Education

I had locked the car away and was approaching my flat carrying the portion of fish and chips I'd planned for my tea.

Two tall, casually dressed men were waiting at my front door. Their large shiny black shoes gave them away.

The Sweeny.

They stepped into the street, blocking my way and offered me a ride to the station. We weren't talking trains, but they were so polite it seemed churlish to refuse.

They didn't want to share the chips.

In the interview room it was going pretty well, even the machine dispenser tea was palatable. I'd told them I wanted it black, like my Sabbath and one of the cops laughed out loud until his colleague stared him down.

I thought I'd got a bit of banter going and felt confident that with some smooth jive I might skate. Then it went south. They mentioned the dodgy ID business and fraud and asked if I recognised the wallet full of fake credit cards. You know, the wallet with your dabs all over it?

I acted appalled. Sure that's my wallet, but the contents? Nowt to do with me guv. Are my prints on them? This is a fit up. Get me a brief.

They spread out the cards on the table and pointed to a couple. They asked if I was really the named Ron Reagan or maybe I was this guy, Don Osmond? Eventually I cut a deal and coughed to a sample charge and was bailed awaiting trial at a later date.

My mouthpiece told me to expect a large fine. Which I got.

I also got nine months at Her Majesty's pleasure.

During my enforced holiday at HMP Maidstone I celled with a bloke called Bill Carter, a skinny little bald guy of about fifty years of age. After a few hours settling in, he asked what I was in for and I told him it was for killing nosey bastards. The look on his face was a classic but I guessed he was probably just trying to be friendly and possibly, for all that I knew, he could have been a gangland boss. I quickly apologised and told him the truth. That realisation of the need to be a bit circumspect was the first part of my further education but more was soon to follow.

He then proceeded to tell me he was in for bigamy, I thought he'd be better off sectioned in the local loony bin than banged up here, but that's the judiciary for you.

It turned out that apart from being the worst kind of sexual deviant, he was an absolute genius at crosswords.

So, I would be lying on my bunk dozing and trying to resist smoking too many roll ups, listening to the tinny portable radio when Bill, sitting at the little table peering myopically at his crossword in the newspaper would suddenly call out nonsensical statements along the lines of “ Wheeled God fruit in midsummer. Two words, seven and six.” Before I could even take the mysterious clue onboard, he was shouting out the answer and filling in the relevant squares on the grid.

Finally I’d had enough of his god fruit gobbledegook and told him to give it a rest or he'd get a punch up the bracket.

“ Don't you comprehend anything?” He enquired snottily. Like I'm educationally subnormal or a Sun reader.

“ Well, I don't know that stuff, but then I don't have two wives talking my ear off do I?”

I thought that was a bit clever and would do the trick, but after a few minutes of silence he chimed in again.

“ I could tutor you if you wish, it could stand you in good stead for your parole interview and after your release.”

“ So you're a sodding teacher now?”

“ Well, actually I was the headmaster of a grammar school.”

Bill, or Sir, as I sometimes called him for a joke from then on, came up with an intense study programme. Everyday he gave me a page from his old dictionary to study and then later he would test my spelling and understanding of the word’s definitions. If that wasn't enough schooling, he also picked books from the library trolley when it came round, for me to study and answer questions on. I don't think I'd read a full book in the last ten years and looking at his reading list I'm not sure I'd missed much. Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Arnold Bennett and their ilk were a struggle, but Leslie Charteris and Edgar Wallace were pretty gripping.

Things were going swimmingly for a month or so until the fateful day that Bill had done his bird and was released. He packed his crossword books and dictionary, leaving me nothing but his Samantha Fox poster. He wished me all the best and departed. No doubt he was off to buy two bunches of flowers and enjoy his yellow ribbon moments.

We'd only go about a third of the way through the dictionary but now, from Anticholinergic ( adjective: opposing or blocking the physiologic action of acetylcholine) to Falsiloquence ( noun: deceitful speech, false speaking) I'm the Galliard ( adjective: a smart or elegant fellow) to know.