I am writing from the house of correction on Barking Marsh. It is a dreary place not seen by everyone, hidden as it is in a fog of daily misery and misunderstanding, but once a week this fog lifts. A bugle sounds, a drum is herd in the distance and a zip seems to break apart and let sunshine through to the dark. Interested? Superlatively I imagine.
Do you wish to query what magnificent marigold-moment this heralds? Put away your brolly. The fog will dampen my spirits no more. A moment, rarer than ammonites is upon us. A welcome surprise! Such excitement! What could I be speaking of?
One of those seemingly inconsequential moments to those in the outside world but such excitement to the incarcerated: the arrival of the post. Because, if you have the foresight to write letters, you may also receive them. Oh! Such a citrus-sunshine moment. Bring me my letter knife, the most important moment has arrived; it is time to slice into an envelope of love.
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