By Marco Abonandi
"You're arrested under section 91 of the 1967 criminal justice act, for being drunk and disorderly in a public place." Those fatal words will haunt me forever.
A heavy night involving alcohol brought the hooligan out in me. I was throwing road work barriers across Eccelsall Road in the early hours of Sunday morning.
My surroundings were suddenly alight with flashing lights. My heart jumped. I knew what was coming. I held my hands up for cuffing before the police even got out the car.
I didn't resist. I co-operated and went quietly into the car and off I went to my eventual fate.
Arriving at the station wasn't exactly a welcoming reception when concerning the interior, but the prison officers were surprisingly chatty and full of banter towards me during the rigmarole of questions, paperwork and my routine frisk.
Then after handing in my belongings including my belt, in case prison life was too much for life to handle, I made my way towards my cell.
As I was guided down the corridor, I couldn't help but notice the amount of shoes outside cells. It seemed I wasn't the only one in trouble tonight; the police must have had a busy evening.
My attentions were soon diverted as I was made aware that I had arrived to my abode for the evening. I went in and the door slammed shut. It was horrible. My bed was a concrete block with a wooden mattress and my toilet was seat-less and fashioned in a past tenant's vomit.
I lay down on the bed; I stared at the ceiling, thinking how hilarious this was, but only for a little while. Time went slowly. What seemed like an hour was only 10 minutes. My mood changed. I was drunk, cold and in deep need of my own bed now. I wasn't finding this experience funny anymore.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. My stomach suddenly started to churn.So I hastily made my way to the toilet and projectile vomited the kebab that I had hours ago into the pan.
Luckily, A prison officer from down the corridor heard me and was able to hand me tissue to clean myself. My bed seemed a little more comfortable when I lay back down and before I knew it I was out for the count.
When I next opened my eyes it was morning. An officer opened to my door to set me free. But there was one more thing. My fingerprints had to be taken, which, by the way, is now done through a touch sensitive computer. Each of my fingers had to be pressed onto the screen.This took forever. But after been given back my belongings and receiving an £80 fine, I was a free man again. Regret though, hung heavily over me and the hang over didn't help.
One night in a prison cell is more than enough. The boredom, depressing nature of the place and the fact I had the worst night's sleep ever was something I couldn't get used to. I shan't be committing any crimes any time soon, that's for sure.
A heavy night involving alcohol brought the hooligan out in me. I was throwing road work barriers across Eccelsall Road in the early hours of Sunday morning.
My surroundings were suddenly alight with flashing lights. My heart jumped. I knew what was coming. I held my hands up for cuffing before the police even got out the car.
I didn't resist. I co-operated and went quietly into the car and off I went to my eventual fate.
Arriving at the station wasn't exactly a welcoming reception when concerning the interior, but the prison officers were surprisingly chatty and full of banter towards me during the rigmarole of questions, paperwork and my routine frisk.
Then after handing in my belongings including my belt, in case prison life was too much for life to handle, I made my way towards my cell.
As I was guided down the corridor, I couldn't help but notice the amount of shoes outside cells. It seemed I wasn't the only one in trouble tonight; the police must have had a busy evening.
My attentions were soon diverted as I was made aware that I had arrived to my abode for the evening. I went in and the door slammed shut. It was horrible. My bed was a concrete block with a wooden mattress and my toilet was seat-less and fashioned in a past tenant's vomit.
I lay down on the bed; I stared at the ceiling, thinking how hilarious this was, but only for a little while. Time went slowly. What seemed like an hour was only 10 minutes. My mood changed. I was drunk, cold and in deep need of my own bed now. I wasn't finding this experience funny anymore.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. My stomach suddenly started to churn.So I hastily made my way to the toilet and projectile vomited the kebab that I had hours ago into the pan.
Luckily, A prison officer from down the corridor heard me and was able to hand me tissue to clean myself. My bed seemed a little more comfortable when I lay back down and before I knew it I was out for the count.
When I next opened my eyes it was morning. An officer opened to my door to set me free. But there was one more thing. My fingerprints had to be taken, which, by the way, is now done through a touch sensitive computer. Each of my fingers had to be pressed onto the screen.This took forever. But after been given back my belongings and receiving an £80 fine, I was a free man again. Regret though, hung heavily over me and the hang over didn't help.
One night in a prison cell is more than enough. The boredom, depressing nature of the place and the fact I had the worst night's sleep ever was something I couldn't get used to. I shan't be committing any crimes any time soon, that's for sure.
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