Hello again. Sneaked into Davina’s office, got to keep an eye out for the Polish though. Had a close call yesterday, I presume you know about me having to store the Nokia up my bottom, well I was nearly caught red handed. It needed charging, but I didn’t want to leave it laying around in full view, so I decided to charge it while it was still hidden! I was cleaning my teeth, and so was facing into the cell, so my back was stupidly on full view.
All was going well until one of the Polish nurses saw the mains lead hanging down between my legs from under my regulation smock. I heard a gaggle of Polish shouting from behind me, and then my cell door opening. I spun round to be confronted by four huge nurses, all standing there with their arms folded. They all gazed down to the wire hanging there, and then back up to me. One of the nurses then said to me in pigeon English “What wire doing coming from out of bottom?” I knew that if ever there was a time in my life that I needed to think on my feet, this was most certainly it. The problem was, that my mouth and my brain seemed to be completely at logger heads. It went something like this…….
Brain “Come on think”
Brain “Don’t repeat yourself, it looks suspicious”
Mouth “I am”
Brain “Brilliant, two words, that will throw them off the scent”
Mouth “A homosexual”
Mouth “And I”
Brain “Oh dear God, where is he going with this?”
Mouth “Have a vibrator…..in my bottom”
Mouth “It runs on rechargeable batteries”
Brain “mmm, green, that should get a few votes”
Mouth “And I have decided to recharge it, while it is……. in situ”
Brain “An unlikely scenario, but they are Polish, and therefore may hopefully not be completely au fait with British customs”
Four sets of Polish eyebrows raised in one perfect synchronized movement. “You English men. You like the bottom fun yes. We Polish men are real men, and like the front bottom fun, yes”
They all started to laugh, and jostle each other about in and East European sort of way. I had started to relax a little by now, as I thought this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. Just when all the laughing and jostling had died down, we all heard “Fucking shirt lifter”. Oh dear oh dear oh dear Jim, I thought to myself, will you never learn. With this, all four Pols rushed from my cell, and bundled Jim down the corridor to the ‘Un-politically correct correctional facility’. The screams kept me awake for the rest of the night.
We had our visit from Father O’toole yesterday, or ‘Father tooled up’ as I like to call him. I am still very wary of anyone or anything remotely Catholic. Despite much electric shock therapy, I am still convinced the Pope has put a price on my head. I am extremely concerned about the bulge under Father tooled up’s cassock. If that’s not a pair of Uzi 9mm sub machine guns under there, I am a Dutchman. I try my damndest not to be left alone with him. I have this vision of him getting me into an out of the way room, on some pretext of giving me spiritual guidance or something, then whipping up his cassock, and spraying me with hot lead.
I do wish we could wear our own clothes, I do hate these regulation smocks we are made to wear. It’s not great indoors, but outside in the exercise yard, it can be very drafty. Of course I am most worried about the wind whipping up my smock, and exposing my Nokia. I have found the only way to conquer this problem, is to tuck the smock in between my legs. Unfortunately this means that I have to sort of mince along to keep the smock in place. This of course is doing nothing to help my reputation with the Pols. I am getting pretty fed up with them winking at me, and blowing kisses as I am standing in the dinner queue. Jim came back from the ‘Un-politically correct correctional facility’ earlier. It was good to see him still defiant. As he was being marched handcuffed back to his cell, he could still be heard shouting various politically incorrect phrases at the top of his voice. “Shirt lifter”…….Nik Nik”…….Sambo”…….Chalkie”. He has got his dignity, if nothing else!
Cleopatra next door has had her foot spa taken away. She was not at all pleased about this, and poured the two pints of semi skimmed all over herself before the nurses could confiscate it. Cleopatra, Jim and myself were in the TV room this evening watching ‘Celebrity firing squad’, when a new patient (Or housemate as Davina likes to call us) was brought in. His name is Nigel, and he is apparently a manic depressive. Jim immediately saw this as an opportunity to tell him a joke about a Jew, a Muslim, and a queer. Cleopatra draped herself over him in a queen like way, and it was at this point that the Nokia went off, and he was treated to a muffled ‘oops I did it again’. We have heard he has been put on suicide watch.
I had to have my ‘one to one’ with Davina today. To be honest, I find it very difficult to take anything she says seriously. When you are sitting opposite a mustachioed, monocle wearing, dwarf with a peculiar hair cut, nothing she says seems to matter very much. She is very ‘right on’. Your typical do gooding, slightly femenisty, Guardian reading, equal rights, hug a hoodie, save the planet social worker type of woman. Tries to see the good in people, you know all that kind of stuff. How the hell she see’s any good in Rafael the mass murderer I don’t know. Rafael was found guilty of murdering an entire room of Liberal democrats at one of their constituency meetings. This I suppose is to some extent understandable, but what really upset people I think, is that he then posed them all in sitting positions, gave them all drinks (Which incidentally he bought, even though he had killed the bar staff!), and proceeded to do his racist stand up routine. After he had initially done all the murdering, the building was under siege for two days, while the police tried to talk him out. Things took a turn for the worse when they heard the first ‘A one legged Jewish lesbian walked into a bar’ joke, But the SWAT team were straight in there when he lit a cigarette. Rafael is not permitted to mix with Jim. Davina thinks this could be a deadly cocktail, that could result in a bloodbath. During my ‘one to one’, Davina said she wanted to put my fears about Father Tooled up to rest once and for all. Father tooled up then walked in, and whipped up his cassock. What was under his cassock was not at all what I expected to see, but it was most definitely not a pair of Uzi’s. Father tooled up is now three cells down from me…….Now, where did I put those clogs!
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