The Week 22Feb2020

56 The last word

THE WEEK 22 February 2020

On 24 June 2016 ,Chris

Atkins’slifefellapartwhen

hewasfoundguiltyof

fraudatSouthwarkcrown

court.Hehadbecome

involvedinanelaboratetax

scamtofinanceoneofhis

films.Aweeklater,hewas

sentencedtojailand

transportedstraightto

Wandsworthprison.

3July

Ikeepfailingtogetmy

headroundmysituation.

It’sliketryingtolookat

awholemountainwhile

hangingoffthe side ofit.

Afive-year sentence means

I’llservetwoandahalf

years,whichis 30months.

Evensayingthatfigure

outloudmakesmeweak

at theknees.Mycellmate

Tedknowsthesystem

backwards,and mapsoutmy prisonjourney.Asawhite-collar

criminalonmyfirst offence,I’llqualifyforCategoryDstatus,a

bigstep onthepathtoopenprison.Unfortunately,Icanonlyget

madeCatDonceIhave lessthan24months toserve.Thismeans

I’llhave tospendat leastsixmonthsin Wandsworth.

Twopiecesof pink A4paperareshovedunderthedoor.“These

arethecanteensheets,”advises Ted, who hasjust beenre-arrested

afterabscondingfromalong sentence fordrugsmuggling.The

canteen isbasically the prison shop. Wecanordertoiletries and

groceries,and have themdelivered aweek later.Ionlyhave 50p

to spend. Tedissittingon the

giddysumof£1,anddeduces

thatwe havebothbeen puton

the unemployed rateof50p per

day.It’sdarklyironicthat I’ve

beenconvicted of conspiracyto

rob amillion quid andTed has

been jailed forimporting£10m of co caine, butwehaven’t got

enough between us tobuyapack of Hobnobs.

Many of our neighboursare keepin gthemselves fit by pulverising

theircell doors.“These lowlifes ar eall riddled with drugs,” says

Ted. This,too,seemsapretty ironic criticism,given hislineof

work.“How do you know theyaren’t on drugs that you’ve

supplied?”Iask.“Noneof them could affordmydrugs,” he scoffs

in reply.“They’re allf***ed on spice.”Asyntheticvarietyof

cannabis, spice isaone-time“legal high” thatwas criminalised in

2016,but doesn’t show up on standard drugstests. It’s thereason

50% ofprisoners these days look like extrason azombiefilm.

6July

Iamdesperate to call home. I’ve submitted thenecessary forms

to getaPin, so Ican make phone calls–but there’safour-week

backlog.Sentenced conslike me haveone induction visit, and

thereaftertwo visits amonth,eachjustanhour long.I

cannotbelieve this will be theonly contact I’llget with my

three-year-oldsonKit,and

theprospectisdevastating.

31 July

Aslipappearsundermy

door:activityallocated–dry

lining.I’moverthemoon,

thoughnonethewiserabout

whatdryliningactuallyis.

Downstairs,oneofthemore

affablescrewsispeeringup

atthehugewoodenboard

thatshowswhereeach

prisonerlives.“Afternoon,

guv,”Isay,sensingachance

touse mynew jobtosecure

amoveto aless challenging

sectionof theprison.“My

cellmate’s movingtoH

Wing;arethereanymore

spaces?” Iask.Thescrew

looks atme,oneeyebrow

raised.“Are youon full-time

work?”Ibrandish myslip.

“I’m aboutto startdry

lining,”Ireply.“What’sdrylining?”I’mnotreadyforthis

curveball. “Well,it’s,er, quitecommonplace thesedays...er...”

Ipeterout.Theofficerperuses theboard.“There’s one spacefree

with aRomanian fella,” he says. “I’ll take it,”Ireply.

Irunbacktothecell, tie mythingstogether inashee t,and head

forthe distinctly calmerenvironsof HWing.WhenIgettomy

newcell, thedoorislocked,andthe occupantispeeringout

throughthe obse rvationpanel. HespeakswithathickEastern

Europeanaccent.“Doyousmoke?” “No,”Ireply,and smile.

“Yousure you don’tsmoke?” heasksalittlelouder.“I definitely

don’tsmoke.”Hedisappears

backintothecell. Afew min utes

later,he returnsto the door with

adarkexpression. “Doyou

smoke?” Hopefullyhisinsistence

is due tohisstrongaversionto

smoking, ratherthanaserious

mental illness. Eventually,an officeropensthe door, andI’m

overwhelmed byadelug eofpornography.Thereissmut on the

doors, the undersideof thebunkbed,evenonthe window frames.

Standingin th emiddleisastocky manin his 40s,whointroduces

himself as Dan.Iask him what hedidonthe outside.“I worked

the London Underground.” “Wereyou atrain driver?”Iask. His

eyes narrow. “I was pickpocket.”

The doorisu nlocked for afternoon “Social andDomestics” –

abrief windowout ofthecell. Iheaddowntofind that an

Australian namedScott is marchingaround pattingpeopleonthe

back.“Welcome to the Ritz!”he callstome. “Comeandmeet the

rest of the White Collar Club.”Ifollow himintohis cell ,which is

two normalcells knocked together, and resemblesasmallstudio

flat. Agroup of guysare playing boardgames,andScott

introduces me to his cellmate,Lance.“Ah, you’reAtkin s. Film

chap.Where didyougotoschool?” Hisloud public-schoolboy

manner is utterly out of place. Scottand Lancehave got this cell

as aperk of being Listeners–prisoners trained by theSamaritans

“A five-year sentence –even saying

that makes me weak at the knees”

Wandsworthprison:“Theconstantviolencequicklyfadesintothebackground”

ChrisAtkinsstudiedatOxfordandmadedocumentariesfortheBBCandChannel4.Buthisworldwasshatteredin 2016 when

hewassenttoprisonforfraud.Inanextractfromhisnewlypublishedprisondiaries,herecallsthechaosheencountered

“Spiceisasyntheticvarietyofcannabisthat

doesn’t show up on drugs tests. It’s why 50%

of prisoners look like extras onazombie film”