Wrung out

The public agitation about Kathleen Folbigg shows no sign of abating if the number of Google searches leading people to my blog are any indication. And then there are all the messages I’m getting, like the text my mum sent yesterday saying “At a meeting yesterday, 60 women. A lot of talk about Kathy … 50-50.”

I’m feeling a bit wrung out by it all, so I’m taking the convalescent option today and republishing a short and sweet prison blog from this time last year. Visiting prison is always weird and this was no exception …

I went to jail yesterday. With a crashing hangover. It was ace.

The alarm went off at 6.30am. I crawled out of bed. I let the chooks out. I walked for 30 minutes in the icy semi-darkness to collect the car from my sister’s house (where we’d left it after dropping the Sprogs off for a sleepover) and drove to the prison.

When I got there, the air was filled with the shrieks of those awful ibis birds (despised by Sprog 2 because one stole her sandwich – from her hand – in Hyde Park once). They’ve recently started clustering in the palm trees at the entrance to the prison. So I thought, that’s funny, jail birds. And I took a photo. And a prison officer went absolutely berko at me. He waved his arms around and gestured at a sign on the front gate. And I’m like “what?”. And he’s like “can’t you see the sign?”. And I’m like “yeah, but that’s for INSIDE the prison isn’t it? I’m in the car park. I’m just taking a photo of some birds, mate.” And he gesticulated wildly a bit more and I’m like “Chill. I just took a photo of some birds.”

And then I spent three hours in prison, mainlining Diet Coke and Mars Pods from the junk machines. And then I went home and cooked a Mexican dinner party for nine people. And then nine people arrived for my Mexican dinner party. And finally it was bed time. A sobbingly exhausted bed time.

And now it’s Monday morning. Pupil farking free day. Thank you very much.

PS The jail birds are the little white blobs in the trees in the photo, I’d have gone for a closer shot, but the prison guard was popping blood vessels.

PPS OK, I’m thinking this wasn’t worth reposting and I should have gone for the fuzzy bed socks prison visit instead. It was a cracker. Ah well, too late now.

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