Walls within walls

I put in a request to see the doctor this week and as I am now back at work too, I hope to be back up to my usual optimistic self. I also requested an audience with my 'personal officer', the officer assigned to know me better.

I hope to get some confirmation on the status of this new wing, my new home. Will it be C Category, as the establishment hopes? It's important for my record that I am seen to be perfectly safe in a C Category place.

Of course, wouldn't you know, the officer is on sick leave. Seems to be no end of brick walls.

I was thinking this morning of Dave English, the fellow who hanged himself the other day. Strange, can't say why it is, but I think of him as Mr English. Maybe it is the way he treated people. Always the gentlemen, even to those who would find it difficult to understand words like please and thank you.

Dave was a strange mixture. Physically, well, to be kind, he looked a real skinhead yob. But talk to him, and he was polite and sociable, and there was nothing to suggest that he was about to do himself in.

Poor old Dave, poor old Mr English. I don't feel that his death has troubled me – in these dungeons we seem to live constantly with death (or something you couldn't call life), but who knows what the subconscious suffers.
- Roger Gordon