On my bike - or back to the drawing board?

Things could go disastrously wrong, of course.

I've been in front of the Parole Board, Tuesday gone it was, a day which could go down in the annals of history - or should that be the days of infamy and calumny?

So many things were said which were quite untrue, although given what was said, and what the Parole Board had to work with, I suppose that, in a twisted, perverse way, it wasn't a surprise. My fault, of course (like everything else, beginning with the Crucifixion) - for several reasons. To begin with, I had thought that the days of sitting there behind an enormous pile of paperwork and documents was over. I was wrong. I should have gone there with documentary proof of everything - including an inoculation certificate for rabies.

Then, of course, there was my own reluctance to impart information about any friends (or foes come to that). I cause myself no end of difficulties with my misguided (probably) protection of the guilty. It's a mindset thing - I just can't bring myself to discuss the  past of others. I'm not too adept at disclosing my own past, never mind the guilty cohorts from my dark and cloudy past.

They harped on about the past of course, going back a half century in some cases - and personally I see little to be gained from that. I can't change the past - nobody can, not even God. All we can do is work for the future to ensure that we don't repeat the mistakes of the past.

At one point I was even accused of still living off dirty money - money from the proceeds of long past crimes. I'm not, of course, but all I could do in the face of the onslaught was bite my lip like a good little soldier and curb my tongue. The temptation was there to argue but that would have served little purpose. I must just ensure that if I have to sit ANOTHER board that I have all of the required documents with me.

Having said all that, there were many positives too, and a good while was spent by the panel discussing the possible circumstances of my release into the community and sending me to reside in a hostel (which must remain nameless) in a city (which must be kept secret). I would have restrictions placed on my movements and must allow the police to examine any vehicle I acquire for transport. I may be using the bike which Andrew has given me - that could be a bit interesting.

"Where did you get the bike?"

"Fell off the back of a car."

Various members of the Probation Service were asked, "Do you feel that Mister Wilkinson could be safely managed in the hostel?"

Everyone replied, "Yes."

"There would have to be restrictions!"

"Yes."
I would only have to stay in the hostel for a couple of months and after that I can find my own place. They asked, "Where will it be?"

"Who knows?" - I didn't reply, but words to that effect.

I shall hold my house in the high wood
Within a walk of the sea
And men that were boys when I was a boy 
Shall sit and drink with me.

Of course, they won't - I don't drink - but it's the sentiment of that verse which I like. I'm not allowed to associate with my old associates - men of ill repute and, as I mentioned earlier, cloudy and secretive pasts. Their secrets I shall take to my grave with me - and at my age that's not a million miles away.

They spent a bit of time going on about my website - but it's not mine, it simply bears my name. Never mind that, nobody is doing anything wrong, as was explained to the board by the probation folk. (I've been transferred from Northumbria to Lincolnshire, for what good that may serve.)

They were asked if I had any substance abuse problems but were informed that there have never been any concerns on that score as I neither drink nor take drugs.

When it was all over (over four hours of it), and as I was about to depart for a fag and a well-earned cuppa, the chairman said a couple of things such as, "When you get your reply, it will be quick because we will make our decision today... You may have to wait a while for a hostel bed to be made available..." and "Good luck!"

Now, I may be seeing those remarks through the good old rose-tinted spectacularities, but I hope, of course, that I am to be given my release, even if I will be simply exchanging one sort of jail for another. Okay, a much freer jail in many respects, but a jail for a' that - a rose by any other name.


So, my best guess, and taking everything in the round, what do I think? Well, things could go disastrously wrong.

The person who would be most disappointed if parole was refused would be my current cell-mate - a strangely weird and wonderful fellow who is seventeen going on fifty and who is a twitcher, not to mention a naturalist. He knows more about creatures and fowls than he does about people. He wants me gone on the grounds that he doesn't smoke but I do.
 
So, I live in hope. I should hear any day now and personally I feel it could be good news - next week's "Voice In The Wilderness" should be interesting. But, as I have also said, things could go quite disastrously wrong - and if they do, then it's back to the drawing board to get ready for the next one.

The Voice In The Wilderness