A weekend in Pentonville Prison

Ah friends! I am duly rested and relaxed chez Stiggers. Good old Brown kippered me just half an hour hence, and now the thought of those two days I spent at Her Majesty's Pleasure sends my mind a-quiver. But think on them I must, to explain to you how it is inside that wretched trap.

Being that I was still entirely twisted from the over-indulgence of my Whitechapel encounter, my memories of standing in the dock are muddled. I do recall the be-wigged magistrate braying like some pompous ass, while I - now experiencing the downside of my misadventures - demanded a mug of port.

Then a darkness fell upon me, broken by glimpses: gates, ill-lit galleries, the ceaseless banging of doors, all around me blaggards of every description, a deep horror upon my soul as the whole scene played out in the hyper-reality of my ever-extant acid trip. Finally, I was plunged into a cell, falling upon a bed barely fit for a pauper.

I recall a reverie that played in my mind - wandering, I was, through a passage of meat, my naked arms brushing against the hanging beefs as I became ever-lost. Then I awoke with a start, surrounded by the twisted faces of my co-detainees. "Look 'er 'im" uttered one gnarled ogre, poking me in the crotch. "Splendid gent 'in 'e?" And so they babbled until I passed out again.

Then, some hours hence, waking again to find myself at work upon a satanic machination; an enormous stone disc of 30 feet diameter, rumbling aound a central point and pushed by myself and numerous other ne'er-do-wells... the purpose of this I cannot ascertain, perhaps to grind corn or such? A sentry post sat on top of the disc, where an out-of-sight guard maintained speed with a cracking whip that would leap into view if I slowed even minutely.

Again, time passes in subconsciousness. I find myself in an exercise yard wearing some heavy bronze mask. Around me are others dressed the same. We attempt to play some obscure game involving a ball being passed over each other with a square bat, which involved leaping and dashing, but the weight of these masks precludes physical exertion. We loll about like fools. Again, the lash comes down.

And then I am being handed some clothes in an office. I inspect them to find them to be from my tailor. A brief gasp and I'm pushed out into the street from whence I came... I leap into a Hackney carriage and utter my address in a deathly hush. My ordeal - over! Next time, I vow as I head homewards, I'll just take a half.