Dear Sir,

I thank you for your gift of the poster of Sir Winston S. Churchill. This has been most useful in

controlling my cell mate Big 'Arry, a former director of an investment bank who believes that the

great man speaks to him at night. Apparently they discuss the moral ambiguities of the insider
trading rules. I have traded this poster for a quiet life, first dibs on any tea bags we can get hold

of and shares in a company 'Arry intends to set up on release. I'm not sure of the exact details but

believe it involves Iraq, on Winston S.'s suggestion.

This quiet time has allowed me to begin writing my memoirs as well as attending a few local social

soirees. This being a perk associated with being incarcerated in the better sort of establishment.

This has reduced my time for writing to you but still, as part of the correspondence section of my

autobiography, I am able to relate what happened last Wednesday. The night of the annual H. M. P.

Worplesthorpe Incareree Talent Show. I had naturally taken over the position of stage manager and

thus was heavily involved with some back stage fretting during the night. Indeed, I was only kept on

track through the night by Wee Eric's Brew. This is something he produces in the bin sheds, for a

fifty percent protection tax, which I have high hopes of selling upon release. As an industrial

solvent.

Anyhoo, the night was going well, the judges were well reimbursed, no fights had broken out and

my Womble inspired finale was still on track. And then it happened. Fifteen ruffians from the

plebeian gaol next door, H. M. P. Scarface, escaped. Right into our show.

Initially little notice was taken. We were on 'Insider Trading' Bob's 'The Man In The Iron

Mask' and the chains and uncouth language fitted in well. However up next was my personal

investment, "'Ernest Saunders - The Musical', which they let down badly by not knowing their dance

steps. They were so out of time that the screws even noticed. This led to a couple of Wardens

getting on stage to route out the intruders and something closely akin to a Benny Hill finale

ensued.

As you know I am not a fan of the genre and so I rapidly dropped the curtain on this particular

farce. Unfortunately the ruffians from Scarface did not take well to this limiting of their escape

routes. They let me know this in no uncertain manner before being subdued by the Wardens and
indeed it was a full half hour before I was extracted from the wrong end of the Womble costume

and our finale could take place.

All things considered I believe that the eventual third place in the competition would have been

justified, considering the disruption. It shall always rankle, though, that the eventual winners, 'The

H.M.P. Scarface Escapologists', have gone on to a starring role as resident experts on the latest

series of 'I’m a celebrity, get me out of here.'

Yours sincerely,

Auberon Cholmondly,BR/>
Cell 3-H,

At Her Majesties Pleasure.

Next Time – 'How Old!!'

My Life as a Boozy Oaf
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