Monday, March 20, 2006

No Weather

We have a fair number of Scotsmen among the inmates so a lot of alcohol is smuggled into the prison, to slake their legendary thirst for it.
Last night, a bottle of this firewater fell into Simon's hands and despite its poor quality, after a few glasses we were quite pleasantly drunk, swapping tales from our childhoods and so on and when the bottle was nearly finished, Simon stood up and sang his old school song, in Latin and I matched him, also standing, with a limerick about a girl from Peru.
Following this, for some reason a brown mood seemed to fall over us both and we played a desultory game of scrabble, squabbling irritably over the scoring until Simon lost his patience and pushed the board away. He picked up his pocket bible and began pacing the cell, leafing through the pages in an agitated fashion.
He was still pacing up and down, clutching his bible and muttering to himself when I fell asleep.

This man has no connection to the post at all but I liked the twinkle in his eye. I found his picture the other day in the trophy room.


Anonymous Rastaman said...

Does the warden read this?

11:39 PM  
Blogger Earl Jackson said...

No, but he glances at the titles before posting, looking out for obscenity and such.

3:36 PM  
Blogger Aunty Marianne said...

I particularly like the one-sided face pouch he has developed. I suspect he kept chewing tobacco in it.

3:54 PM  
Blogger Earl Jackson said...

Cover the right-side of his face, (your left) and see the noble,innocent man half of him is. The side with the pouch is his bad-boy half.

7:38 PM  

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