B Diary Two

Dear Diary,

After my first week inside I cannot believe how super everyone's being
to me. Lots of the lads have been so helpful and they all seem to want
to make my time here enjoyable.

Wozza is as sweet as ever. I would never have believed a hardened
criminal could have such soft hands. He bends over backwards to help me
and says he'll want me to do the same for him soon. He has even got me
access to a phone with a direct line out after the Prison Governor got
a bit shirty about me walking in to his office to use his phone so
often.

The worst bit of the week was news from the outside that young James
has been banned from earning jillions in the City because of some
dabble in Swedish shares. Some unspeakable journalist reptile
apparently used the phrase, "Like father, like son" which gave me an
idea and I suggested to James that he make money in the fiction market
by writing a novel or a diary.

My own new novel proceeds apace with Chapter Four now complete. It's
amazing how little research a seasoned writer like me needs to do. When
I am moved to my open hotel (should that be prison?) I am going to ask
for a whole wing so I can bring in my team of four editors, one
literary agent and one diary re-writer who make my writings readable or
presentable in court as the case may be.

On my first Sunday behind bars I thought I would give chapel a go. My
lawyers are still working out whether I should do a "Saunders"
(Alzheimer's) or an "Aitken" (get God, any God) to get me out of jail
quicker, but in the meantime I thought I'd see what the Chaplain had to
say. He took as his lesson the story of Kane and Abel. As I followed
the story in the pew bible I realised that Moses or whoever the bloke
who wrote the Old Testament was, couldn't spell. What's this Cain
nonsense!

Does anyone know where that Emma Nicholson lives. Wozza's mates on the
outside want to pay her a visit with gardening implements. They're so
thoughtful.

I will write again soon.