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We might have been waiting for Godot. Eight men in a cell, seated on white cardboard chairs, side by side, four of us along each opposite wall. Our ears prick up. Out of the early morning silence comes a chilling scream which echoes down the corridor outside. A man under close restraint. “Bent up,” as they say. And whoever they’ve got is putting up a struggle. “You’ll do as you’re fuckin’ told,” a screw threatens. “On your knees in the corner. Hands behind your back. Don’t turn round till you hear the door lock behind you.” The scream again. This…

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