Today started with the now familiar clanging noise of our cell door being unlocked and opened briefly. 07:15. It’s what I call the daily “Are They Still Alive” check. I raised my arm up with a “thumbs up” gesture and sleepily called to the warden “morning”. I lay still, dozing, while my roommate began talking his usual morning monologue…a weather update….a reminder of my family visit this afternoon and a description of what he planned to do at tonight’s gym session. It’s a bit like waking up to Alexa except there’s no off switch and I’m too kind to try the “be quiet” voice command. I climbed down from my hard bunk bed and made a cuppa – steering clear of the prison-issue dust bags in favour of the Tetley that I received in last week’s canteen order. I sat up on my bunk, slowly gaining consciousness as my roommate continued his spraff – listing the TV programmes that we’d watched last night. I wished that I had some emails or letters to read (nothing is delivered over the weekend) and thought about how much I’d enjoy receiving this afternoon’s delivery.

At 08:15 the door was unlocked, signalling the 5 minute window when we can collect breakfast. I picked up an apple from my window ledge and walked out of our room through the common hall, through the open gate and into the small food service area, just off the reception area. I picked up 2 little bags of rice crispies, a white roll and a wee tub of jam, before being handed my tiny plastic bottle of milk by the inmate who has volunteered to work in food service. I headed back to the hall to find a seat at one of the 5 metal “picnic tables”. I avoided the tables at the far end where the more established and habituated inmates tend to sit. They don’t reply when I say “Hi” to them so I don’t know much about them, but from what I can gather from conversations and overheard exchanges they are mostly people who use and/ or deal drugs on the outside, and take and deal prescribed medications here in the hall. Instead I chose an empty table to sit at and began to chop my apple (using my plastic knife) into my plastic bowl. I was quickly joined by another of the first timers (who all tend to sit at the rear end of the hall). We didn’t really chat much – I’m pretty non-communicative first thing.

I washed up my bowl and cutlery in my toilet room sink, making a lather from our bar of soap. I made a couple of phone calls to my parents landline using one of the 2 phones at the far end of the hall, but had to leave a short voicemail each time…just to say that I was looking forward to seeing them at their visit this afternoon.

At 09:00 the call “LOCK UP” echoed around the hall so I walked back to my room and said “thanks” to the warden who locked me and my roommate into our room. I always thank him. Not sure why. From 09:00 to 11:30 I enjoyed doing a code word puzzle from the book that my dad sent me, and washed the right leg of my jeans in the sink (it turned a weird mottled black colour yesterday when I dried it over the heating pipe that runs under our window. I noticed, with a relived smile, that I was still feeling pretty perky – a big contrast to the dippy slow brained way I had been feeling until 2 days ago. I told myself that it was due to having slept a bit better the last 2 nights (perhaps I’m beginning to get used to the thin worn mattress and hard pillow?) But nevertheless, I promised myself that I would continue the “soup and custard abstinence” that I began 3 days ago as a test to see if sloppy foods might be drugged with sedatives (another rumour that I wanted to check out for myself).

At 11:30 the door was unlocked again for lunch. As always, it was unnecessarily rushed… by 11:45am the kitchen volunteers were already shouting through the bars of the gate; “PLAAAAATES!!!”. I thought about how much I would enjoy eating leisurely lunches with my uncle once I am released (he’s always the last to finish in our family). I eat with another of the “newbies” and was excited to hear that, coming from the Isle of Skye he had met one of my friends who used to live there. He spoke of the injustice of being charged with crimes that he claims not to have committed…charges that he says are based on the corroborated evidence of liars who hold a grudge against him. This is a theme that comes up often, and one that I would return to in a discussion with another inmate later today.

At 12:15 we were again locked up. I took the opportunity to read a chapter of a book entitled “Philosophy, A Very Short Introduction”, while my roommate watched crappy daytime TV on E4. To my surprise and amusement, the chapter was about Plato’s writings on Socrates’ discussions around justice and virtue…using as an example the question of whether or not it would be right for Socrates to escape from prison. More on that another day, perhaps…

