Episode 45 - Prison Gogglebox

I have said many times, nothing and no one is sacred when it comes to Scousers, even more so in prison. Inside HMP, in many ways it is like falling down Lewis Carroll's rabbit hole on acid and coming through the other side only to be in a Stephen King nightmare.

During the three and a half years I was in prison I wrote over a million words by hand. Tales From The Jails is a contemporaneous account of my life, and attempts to thrive rather than merely survive, whilst incarcerated.

Most names have been changed. The events have not.

This is a Jekyll & Pride production.

Producer: Trevessa Newton

Title Music taken from The Confession, on the album Crimes Against Poetry (written and performed by The Shadow Poet, produced by Lance Thomas)

Copyright Jekyll & Pride Ltd 2025

@talesfromthejailspodcast

@jekyllandpride2023
@theshadowpoettsp

Transcript

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During the three and a half years I was in prison, I wrote over a million words by hand. Tales from the Jails is a contemporaneous account of my life, and attempts to thrive rather than merely survive whilst incarcerated. Most names have been changed, but the events have not. Episode 45 Prison Goggle Box, it is December. Wow. Unbelievable. Long overdue, but hallelujah! Posted under the door was confirmation of my Open University application. Well, sort of. Firstly, it's dated the 29th of November when it was sent and addressed to care of the Education Manager, HMP Liverpool, so it's been sat there for a few days. Secondly, it's a little bittersweet, beginning with the first line."We are holding a place for you on the Open University module Y 031, Arts and Languages Access Module" which, believe it or not, expires on the 16th of December, 2016, two weeks from now. Thirdly, the concerning piece. It's sentence two,"Once payment is confirmed, we will allocate your tutor and give you full range of learning resources to prepare for study." Simply put, I do not know if the prison is paying. In fact, as of right now, I feel as though I'm in touching distance after an eight month marathon, and now I'm hanging by a thread. It's 50/50 I suppose. But at least this is a good sign. I'll ask Mr. H if he can put a call into George at Careers and get him to drop by, i.e, I've received confirmation. Hallelujah. Thanks. You're a star. But what happens next? And there's only 13 days to sort it. It needs to be dragged across the line before the 16th of December, or it was all a waste of time, after everybody putting in such a huge effort to make it happen and backing me, then bat that back to him. By rights, this should have been all straightforward, but the issue is the fees and it's easier to ship me out and let the next prison pick up the tab. How I've managed to keep my job in reception is a miracle. I'm like a fly in the ointment with this university application. I'm excited by the prospect of laying solid foundations ahead of leaving prison even when I win the appeal. I don't want to have just wasted my time here surviving or treading water. I don't want to begin our new life from the day I leave here. No, I started it the moment I went down the stairs from the court and began this nightmare. It's the best way of utilizing my time, nourishing the mind. And I see this and university, whatever I study or follow, as something that helps me transition from my old life and the terrible headlines, to a new one. The best place to begin is at the bottom, entry level and arts and languages. If I pass this, I'm eligible to apply to university and do a degree, hopefully something to do with creative writing or some form of drama or theatre. I only mention this because if I could wave a magic wand, in the new life, beyond all of this, then I'd love to be a writer and bring the words to life in audio. Something like a movie for your ears. For now, in a prison cell in Walton, during the prison crisis with budgets slashed everywhere, it's watch this space. The countdown is on. It's December. It's grim, but worse, the TV and radio are saturated with Christmas ads and festive spirits to remind us of what we're missing. Gove says in Inside Times, the problem, in a nutshell, is that we have a system operating at practically full capacity with nowhere near enough flexibility to devote time and care and attention needed to secure successful rehabilitation. Basically, there is no hope. It's December the 5th, 2016. I have said many times, nothing and no one is sacred when it comes to Scousers, even more so in prison. Inside HMP, well, in many ways it is like falling down Lewis Carroll's rabbit hole on acid and coming through the other side only to be in a Stephen King nightmare. Take today, for instance. You may be interested, if not surprised, to hear what inmates choose or enjoy watching on TV. Number one in the prison Gogglebox charts is Emmerdale. Seriously, don't ask me why, but there are a lot of hard blokes seemingly wearing hair nets when it comes to watching the soaps. Celebrity Jungle is popular too. Presently, the two most annoying men on TV are annoying each other. The Homes under the Hammer fella and Danny Baker, need I say more. I've got Scarlet Moffitt in the sweep. It's true. We gamble on I'm A Celeb, more for the fun than anything. I've never heard of Moffitt. Dan says she's in some soap called Geordie Shore. I've never heard of that either. X Factor still has a following, but the dark horse is Planet Earth II, Sunday night 8:00 PM on the BBC. Presented and narrated by the living legend and face and voice of the natural world for over 60 years, Sir David Attenborough. Even Obama seized the opportunity to spend time with the cuddly, lovable national treasure, Everyone's favourite second granddad. I was impressed that the lads were talking about it while we waited to be taken to work. At the time I was lost in thoughts of T when one of the lads chirped up with, did anyone see Planet's Earth II last night? I must admit it sort of caught me by surprise and sobered me up from drowning in love thoughts. There is no fucking way they were waiting for that shot on the frog. They were not in the right place at the right time. No! This was a reference to a scene in the episode whereby a rare frog tumbles down the side of a mountain. That's how it was described in the episode, and landed alive and well in a puddle, where the camera guy was waiting, or just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I have to admit my pad mate and I choose to turn over from the X Factor semis eviction to watch Planet