But! All of that to one side, the point is that I'm still living where I am and making more than satisfactory progress almost daily. Well, I am according to my mentor, and maybe I should keep his name secret too. Why is authority obsessed with secrets that there is absolutely no call to keep? Now, if you want secrets, I've got secrets and they are mostly the secrets of others - I may have mentioned this before - but I shall take them to the grave with me. I have no choice. Of course this clearly evidences a criminal mind, ask any psychologist. I'll always have a criminal mind, no doubt about that. But having a criminal mind and actually acting on it is, yet again, a different kettle of fish.
So, yours truly is making satisfactory progress on several fronts. The biggest problem I found on release from the tender loving arms of Lizzie Windsor's jackbooted minions was establishing my identity. “Look at me!” I cried silently. “Who would say they are me when they are not! That's bordering on insanity!” However, I had to establish who I was and I started with the hardest task of all - getting a bank account.
Off I jolly-well-went to the Co-operative bank and let me state quite clearly here and now, they were a lot more helpful and accommodating than they needed to be - first class. I started with a marvellous young woman - a credit to her mother, she really is. I told her right at the very outset that I was a retired career criminal and I required a bank account to pay in a bit of dosh. She not only didn't flinch, not an eyebrow twitched or was raised and she went out of her way to push it through - the application that is.
“Leave it to me,” said she more or less. “I'll get on it right away.”
“How long will it take?” asked our retired career crook.
“Normally about three weeks, but we will see. First you will get a letter from Head Office asking for proof of identity but you have already given me that, just ignore it.” (Obviously one of those computer-generated things.) “Then,” said she. “a few days later you should get your card, pin number and all that kind of stuff.” (I'm paraphrasing here of course.)
“Oooo!” said I. “Will you accept money from me then?”
“We will.”
“Wonderful. I shall buy you a bunch of flowers.”
Today, little more than a week later, I was wandering past the bank with about seventeen quid in my pocket so I went in. One of the girls behind the bullet-proof glass recognised me and called me over. My account has been accepted and she gave me my paying-in number and account number. I am now a valued customer of the Co-operative Bank - marvellous. I saw this girl as I was leaving.
“Got my account,” said I. “I've not forgotten the flowers.”
“There is no need.” she protested.
I gave her my best grin. “I don't say things I don't mean,” said I as I left and went to get the flowers.
I took 'em back and she was behind the counter with two other young girls. I went toward the counter.
“She's just coming,” said one, big smiles everywhere.
“Oooo!” said she as I handed her the bunch of flowers. “They are lovely. Nobody ever gave me flowers before.”
“Thank you for all of your help,” said I - and that was basically it really.
I now have a bank account and so the process of becoming a real person again, a citizen rather than just a number, is under way. I thought it would have been harder, but it's not. It just takes a little time, patience and a bunch of flowers.
Finally my brother Robert supplied me with a desktop computer - it will save me a fortune in ink if I ever get the printer to work. I'm a total, complete and utter novice at this high-tec stuff, but I am hoping that I have enough friends to give me advice.
Speaking of friends, now that I am out of jail I am asking people to contact me, those who have read about me for a long time on this website. A man in my position needs all the friends he can get and there is an old adage on the subject which goes like this:
If a man has just one true friend, then he is a rich man indeed.
The Voice In The Wilderness
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