Following his conviction for perverting the course of justice, Chris Huhne has decided to keep a diary of his stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Please be warned the following contains scenes of naivety that may offend some readers.
Eight months – who would have thought? Well me, actually, that’s why I did a few money-spinning interviews before sentencing. The journey to HMP Wandsworth from the court made me realise how hard this was going to be. I had no idea those transport vans didn’t have air conditioning. When we got here the concierge was very welcoming – he even warmed his hands before the strip search. Apparently I get my own en-suite room tonight, can’t wait.
I have had the worst night’s sleep ever – this must be how it feels to have a conscience. The mattress was as thin as my defence, and despite several requests for room service it never arrived. I’m beginning to think HMP doesn’t stand for Hotel for Members of Parliament. On the bright side, the porridge for breakfast was better than I thought it would be, but I was disappointed at the lack of honey. I may have to write a letter of complaint to the manager, or as the uneducated staff call him ‘The Guv’nor’. The rest of the day has been quite lonely, but tonight I get to meet my new cell mate. I’ll let you know how it goes.
‘Slasher’, my new cell mate, is an interesting fellow. I was awake all night trying to figure out what his crime was and why he has that nickname. I’ll be honest, when I figured it out I was a little concerned about sharing a cell with someone who urinates in public. It is disgusting what some people are capable of. I think the lunchtime routine here is a bit odd. I’ve noticed the other guests trying to get the waiter’s attention by shouting ‘order, order’. I thought it was weird but gave it a go myself. I can’t say it worked, but it did seem to amuse the others – just one of the signs that I am becoming quite popular here. Slasher said he noticed my personal hygiene had slipped a bit so will show me the showers tonight. Looking forward to that.
I’m not going to give too many details about the shower last night, other than to say I am more popular than I thought and the spoken English of people in here is appalling. ‘Can you pick up the soap?’ is clearly a question and not, as they later clarified, ‘a f**king order’. Unfortunately some of the others have found out about my personal wealth. So far I have spent £10,000 as protection money to ensure I don’t get beaten up. I was unsure about handing over the money, but I was advised to always obey the prison officers’ orders. We receive letters from our loved ones this evening. It will be good to hear from the family.
Only one letter arrived for me yesterday, and that was sent through the prisons’ internal mail system. It was from Vicky. Having read all 15 pages of her describing what she will do to me when we get out, all in extremely graphic detail, I have spoken to my lawyer to see about extending my time here. As a side note, Slasher has told me to stop writing as it is annoying him. He promised to shove my pen up my arse if I didn’t. He’s funny when he’s angry.
There will be no more entries as today I learnt that Slasher keeps his promises and I can’t control my hip movements enough to write.
Perks (hat-tip Squudge)