Going to Jail

I have spent most of the day in jail.

This afternoon I covered a french lesson. The usual teacher had left a
video for the men to watch and several of them scooted off before I had
even worked out how to unlock the television cabinet.

I was left with two students. One watched the video and one watched his
ruler all lesson. Several others began a speed chess tournament. I have
never really grasped chess beyond the way the pieces move. I think I
have the wrong type of mind.

The video was a relentlessly jolly BBC programme about the Alsace
region. I didn't know anything about the Alsace region until today. Now
I could tell you all sorts.

The sight of Jilly Goolden on a tandem was quite a shock.

It was strange watching the presenters exhorting the viewers to hop on
the train and visit this area of outstanding beauty or to nip into
tescos and buy some of the wine. I guess if you are locked up for life
and confined to your cell from 7.45 pm for 12 hours with only the telly
for company you get used to such things.

The second half of the programme concentrated on the food of the area
and a french woman dressed for a party made madeleines without getting
any flour down her frock. She wasn't the type to wipe her hands on the
seat of her trousers like the rest of us.

After the video has finished I have a chat about it to the two who were
ostensibly watching it. It becomes a discussion about prison food. I am
very glad I do not have to eat prison food. It appears to consist
largely of boiled potatoes. One of the men tells me that he has never
seen ham cut so thinly. If
you hold it up, he tells me, all you see is the world through a slight
pink haze. The other man tells me he has been on the Healthy Eating
Option scheme for 3 months and has gained weight. Somehow grease
insinuates itself into everything in those kitchens.

The second lesson I cover is Human Biology. I feel slightly better
prepared for this since my A level 20 years ago. However I have only
one student as the others have got wind of the fact that I am supposed
to be showing them a video. I feel slightly rejected particuarly as I
have mastered unlocking the television cabinet but have a very
entertaining talk with the one prisoner who tells me all about his life
and his OU degree. It makes me laugh when he tells me they have now
some new ruling about how many credits they will fund in a year which
means you have to be in for 12 years to finish a first degree.

I have half an hour at home before returning which I spend whinging
about how hard it is to be a working single parent. I feel
irresponsible leaving my youngest in the care of her two big brothers
so often. They all gather hopefully around me until I promise that I
will go to the Co-Op after work and buy them some food. The youngest
pleads for yorkie bars.

Back at the prison I have the music group again. In a rash moment I
claim to be able to play guitar and in a trice I am handed one.
Fortunately the inmate I am sitting with is a beginner and has just got
a new book of easy tunes out of the library.

I had a chat with the prison librarian earlier who I know from my time
in the library service. He showed me the most issued authors and titles
and disturbingly they are all jolly tales of murder. Those and the
books on criminal law which also top the polls.

It is twenty years since I played guitar. Amazingly I can remember two
chords. C and G7th. The inmate locates an extremely easy tune in the
book and we proceed to play it. I have a great deal of trouble playing
Eminor. But I get into the swing of it. Soon we are merrily playing
along and he is singing. I feel inordinately proud of myself. I do
point out to the patient chap that it is in fact ME who is supposed to
be the teacher.

Such is life as my mother would say. I get out of jail and drive home.
The kids are overjoyed to see the Co-Op bags. In a fit of generosity I
cook them something.

Later they all tell me that the sports hall at the school is burning
down. Information such as this is a benefit of living next door to a
fireman (retained). I thought I could smell burning but decided it was
the oldest's pancakes. I eat the pancakes anyway.