Day 21

The end of my third week in here seems about as good a time as any to start keeping a diary. Why am I here? As the result of a catastrophically stupid piece of driving. I can't undo what's done, much as I wish I could.

I continued working right up to the day before I appeared in Glasgow High Court to learn what my sentence was to be. Three years. It would have been four, the judge said, if not for the fact that I put in an early guilty plea.

And that, in short, is how I ended up here, in the Bar-L. Or, as the tabloids like to refer to it, "Glasgow's tough Barlinnie jail". After the rough first night spent under close observation, and having convinced all concerned that I'm not a suicide risk, I was moved to a cell in one of the mainstream halls for remainder of the first week. Since then, I've been moved again to another hall, where I currently have a cell to myself.

I have a TV, kettle and a flushing toilet. All of these are recent innovations at the Bar-L.

I'm allowed three visits per month. My mum and a couple of relatives came today. The visiting area is surprisingly (almost) pleasant. It's different from what I imagined, based on what I've seen in movies and on TV.

A letter arrived from my employers today. They have - unsurprisingly - terminated my contract, but have instructed me to contact them on my release to see if there is a suitable vacancy for me to return. No promises, but I guess it's better than nothing.

Earlier this evening one of my neighbours decided it would be a good idea to set fire to his mattress.

Personally, I prefer less dangerous pastimes. I've been watching a lot of movies on TV. Today I got through Last of the Mohicans, Rules of Engagement, Mission Impossible 2 and Dreamcatcher. Well, what else are you gonna do when you're locked up for 22 hours a day?