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The prisoner

This new prison prides itself on its kind atmosphere. But I am intolerably bored, and I miss the community of suffering in Belmarsh. Still, only 13 months to go

By CAR Hills   July 2008

Once their cleaning is done, the grim Liverpudlians, nicknamed “the breakfast club,” sit like statues at their table overlooking the wing and discuss football or do crosswords. They are armed robbers, mainly. They have one Derbyshire man with them, a disturbed youth who shot at a neighbour from his window. He sometimes retires to his cell to play the guitar. He talks to me, but the most elderly and malevolent of the Liverpudlians, with a face etched in suffering like a Rembrandt, will not. He is serving 25 years and hates me because I said I was depressed, even though…

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