigger and think it's funny. I'd have her mouth boarded up if I could afford the wood.

The Voice In The Wilderness