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‘Well, now they’re threateningher that if she doesn’t supply a fuckin’ photo of me, they’ll make it worse’

‘How?’ I asked

‘By telling their fuckin’ readers what I did’

‘I’m afraid you must phone your mother and explain to her that they’ll do that in any case By the hat are you in for?’

‘Murder,’ he replies ‘But it wasn’t my fuckin’ fault’

‘Why, what happened?’

‘I was out drinking with the boys at my fuckin’ local, and e left the fuckin’ pub we came face to face with a bunch of fuckin’ Aussie backpackers who accused us of stealing their fuckin’ wallets I promise you, Jeff, I’d never seen the fuckin’ bastards before in my life’

‘So what happened next?’

‘Well, one of ’em had a fuckin’ knife, and whenon the paverabbed it and when another of them came for me, I fuckin’ stabbed him It was only fuckin’ self-defence’

‘And he died from one stab?’

‘Not exactly’ He hesitates ‘The coroner said there were seven stab wounds, but I was so fuckin’ tanked up that I can’t re about it’ He pauses ‘So make sure you tell your fuckin’ readers that I’m not a vicious criminal’

Once Richard returns to his cell, I go back over Willia to the latest round of letters, still running at over a hundred a day When I’ve finished the a new book, The Day after Tomorrow, recommended by Del Boy – soth that would normally put me off, but not in es, when there’s a knock on the cell door It’s Paul (credit-card fraud) They’re transferring hi-rehab centre in Norfolk, so we ain He shakes hands as if ere business associates, and then leaves without another word

I place er feels rock-hard, and reflect on the day I can’t help thinking that hurling red balls at Australians is, on balance, preferable to sticking knives into them

Day 16

Friday 3 August 2001