I don’t know where to begin really.
I just want to say that I did start off with honourable intentions. And at the end of the day the whole process was a real life saver for me. It was necessary. I do hope you all believe that and won’t judge me too harshly.
But at the end of the day all this is a sham.
There’s little point prevaricating. I may as well cut straight to the chase.
This persona – this me that has been blogging for the last 6 years – is all fake. My life details, my family, my career are all works of fiction.
I am not married. I do not have children. I do not work for the local Government. My name isn’t even really Steve.
Technically I work for central Government though for very little recompense and without any choice in the matter at all.
My name is Adrian Jessop and I am currently serving a 20 year prison sentence for embezzlement with aggravation (I got caught by my boss and lamped him with a fax machine – he’s OK now but still suffers from extreme technophobia; not a good thing to be suffering from when you are the MD of PC World).
I was married – great girl called Suzie who was a trained trapeze artist – but she dropped me as soon as the old Bill came knocking after the fax incident at work. We didn’t have kids. She said it would lower her pelvic floor which would upset her entire centre of gravity and thus mess with the momentum of her forward swing. Apparently timing is everything.
Which may explain why she’d already got another man lined up before my name was even on the duty officer’s charge sheet. Got another man and was gone. While I was looking at a 20 stretch. My life reads like a country and western song. And I’m not talking “Jolene.”
Prison is hard. The food is crap. The work is boring. And the sex is at best inconvenient and at worst cause for split personality disorder.
But it does leave me a lot of time to write. Hence this blog.
Originally it was just therapy. A way to get my head around prison life. Away to defeat the regime rather than let the regime defeat me. Mental flights of freedom to compensate for the very real physical constraints that have seen me incarcerated here at Long Lartin for the last two decades.
I only meant the blog to run for a few months. Kind of an experiment. Just to see if I could do it.
But it took over. It assumed a life of its own. I found myself daydreaming during the laundry of what I could write about next. My dream, my fantasy of an ordinary, good life. I think that was the key to its success, you see. It’s ordinariness. It’s normality.
A blog about a multi-millionaire playboy... well, nobody would believe that. They’d see through it straight away. But an ordinary humdrum sort of bloke working for the council?
They’re two-a-penny. Every town has one. Probably more than one. It was like a ready-made niche. One I could slot into perfectly.
But the time has come to end it. It has served its purpose. I’m getting out in a couple of weeks. I don’t need this anymore, this literary crutch. I’m sorry if you feel let down. Feel that the time you have invested here has been wasted; has been extracted from you under false pretences. That was never my intention.
I’d like to thank you all. Truly. From the heart. You’ve kept me going. You’ve kept me alive. You’ve given me something good to focus on in the prison showers.
But it’s time to say goodbye.
Time to reveal the real me.
When I get out in a couple of weeks, maybe we could meet up?
I need some digs. Only temporary until I get back on my feet again.
Maybe just think about it, eh?
Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll wait until I hear from you.
Story of my life.