Episode 47 - Toenails Has Left The Building

It's official. Toenails has left the building. There was no real camaraderie. Number 1, a fellow Despicable, walked with him to the meat wagon. From the rest of us however, it was more good riddance than au revoir. The place felt instantly brighter the moment the toxic mood hoover left. 

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 47 Toenails Has Left The Building It's the ninth of 12th, 2016. Important dates, memorable occasions, events that happened, which play some significant role in influence or shaping and moulding a person's life. Whether we call them anniversaries or landmarks or memories we wish to forget as much as remember, life-changing moments are a fact of life. I'm lucky. T says adventure lies in wait for me. I tend not to have dull days, but dramatic ones. Today's no exception. It's official. Toenails has left the building. There was no real camaraderie. Number 1, a fellow Despicable, walked with him to the meat wagon. From the rest of us however, it was more good riddance than au revoir. The place felt instantly brighter the moment the toxic mood hoover left. For the past 11 months he's tried every dirty scummy trick or scheme to make them as difficult as possible for me. He was a malignant cancer with a sly insidious way about him. He hated me from the moment I landed in reception, four days after landing in here. Envious, bitter, jealous in the extreme. But worse, manipulative, despicable, and with no redeeming qualities, pure jail. It is strange looking back, hard to put into words how the odds of surviving this far have been so stacked against me, especially with The Despicables gnawing away every day. If it wasn't undermining and discrediting me, then it was trying to turn my fellow workers or lads on the wing against me. I've lost count of the times they've tried to throw me under the bus in front of officers or the lads hoping it would somehow derail me. I watched Toenails closely for 11 months. How he gloated on the misery and pain of others. Young D said early on, he's horrible, pure jail, and that name stuck, as well as Toenails. The funny thing is he never knew. He thought he was somehow superior, stronger, harder, but really he'll only be remembered for being cancerous, toxic, and not to be trusted. His head will fall off when he discovers one day what the lads labelled him as because he believed he was the alpha male. His posse was as despicable as him. Always ugly, always dickheads that you want to swerve. That was the limits of his A game. The more he, the posse or staff at times have applied pressure in my direction, the more I've managed to navigate it. Rise above it, has been a regular mantra for 11 months. I've lost count of the times I've been blackballed or left out of things, all Toenails' doing. However, instead of breaking me, it shone a light on me. It's a game of wits and will, and tenacity, and Toenails and the posse failed miserably whilst I thrived. I'd made certain promises to myself before descending the stairs to incarceration. One, I would not fight unless attacked and need to defend myself. Two, always remain true to myself. Be as authentic as possible. Three, I will do my prison time as straight as possible within the rules and regs. One slip up from me and I could end up in a far worse position. Four, I would not be provoked or goaded into fighting for the entertainment of others, especially the pack. Five. Survive, thrive and follow my instincts. Six. I would not only feel love, but not be afraid to express or demonstrate it, although not be a dickhead about it either. Every day it is a fine line. Being careful to respond rather than react. However, there were many dark, tough times when I nearly abandoned my own promises. Such was the pressure, fight or flight moments. If I'd reacted rather than responded on any occasion, I certainly would've been shipped out. Worse, if it was a proper fallout, then probably I'd be scarred for life. A bad beating can be far worse than a blade slicing through your flesh, but rise above it I did. How many times in the past, late at night I would repeat, in my darkest hour I feel only love and know that I am loved. Another mantra that kept me sane and stable. Interestingly, as the months passed, the lads became fed up with The Despicables. They loved the Mood Hoover shout I used to drop. It threw The Despicables, especially Toenails, every time. This is the real irony though, in the desperation to derail me, it had the adverse effect. The rest of the lads, and officers, saw them for who they were, and me for who I am. I'm not everyone's favourite, but lads know I'm just in my own lane, don't run with the pack and can be trusted, properly trusted. The Despicables only ended up making me stronger and more durable. I was lucky. I had a sense of humour, never tried to talk it big or prove I was something more than I am. I've lost everything. They all know that now. But I have something I've never seen in anyone else. A spirit and a sense for living rather than merely existing. Toenails was always trying to impress, prove himself. I was the opposite. I wished to blend in, and what did I have to prove? Nothing. For me, regardless of how bad it is or has become, I've got T, my daughter, my parents, and more than enough great friends in my corner. Who gets that? I'm grateful for what I do have rather than resenting what I don't. And after he was gone, the lads said in the kitchen, Toenails was pure jail, and I was pure class. I must admit, that did make me laugh. Looking back, the more I did not react, then unfortunately, the harder and dirtier it became. I've said many times, it felt like being cattle prodded, hour by hour, and yet at the end of it all, Toenails and scummy Number 1 turned on Blobby, bullying and terrorizing him to the point of despair. He wouldn't come out of his cell for days. I said to the lads that The Despicables were that ugly, they could have been in a Spaghetti Western. Toenails became exposed for who he really is though, as a result of Blobby. He'd already swerved backing him when he was attacked in his cell. I delivered the line he'd landed on me months ago. What are you going to do when your pal or your pad mate gets set upon? Are you gonna be there for them, I said, over a cold pasta. We all know you've gone AWOL on your number one gimp, battered in his cell. Where were you when he needed you most? Where was Blobby's muscle and back up, i.e. you? His head fell off. He knew there was a power shift taking place around the table. His days had been numbered for weeks. I cannot wait to ring T. Give her the best news we've had so far this year. Anyway, that is today. Tomorrow is another day. It will be exactly a year since I was found guilty. For a crime that did not exist and of which there was not a single piece of evidence against me. However, my thoughts are with Grace, an innocent woman with young children, incarcerated and separated from her kids and