19 JUNE 1982, Page 28

Low life

Within limits

Jeffrey Bernard

The Middlesex Hospital, Mortimer Street, London WI

H.M. Prison, Stanford Hill, Sheerness, Kent

ear Ken: Isn't it just typical that both .1.1 you and I should be in open prisons during Royal Ascot week? Perhaps we should confine our sinning to the winter months although, as far as you're concern- ed, conditions would be a little sharper than they would be for me. Eva told me she'd been to see you and that you seemed to he bearing up. I take my hat off to you. here for just a few days and already gloom descends only to be lifted by trifling enter- tainments like eating fairly awful food, ticking off items on the following day's menu and chasing the newspaper man down the corridor as he tries to escape without making a sale. A sadist I shouldn't wonder. But I shouldn't moan to you of all people banged up as you are in a dormitory full of what might be a very dodgy lot. My cell, as it were, consists of four and my three corn-

Panions are dead ringers for any and all the other trios I've ever served time with in hospitals. It's a bit like being in rep.

Mr James is the paisley dressing gown sort and the paisley dressing gown has usually seen better days. He has silver hair, a clipped military moustache and Tiptree Jam on top of his locker and not the cheap stuff. He does the Daily Telegraph crossword, usually has trouble with the waterworks' and has a rather genteel sort of visitor. He often thinks he's dying but he's as tough as leather. On my left we have Mr Croft who has a pituitary gland disorder which seems to fascinate him as much as it does the medical staff. He's fat, farts a fair amount and is an extremely useful dustbin and waste disposal unit when my friends and visitors bring me excessive amounts of fruit. He's a Daily Mirror crossword man and, unlike most tabloid addicts, he's delightful- ly unsycophantic towards the Middlesex staff. Not a forelock tugger this one. He drinks vast quantities of orangeade and has a strangely musical snore. Last night he changed key at least four times. Very fond of telling the nurses that they're the light of his life.

On my immediate right my fellow suf- ferer is Mr Jones who absolutely laps up tests of any kind, blood lettings, X-rays and inquisitions from students. The Joneses of the hospital world would be nothing without their illnesses. Diabetes to Jones is What eggs are to bacon. It's just as well for him that the condition is incurable. But he's not daft. He can read a paper, urinate, smoke a cigarette and listen to Radio 2 on his earphones all at the same time and that makes some professional jugglers look a tri- fle green. Last night he fell asleep with the earphones in and I was tempted to wake him up with a sharp switch over to Radio 3. The funny thing about a lot of Joneses is the way their wives seem proud of them be- ing ill: 'Ooh yes, George has been terribly ill. He nearly died last year, didn't you George? Eight hour.s they said he had but he's still here, aren't you George?'

As you may imagine, my visitors are slightly different. Norman came to see me Yesterday and brought me a vast amount of fruit and cheese. He said I'd been missed that lunch-hour session in the Coach and I said how could 1 be missed I'd only been in the Middlesex for a few hours. 'Business is business,' he said. And I thought I'd never be loved for my money.

BY the way, I gather from your letter to our mutual friend that you too are in- carcerated with some fairly childish nuts and that there was a fracas in your but over a Mars Bar recently. It's pretty much the same here and we have a daily drama in the day room over what we'll watch on televi- sion. Normally and quite rightly it should .go by a majority vote but last night an Irishman flipped when we opted for the news and not an epic about some stolen emeralds dumped in a lake by the villain and safeguarded by piranha fish. The Irishman went quite berserk and called me and Mr Jones some horrible names. Unfor-

tunately for him he's on a drip and it's quite difficult to hit yours truly — slow on his feet this week thanks to various drugs when you're attached to a stand supporting a bottle of saline solution. Anyway, I had a word with him this morning — a captive au- dience you might say — and he's been told that we're watching Royal Ascot today come what may, otherwise he'll be in need of medical care. I hope the atmosphere is better in the nick and I hope to see you in time for the Manchester November Han- dicap.

Yours, Jeff.