I write this first entry from my rehab cell by candlelight. They’ve turned off the power as punishment. Last night one of the clientele was caught making inappropriate gestures with his hips at one of the nurses. What the rest of us found amusing (Hugh Grant in particular) the warders didn’t find funny at all – apparently it’s seen as regressive behaviour. I eventually fall asleep. It’s the end of my first day. Good to be back in South Africa, but I can tell you that this place is certainly no Shamwari.
My horsehair pyjama pants prevent me from sleeping any longer. Can’t believe I signed up for this. The view from my cell isn’t bad – if I crane my neck through the bars, I can see Devil’s Peak. I look at my own Devil’s Peak. The trouble you have gotten me into…
Doors unlock. Time for our morning shower. Blindfolded, we line up against the wall and are hosed down with cold water. While this is going on, the head male nurse recites lyrics from Steve Hofmeyr’s latest CD. The situation, which is almost unbearable, is made even worse by this guy standing next to me named Joost who sings along.
Troop into the dining hall for breakfast. I’m forced to sit next to this guy named Jurie – he keeps giving me strange looks. Breakfast is also minimal – some watery scrambled eggs and a sausage with the top chopped off. I can feel my biceps shrinking. I shovel my food down and prepare for the first ‘rehabilitation session’ with my counsellor. Not sure if life can get any worse, then I remember I could look like Tom Kite. Mood improves drastically.
First session done. Spoke about my numerous escapades (and the Escalade I put into the tree). Admitted I had a problem (which is a start, apparently), problem being, that the re-sale value on the thing is nowhere now. Got told I need to open up more. I said who are they to dissect my swing? I don’t tell them how to do their jobs.
After lunch (this time it’s a cucumber with the top chopped off. What is it with these people?) I’m allowed to make my one daily phone call. You’ll appreciate my predicament here.
No answer. She’s obviously still pi**ed off. Think she might be at Jesper’s place. Definitely not calling there.
Cell is locked for the night. I slip back into the horsehair pyjama pants. They feel softer today. My neighbour, John Terry, is having serious trouble adapting, and his girl-like screams, as they force his pants on, are starting to get some of the other clientele worked up. Joost seems the worst affected – he beats his chest savagely from behind his bars. Lights switched off. Big day tomorrow – we get told exactly how we got caught out. Let’s just say I’ll be taking notes.
NB: This is intended as a parody