Heaven

DAY 154 WEDNESDAY 19 DECEMBER 2001

9.00 am

‘Archer to report to reception immediately, Archer to report to reception immediately.’

Now Mr Daff has retired, I’m not allowed the same amount of latitude as in the past.

I’ve received five parcels today. The first is a book by Iris Murdoch, The Sea, The Sea, kindly sent in by a lady from Dumfries. As I read it some years ago when Ms Murdoch won the Booker Prize, I donate it to the library. The second is a silver bottle opener – not much use to an inmate as we’re not allowed to drink – but a kind gesture nevertheless. I ask if I can give it to Linda. No, but it can be put in the old-age pensioners’ raffle. The third is a Parker pen. Can I give it to Linda? No, but it can be put in the old-age pensioners’ raffle. The fourth is a teddy bear from Dorset. I don’t bother to ask, I just agree to donate it to the old-age pensioners’ raffle. The fifth is a large tube, which, when opened, reveals fifteen posters from the Chris Beetles Gallery, which I’ve been eagerly awaiting for over a week. I explain that it’s a gift to the hospital, so there’s no point in putting it in store for me because the hospital will get it just as soon as I am released. This time they agree to let me take it away. Result: one out of five.

2.00 pm

I happily spend a couple of hours, assisted by Carl and a box of Blu-Tack, fixing prints by Albert Goodwin, Ronald Searle, Heath Robinson, Emmett, Geraldine Girvan, Paul Riley and Ray Ellis to the hospital walls. With over 900 Christmas cards littered around the beds, the ward has been transformed into an art gallery. (See opposite.)

5.00 pm

I return to the canteen. I’m only £2.50 in credit, whereas I calculate I should have around £18. It’s the nearest I get to losing my temper, and it’s only when the officer in charge says he’s been trying to get the system changed for the past year that I calm down, remembering that it’s not his fault. He makes a note of the discrepancy on the computer. I thank him and return to the hospital. I have no reason to complain; I’ve got the best job in the prison and the best room, and am allowed to write five hours a day. Shut up, Archer.

6.00 pm

I attend the carol service at six-thirty, where I read one of the lessons. Luke 2, verses eight to twenty. As I dislike the modern text, the vicar has allowed me to read from the King James version.

The chapel is packed long before the service is due to begin and the organ is played with great verve and considerable improvisation by Brian (ostrich fraud). The vicar’s wife, three officers and four inmates read the lessons. I follow Mr New, and Mr Hughes follows me. We all enjoy a relaxed service of carols and lessons, and afterwards there is the added bonus of mince pies and coffee, which might explain the large turnout.

After the service, Brian introduces me to Maria, who’s in charge of the Red Cross shop in Boston. She has brought along my box of paperbacks and asks if I would be willing to sign them. I happily agree.