And then...

Back now.
Jan. 31st, 2009 at 6:32 PM

I haven’t written for a long time. Shame on me. BUT, there's a good reason for it.

So, it turned out that the woman from Christmas eve was all part of an elaborate 'Knock Knock' joke courtesy of my old friend Monty Pileup. Apparently he'd been smashed off his face on whiskey one night with a dog, and they were exchanging jokes. One of Monty's was "Knock knock. Who's there? Life is a lie." When he sobered up he thought of how it could be made into a practical joke, and gave it to me as a Christmas present. He rang me the next morning to tell me, and invite me to his new year's eve party.

The last time I'd been to one of Monty's parties was new year's eve 1999 to 2000. It had involved packing boxes into a lorry almost to the end, then getting in with 5 other men. He didn't tell us where we were going, and at 11:30 he announced that he didn't know. All he knew was that the truck would reach its destination at 12, and so we wouldn't know where we would spend new year's until the last moment. It was apparently the purest way to pass into a new century. We turned up at a B&Q, and it was totally and utterly shit.

So then, this year I wasn't too keen, especially as he wouldn't tell me where it was:
"If I told you, you'd get all girly and wuss out." he said.
However, when the day came, all other offers I'd had were from accountants and perverts. So I rang Monty. He was pleased. He turned up to give me a lift in his land rover. There were two other guys in the car, one of which I was sat in the back with, and recognised from years before.
“It’s Marcus, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Larry” was the reply.
I asked Larry what he’d been doing since the millennium, as if I gave a shit. Politeness is something that becomes strangely prominent for me in a silent car. He told me he’d been cleaning the trains that run the tube, then just went silent. I kept looking at him for a second, then sat back in my chair. There was more silence. Eventually Larry spoke; “I think tonight is going to be quite a night.”
I ‘hmmed’ in approval.
“So, have you been to a prison party before?”
I stared at him. He smiled. Then I heard Monty and his friend sniggering from the front of the car. I asked Monty what the fuck a ‘Prison Party’ was. He harder now, like a van, because we were already there.

I was a little apprehensive as we walked into the prison hall. It was sort of how you might imagine a prison hall; all metal and grey. A lot of inmates were sitting at a large table eating, and the others were wandering around smoking. In fact, everyone was smoking. Also, a lot of police dogs were among the prisoners, sitting with them, and eating scraps of food. Monty turned around briefly,
"Right, let's get fucked at her majesty's pleasure!" Then he walked into the centre of the room with the other man we'd travelled with. They began vigorously greeting a few of the men. Larry had kept back, so I asked him why the dogs were loose….For the moment at least, I decided to let the whole ‘prison party’ thing slide.
“They’re the guards. The human guards have their own party."
“Right.”
“In case you were wondering, it’s all fine.” He said, calmly.
“Why did you feel you had to reassure me?”
“Because…you look like you’re going to piss your pants.”.
I didn’t say anything, but continued to clench my muscles.
“It’s a thing they do every year, like a treat for the prisoners. The staff all have their piss up down the local.”
“And they know about it?” I asked.
“Yeah. Yeah.” Larry looked at the floor.
Just then, a man approached us with lots of full champagne flutes on a platter. They were sitting in a pile of cigarettes.
“Lagerfag?” He offered.
We both took a glass, and Larry took a cigarette. The man looked at me scornfully.
“Lager fag!”
I hadn’t realised smoking was compulsory, but took one this time, to avoid any confrontation. Just then, a smashing noise came from the other side of the room. Two men surrounded by broken champagne flutes were squaring up to each other. Everyone looked round, but already two dogs were breaking them up. I felt more comfortable now.

Larry and I sat at a table. He asked me many of the boring questions people ask other people they’ve just met, and I asked him the same. Then came the awkward silence that I knew would come. Larry was first to do that thing where you look around aimlessly, sort of trying to find something to talk about. But he seemed reflective. Eventually he said
“Still looks the same.”
“How many of these parties have you been to?” I asked him.
“Oh, none, this is my first time, like you…I’ve been here as an inmate though.”
I asked him to elaborate.
“Yeah. For a year and a half. I was only supposed to be in for a few months though.” Larry frowned and gripped his glass, and darted his eyes across the
room. I looked to where he was looking, but couldn’t work out what he was looking at.
“Just one little ABH.” He continued.
“What were you looking at?” I was beginning to get worried again.
“Terry fucking Pratchett.” He looked again. “There, with the grey patch on the side of his head.”
“What? Like the author?”
“Yeah. He changed it ‘cos he thinks he’s fucking magic.”
I looked and saw the one he meant. He was wearing a little fez hat, but you could see the
grey hair poking out from the bottom. He was talking to Monty, who seemed pretty
pissed. The two men looked at each other. Larry sneered, Terry gave Larry an
uncomfortable nod.
“He snitched on me for smuggling drugs in. Said I was dealing them round the prison.”
“Were you?” I asked.
“No I fucking wasn’t!” Larry gritted his teeth at me and took a Stanley knife from his coat pocket.
“Shit man, calm down.” But Larry wasn’t going to hurt me. He got up, knife in one hand, champagne glass in the other.
“I only came here for one reason!” he shouted, and marched towards Terry. He threw the glass, and it hit him in the head. A couple of dogs were on him in a flash like bear traps; they grabbed Larry by both legs, but as he fell forward he was able to stab the Stanley knife into Terry’s ankle. The place erupted. Prisoners and dogs flew around me. It was the kind of situation where I felt the best thing to do was curl up in a ball and close my eyes, so I did that.


So yeah, I’ve been in prison for the last month. Monty did a fairly good job at trying to get us off, but we still got a month for breaking and entering. Funny really - we were punished by being made to stay in the place we broke into.
Mood: drained
Music:Sufjan Stevens - Year of the Ox