13:00. With the sound of keys jangling followed by that clanging sound, the door swung open again. “Outside exercise?”…”Yes!” we both replied, jumping to our feet and putting on every jumper and shirt that we own. We headed out to the reception desk, before being frisked one by one, led downstairs by two wardens, walked through a metal detector and outside into the Astroturf pitch that I can see from out my window. The highlight of my day is this hour that I spend running and walking around the Astroturf pitch, every day, and the visits that I get from family and friends about every other day. After my 30 laps, I joined some of the other guys for a theoretical lesson in how to climb the perimeter fence. One of the guys claims to have witnessed first-hand the escape of a prisoner from a different prison. He stuck a plastic knife into the toe of each shoe and used them to climb the wire fence, the way a mountaineer would scale an ice wall with crampons. Of course, the same method wouldn’t work here because beyond the fence stands an 8 metre high concrete wall (I can see that from my window too). Then I walked with another guy, who talked in a repetitive, rambling and circular way about how he is innocent of the crimes that he has been charged with, and how he has been set up by 3 past exes. I had absolutely no idea whether or not anything he said was true…and thought about how glad I was that I wasn’t a jury member in his trial. It’s the exes’ word against  his in a matter that will determine how the rest of his life will pan out.

At 14:15, along with four other guys from my hall, I was unlocked, frisked and escorted downstairs and along a long, long, long ,cold, camera-lined, breeze- block corridor. It was visit time!!! The people who escort us spend their entire working day leading groups of prisoners from one part of the prison to another, to attend family visits, doctor’s appointments, the education centre, library and mail room, and meetings with social workers and solicitors. This escort had an appearance that looked so out of place in the prison context that I couldn’t help but smile as we walked towards the visiting room. She must have been in her 20s with hair dyed grey, thick tan coloured foundation, enormous black stick-on eye lashes, and a Britney mic with ear-piece. She would have looked more at home hosting a drag show in a gay bar.

Being escorted from A to B may seem like a pretty straight-forward operation… but I’ve learned that it has to be planned with military precision to avoid inmates slashing each other with razor blades – either because of the type of offence that was committed, or because they’ve made enemies in other wings of the prison (due to drug debts or eye-for-an-eye vendettas).

Every so often we have to stop in our tracks to allow another group to be moved ahead of us. Each group is colour coded with jumpers that represent the wing where they are based. It reminds of me scenes in Star Wars, where uniformed groups of prisoners or Storm Troopers are moved around the Empire’s ships.

While we waited for our visitors to be settled into the visiting room, the five of us were ushered into a boxy room. While we waited inside the nearest box one of the guys regaled us with the story of how his neck got slashed by some guy with a razor blade, and how he hoped to be able to hunt down the perpetrator on the outside one day although he said that he expected to be in prison for the rest of his life. Then we talked about last night’s apple crumble for a bit. And gym routines.

One more metal detector and another frisking later, and we entered the large carpeted visiting hall. (I mention the carpet because it’s the only one I’ve seen since I arrived here.) I scanned the room with excited eyes and quickly spotted my parents and uncle, sitting on soft seats in front of a little coffee table. One bizarre thing about meeting visitors is the incongruence that is evident in my and my visitors’ faces. Whilst I am always smiling and happy, because this IS my favourite part of the day, my visitors always have a sad, concerned look on their faces, often with a slight head-tilt of sympathy. I chuckled as I pointed this out to them. I really enjoyed the visit and felt very cared for. Despite the strangeness of the room, my prison clothes, the rows of tables, the colour-coded prisoners, and the security checks that I and my family had had to go through to come together at this table today, I felt as if we were drinking tea around our kitchen at home. The love, concern, kindness and interest that they showed in their questions, comments, suggestions and stories felt truly heart-warming.

Leaving the visitors room, we were frisked once more and asked to open our mouths, in case we had hidden drugs in there. Back in my room, I read some more Plato until we were unlocked for dinner at 16:00. Over a plastic plate of chicken drumsticks, roast tatties and peas (surprisingly good), me and three guys chatted about the annoyances of prison procedures… from the complications, glitches and long delays in receiving property (such as books or CDs posted by friends and families), to our repeated failed efforts to get basic items for our rooms, such as a functioning TV aerial cable, a bin, or a toilet brush (I’m literally going to ask them for a toothbrush tomorrow so that I can clean our loo).

At 19:00, those of us who had signed up to go to the gym (about 10 of us) were frisked and escorted downstairs, while the remaining inmates were locked into their rooms for the night. The gym is well equipped and I did a legs workout, warming up on the rower, before moving on to the machines, then some dips and finishing up on the cross-trainer. There’s a friendly vibe in the gym, and some people are happy to offer suggestions and tips.

Back in my room at 20:00, and I am writing this while my room mate snores loudly and the telly drones on in the background. I’m just going to finish up some of my left-over dinner, sitting up on my top-bunk, while we watch another film. It’s been a good day, and, like every other day since I’ve arrived, I can honestly say that I found a good deal of enjoyment and learning in the bizarreness of it all.

More tomorrow! Night-night