family. If I win the appeal, then she will be exonerated too. For now it's keep the appeal alive and deal with the POCA. The judge is determined to cut the appeal off by decapitating me with a 6 million pound POCA that carries an extra 14 years if you cannot pay it. The stakes are very, very high, but fight we must. Legally that is Back on top bunk, decompressing from a very big day, on the eve of an even bigger landmark, my pad mate is on top form. Laughs and impersonations of the best duals between Toenails and I are exchanged through the pipes. Smurf said, we can enjoy Christmas better without the Grinch. His old pad mate said it feels like Christmas Day today without him. Speaking of Christmas, the tree is strangely popular. Ridiculous, and an irony in itself as it's in the prime position, when prisoners first step into Walton, there to greet you and remind you to expect a different kind of Christmas this year. Then you're processed at the desk. Risk assessed, held in the holding room, then a full assessment. See a medic, have a shower. Receive your basics, T-shirts and jogging bottoms if you need them. A towel. They're normally well used, scabby blue, but they are clean, then dumped in the holding room. Then they're let out to be served the worst meal they've ever had, probably cold, even if it's under the heat lamps. Definitely dry if it's after six o'clock. Then back in the holding room to eat it on your lap and then taken up to the wing. I'm their last stop before hell. Blanket, sheet, pillow slip, plastic cutlery, bowl, plate and cup, and a breakfast brew pack. Those who have been in before ask for Coco Pops straight away, and a spare blanket and extra milk. If Mr. P is on, everyone gets the basic of everything and given extra at your peril. An hour after being greeted by the Christmas tree, and welcome to HMP Liverpool, you're slung into a cell with a stranger, and your head is fucked. The Snowman was playing earlier. Aled Jones version. Makes one melt on the spot. The only thing that broke the magic spell was the radio needed a two minute windup. By the time I'd recharged it, the moment was gone. So is Toenails gone, and that made up for it. Relief. During the toughest period of my life, hands down he did everything to make it worse, and yet, somehow I've come through the other side of it stronger. More popular. Scarred, yes. Wounded many times, yes. But here and having remained true to myself. Why he hated me, loathed me, envied and obsessed about me, we'll never really know. Macca's best moment was, he was Poundland and G-Dubz was Harvey Nicks. That's what he said, anyway. Pure jail gold he called it. It is a landmark moment, but as I say, we all experience them. It's part of the journey of life. T said, between the Uni confirmation letter and the wretched creature gone, Christmas has come early, even if it is bittersweet. The cruel separation will be felt most over Christmas. T is off to her parents. They still don't know I'm here. I'm hoping to be able to call her on Christmas Day when I'm unlocked a couple of times, and speak to her when her folks are in the background, wish them all merry Christmas on the loudspeaker. T has told them I'm going to my mother's for Christmas lunch, John Boy not being so good and all, but really it's all one big charade. Very difficult for T to have to deal with, but luckily we can still have a semblance of a real relationship out in the real world. They're old and it's only right they're not worrying and exposed to any added stress. Out of mind is the best alternative, less worrying for them. It's another occasion when innocent loved ones have to deal with difficult challenges as a result of the fallout. Two weeks today, Christmas will almost be over. I can't even begin to imagine it. Macca asked me what did I want off his canteen sheet as a present. I chose two tins of rice pudding and a bag of coffee. Obviously, I then offered him the same gift in return. His was raisins, nuts, and two cartons of milk. I also ordered him a bar of Cadbury's and a box of Jaffa Cakes. We'll both eat those when we're watching junk TV across the limited eight channels on a screen the size of a monitor. We've all got the prayer mats out that there will be no power cuts or lockdowns. I wrote a letter to T, full of love and finally full of relief. Drones are early tonight. Macca said it's going to be a white Christmas in here, and he wasn't referring to snow. No. Apparently the norm, or a tradition, is that loads of the lads all have a few lines behind the door. Obviously the poorer lads will do Spice. The Glumster said it's tunes all day like it's Ibiza. He's done this before. A week from now, I'll know whether I'm doing the Open University or not. I've gone all in that the education route is the right path for me. This is the perfect opportunity to begin that journey. Who knows where it will take T and I. For now, all I can do is capture what is taking place, my experience here, and how I'm navigating my way through this nightmare. I think what is important to me because of this experience, is who do I become as a result of it? We all experience unexpected life bombs. Some more cruel and some more painful. There are bullies, despicables and wretched creatures out there as much as in here, and no one wakes up in the real world and yells, I know, give me cancer, I'd love a bit of that, do they? No. People's lives all over the world are turned upside down every day. There is no discrimination for loss and grief and pain. All I know is, no matter how tough any one day is, you've got to try and pick yourself back up by the following morning and go again. I could never have foreseen any of this, most of which I'm powerless to do anything about. Most certainly one hands over their free will and control and suffers helplessness once sentenced and incarcerated. But helplessness isn't exclusive to prison. No. If that happens outside as much as in here. Separated from one's loved ones, the cruel separation as I like to call it, that's the toughest part of all of this. All I can do for now is stick to the plan to thrive rather than merely survive, use my time in here wisely and productively, and keep the belief that it is preparing me for something much greater, which so far has not revealed itself. What a day, what a life. What a test of character this experience truly is. Hi everyone. It's George here, or G-Dubz, as you might know me. It's 2025. I'm not in cell 3-17, 9 years ago. We hope you've enjoyed this episode of Tales From The Jails. I'm sorry it's taken until episode 47 to say thank you to all of our listeners around the world. If you have a moment, then feel free to leave a review on Spotify. Or word of mouth really works, so if you have a friend or colleague who likes true crime or authentic real life drama,we'd be thrilled if you gave us a name check or if it's easier, subscribe and follow. Not everyone ends up in prison, but everyone at some point encounters unexpected life bombs.