Thursday, May 10, 2012

Lincoln Green

"If Robin Hood was from Nottingham, why did he wear Lincoln Green? Why didn't he wear Nottingham Green?" I asked Geoff.

He replied that Robin Hood didn't exist.

"That's a terrible thing to say," said I, scandalised. "Are you trying to tell me that all of those stories about Friar Tuck and Little John are bollocks?"

"All rubbish," said the great sage.

"Hollywood made films about it!" said I. "In colour!"

All he did was snigger - I think there is something wrong with him.

Anyway, on Monday gone (30th April), I went to Lincoln on the choo-choo train - the first choo-choo trip in a long time. I had thought I may struggle a little bit with the mechanics of it all, but I didn't - it was easy. Everything is on timetables and even an idiot in a hurry would struggle to make a mess of it.

I arrived in Lincoln to a sunny day and tourists all over the place, students wasting their grants and an inordinate number of buskers for some reason. It's a nice place, Lincoln - big pedestrianised shopping areas and pleasant. I wouldn't want to live there - no sign of Robin Hood nowhere.

I found the hostel, after a little trial and error, did a bit of shopping, went to see the cathedral and the castle, had a bite to eat and retired to my hostel room at about ten-thirty in the evening. A day well spent, I suppose.

I was returning to the prison the following morning, but first I had to have a chat with The Wallace on the telefunken, an instrument I have absolutely no regard for whatsoever - don't like em. Spoke to The Wallace and she seemed to be satisfied by whatever the hostel had said about me, mainly that I was well turned out and polite I think. I may have to do a couple more overnight stays there to satisfy the requirements of the Parole Board. I don't see the need personally, after all, there are fellows here who have been waiting for nine months or more to get a place at the hostel for their overnighters and can't get one. I can get them and don't need them at all - I've got much better places to go to, where I am more than welcome, and those places are far more in line with where I will be going eventually on release. Making me go to and fill up a scarce hostel place unnecessarily makes little sense to me, but I suppose rules are rules and I will have to collect all of my ticks in the right boxes - common sense has nothing to do with the matter at all.

Anyway, after a little chat to The Wallace, I wandered down to the railway station to discover that the trains were on strike, but the railway company had laid on replacement buses, all I had to do was show my ticket. There was a reporter from Look North, or something, and he had a young woman with a camera with him.

"Excuse me sir," said he, "I'm from Look North. What do you think about the train strike?"

I looked at him, hoisted my heavy bag on my shoulder and sort of grinned. "I don't care," said I and got the bus.

So, that was my day out, or at least my one night stand.

I was supposed to have a hernia repaired on Friday but it was cancelled because I have got a cough, having just got over a bit of a cold. It's been put off until this coming Friday. That means a trip to hospital on Thursday, then an operation on Friday and a day out with Buddy the geegee on Saturday. I can see certain difficulties ahead, but we will see I suppose.

Finally, I want to make one or two comments about a clothing firm called Premier Man.

Comment One
Have nothing whatsoever to do with them. I made an order for trousers, shirt and jumper and paid about four quid for overnight delivery. A month later I was still sitting here, like a statue of Robin Hood, waiting. I asked them on the phone where my stuff was and their reply was the classic lie told by all such companies who have no intention whatsoever of giving their customers the service they paid for. They said, "We tried  to deliver but there was nobody in." This is a PRISON! There is always somebody in, any time, day or night - there is ALWAYS someone on the gate. "We tried to deliver but there was nobody in."!

In fact, that's all I am going to tell anyone, because anyone who deals with them after hearing (or reading) that has to be crazy and deserves all of the poor treatment they are going to get. Maybe I should get Friar Tuck to pay them a visit. Hey, it's a good job I didn't do a Spoonerism on that name...

The Voice In The Wilderness

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