Borstal Training Week One
Dear Sis,
My roommate is definitely ASBO and completely deserves to be here. He claims to have a patch of Burbuerry plaid tattooed on his right arsecheek. I have not yet stooped to asking for proof. He is continually attempting to bum smokes off of me, despite the fact that I assure him that I only smoke menthols. Unfortunately he was impressed by this ‘fact,’ as it apparently makes me more ‘street.’ What I thought was a sure deterrent has turned out to be fierce encouragement.
The food is made up entirely of refined sugar and simple starches. In an attempt to meet 5 A Day standards, we are offered a variety of mealy apples, spotty bananas, mushy grapes, and ketchup. While I’m not one to brag, I’ll be the first to tell you that recent weight loss has made it possible for me to drip nectar from my collarbone, just like Ziggy Stardust.
Sectioned roommates and poor nutrition aside, by far the most disturbing aspect of this place is a girl named Vicki Pollard. Beyond her name, I have not been able to glean much more information. She speaks in an alien patois that closely resembles Mandarin or Basque as far as complexity. Unfortunately, Vicki has taken a shine to me, making sure to always be close at hand during group therapy and crafts. Yesterday we worked with papier-mache and I’m still reeling from her interpretation of my manhood. As she is a mother several times over, perhaps I should be flattered. For she, if anyone, would have grounds for comparison.
All is not lost. I have confidence in my ability to manipulate the situation to my advantage. Rumor has it that there is a lucrative gambling operation begging to be controlled. An echelon of fat cats has long dominated the books of this particular institution, but, as the leaders of that group have recently reached prosecution age, a vacuum has formed. My objective is clear. I will keep you abreast of any and all developments. Until then.
Your brother,
Ianto Jones
My roommate is definitely ASBO and completely deserves to be here. He claims to have a patch of Burbuerry plaid tattooed on his right arsecheek. I have not yet stooped to asking for proof. He is continually attempting to bum smokes off of me, despite the fact that I assure him that I only smoke menthols. Unfortunately he was impressed by this ‘fact,’ as it apparently makes me more ‘street.’ What I thought was a sure deterrent has turned out to be fierce encouragement.
The food is made up entirely of refined sugar and simple starches. In an attempt to meet 5 A Day standards, we are offered a variety of mealy apples, spotty bananas, mushy grapes, and ketchup. While I’m not one to brag, I’ll be the first to tell you that recent weight loss has made it possible for me to drip nectar from my collarbone, just like Ziggy Stardust.
Sectioned roommates and poor nutrition aside, by far the most disturbing aspect of this place is a girl named Vicki Pollard. Beyond her name, I have not been able to glean much more information. She speaks in an alien patois that closely resembles Mandarin or Basque as far as complexity. Unfortunately, Vicki has taken a shine to me, making sure to always be close at hand during group therapy and crafts. Yesterday we worked with papier-mache and I’m still reeling from her interpretation of my manhood. As she is a mother several times over, perhaps I should be flattered. For she, if anyone, would have grounds for comparison.
All is not lost. I have confidence in my ability to manipulate the situation to my advantage. Rumor has it that there is a lucrative gambling operation begging to be controlled. An echelon of fat cats has long dominated the books of this particular institution, but, as the leaders of that group have recently reached prosecution age, a vacuum has formed. My objective is clear. I will keep you abreast of any and all developments. Until then.
Your brother,
Ianto Jones