Earth. Neil, one of the young lads,I cut his hair, nice lad, does not need to be here, does not belong in a place like this, but he did surprise me with an alternative viewpoint on the topic. No fucking way that frog miraculously bounces down the side of a mountain, lands in a fucking puddle like it's taking a dip. Yeah, and there's a fucking cameraman there to capture it. Fuck off. Obviously Neil had the same cracked lens to watch through. Honestly, everyone had my attention because I've been here before with Prison Gogglebox and I know it ranges from outrageous and ridiculous to crazy as fuck funny. But I'm stuck for words and mumbled out a Freudian slip. You can't be fucking serious, on what evidence are you basing that wild claim? It did go silent for a moment. I felt like a naked leper about to be stoned. Do you really believe Attenborough, the national treasure, the authority on the natural world, is capturing endangered species, and then chucking them mercilessly down the side of a mountain for the sake of a camera shot? Philly jumped in. Nevermind the frog, did you get to see the rhinos? What they did to that poor fucking rhino? The lads were like a backing group in perfect harmony. Neil was off again, fucking disgrace. They shot that, didn't they? I believe he wasn't describing the camera shot, but the rifle one used to kill the rhino and other endangered species. Come on, you can't be serious, I spluttered and protested. They shot that poor fucking rhino. Are you seriously trying to say, G, that they just stumbled on a dead rhino, Perfect for a pride of lions to eat. And then caught it all on camera. Yeah. Set up. They shot that poor fucking rhino. First day on the job, all ready for the lions to feast on. They do fuck all for the next three weeks. They're playing with us. I tried to inject that they're pros, these camera guys, spend weeks and months of dedication and commitment. I was met with a wall of silence, then abuse. I thought deflecting them might help. What about the eagle last week? Behind the scenes footage? Yeah. Fucking set up. No bloke is waiting in a tent for the fucking week. No fucking way. And you're a mug for believing it G. It gets worse. By the time we landed in the kitchen, I had to say the obvious. Do you really believe Attenborough is killing animals as bait for great shots? Too fucking right. Look at Savile and Rolf Harris. They're all the fucking same. Everyone believed them and look what they were up to. One final observation worth mentioning was, I thought you loved the series lads, but in perfect harmony, they all said the same thing. We do. It's the 6th of the twelfth, 2016. The M equals murder topic of late is as dramatic and horrific as any macabre bestseller. A few nights back, HMP Liverpool became the new home of, well, I won't mention his name. He received a 29 year rec for a gruesome double murder, described as a monster who bludgeoned his girlfriend and her mother to death with a hammer. He was also found guilty of raping his girlfriend when she was dying. He killed the dog Tyson too. Another hammer blow to the head. Honestly, it's horrific and I don't feel comfortable going into detail. My pad mate said it made him feel sick reading about it. Day by day, the reception hub processes men in and out, or out and back in by way of trials. There have been a few big ones spilling over from November into December. Now we're on the eve of verdicts and sentencing. Can you believe it, but today I've actually put up a Christmas tree in Walton Prison and in jubilant spirits. Yo, ho, ho type of stuff. Funeral FM was playing in the background, Christmas carols and choirs. At the same time over 20 lads are in the QE 2 courts waiting to hear their fate. It's a huge drugs trial. Conspiracy again. They've all been on remand for between 18 months and two years, and I fear, we all fear, the sentencing is going to be harsh. I'm on first name terms with most of them. I've been here for over 10 months, and regardless of Toenail's and the posse's attempts to derail me or have the wing etc turn on me, reality is, they're on the ropes and unpopular and I'm not full of shit and can be trusted. I'm stronger than ever before, but I'm falling to bits. My newest mattress is now sunk in the middle to the point it is one centimetre thick not six inches. It's like a non swinging hammock. A few of the lads on trial, I'm fond of. I fear they're in for a hefty pause on future plans. I was thinking of them when I was trying to make a Christmas tree out of a box of broken bits and tatty tinsel. Resourcefulness always helps. But I'm afraid the Christmas tree looked more like a plucked turkey uncooked on the table. I said to Macca, the tree looked as glum as the Glumster. I spent two hours unravelling the lights and another hour trying to get them to work. It's surreal. By the end of the day, the reception lads were singing Christmas carols without realizing it. The first big bad news was the VPs back from trial. Straight in the holding room where we used the phone. Selfishly, I thought, there goes my love call to T. One asked for JC as a Listener. That was the first giveaway. He's facing 30 years rec for murdering a 90-year-old in a drunken something or other. I'm sure the Facebook of crime will have it on the front pages in the next day or so. Lads returned from court, another sleepless night waiting for them. Guaranteed the only thing distracting them from a head fuck is the sound of the whirring drones. Last night they made an appearance at 9:49. Even with the TV quite loud, their distinctive humming sound could still be heard clearly. It always makes me think of Jeremy Clarkson and the new ad for Amazon using drones. What an irony. Presently, Spice seems to have slowed down and green is back. The place has been smelling like a cannabis convention for the last few nights. Jeremy has confirmed John Lennon is back on board. As in the number one barrister, not the famous Beatle. I've had to reach out to some of my friends to help fund the transcripts, but with no joy so far. It's much more difficult to make anything happen from inside prison. The authorities know this. We're powerless most of the time to make any progress. The surprises keep coming. I received a letter from one of my close friends informing me that one of our other close friends is probably heading to Walton imminently, Gary the Green, or Gaz, as we prefer to call him. He's one of the Scouse hippies. The best I can do for now is look out for him when he lands. He's going to be like a rabbit in the headlights, but thrilled and relieved to see me.