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The final volume of Jeffrey Archer’s prison diaries, A Prison Diary Volume III: Heaven, covers the period of his transfer from Wayland to his eventual release on parole in July 2003. It includes a shocking account of the traumatic time he spent in the notorious Lincoln jail and the events that led to his incarceration there - it also throws light on a system that is close to breaking point.
Told with humour, compassion and honesty, it closes with a thought-provoking manifesto that should be applauded by the Establishment and prison population alike.
Day 115 Saturday 10th November 2001 6.38am
It’s all an act. I am hopelessly unhappy, dejected and broken. I smile when I am at my lowest, I laugh when I see no humour, I help others when I need help myself. I am alone. If I were to show any sign, even for a moment, of what I’m going through, I would have to read the details in some tabloid the following day. Everything I do is only a phone call away from a friendly journalist with an open cheque book. I don’t know where I have found the strength to maintain this facade and never break down in anyone’s presence.
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The final volume of Jeffrey Archer’s prison diaries, A Prison Diary Volume III: Heaven, covers the period of his transfer from Wayland to his eventual release on parole in July 2003. It includes a shocking account of the traumatic time he spent in the notorious Lincoln jail and the events that led to his incarceration there - it also throws light on a system that is close to breaking point.
Told with humour, compassion and honesty, it closes with a thought-provoking manifesto that should be applauded by the Establishment and prison population alike.
Day 115 Saturday 10th November 2001 6.38am
It’s all an act. I am hopelessly unhappy, dejected and broken. I smile when I am at my lowest, I laugh when I see no humour, I help others when I need help myself. I am alone. If I were to show any sign, even for a moment, of what I’m going through, I would have to read the details in some tabloid the following day. Everything I do is only a phone call away from a friendly journalist with an open cheque book. I don’t know where I have found the strength to maintain this facade and never break down in anyone’s presence.