100 Pills And a Journey Starts...

I've never blogged about this before.
Not in depth.

But hey, why not?

Not much to lose it seems.

You never think it could happen to you. You just don't.
Everyone you know takes pills at the weekend.
There are about sixty people working on the same floor as you, and about thirty of them like to pop pills.

But pills are illegal.

Yeah, you think. But who cares? How many people do you know, who think it's wrong?
None.

Thing is, you live in a fairly cocooned world. You work in sales for God's sake. If you worked in an accountancy firm, the subject might be a more taboo.

It never really quite dawns on you that the law treats it as seriously as it does.

Until you're sitting in Steelhouse Lane Police Station. And your brief says he thinks you MAY get away with a simple possession. He doesn't think you'll go down. OK, you had 100 pills on you. But the evidence doesn't look solid.

And then you get to court. By now your brief is shifting. 70-30 in favour of a conviction, he says. If you do go down, you'll get custody. Maybe a year. In which case, you'll be out in three months.

The case was adjourned twice, then we had a mistrial, then two more adjournments. Then, in May 2004, a guilty verdict.

The trial itself, well. Oddly, I think I can honestly say, mine was one of the few cases where the people writing references didn't think what they were writing. My boss wrote 'I have known X for over a year, he works well, is good at his job and liked by his colleagues. I also know him socially and he's good company, reliable, a good friend and someone you can trust. He's a very outgoing and loyal person.'

For most cases, that would impress. But if you're being charged with either fraud, or selling drugs, then that's exactly the resume people might expect.

Well. There was one lad on the jury kept smiling at me, reassuring me he was on my side.

When the jury came back, I knew. Because he just faced the floor and wouldn't look at me. He didn't want to convict me, but he wanted to go home.

Well, I got three weeks on bail to sort my life out. Three weeks. Three funny weeks. But hey, I'd been waiting eighteen months to know the answer to the big question.



I savoured every pint, trust me.

Well, when we got back for sentencing, my brief told me to expect two years. I'd be out on tag in six months. Out for Christmas anyway.

So I wasn't prepared.

'Mr Crushed. I have listened to the representations made by your counsel. I will say that this a sad case and I fully understand the pain that your girlfriend's abortion caused you and I appreciate that in some sense, you can be considered a victim in this. I will also say, that aside from these offences, you appear to be a law abiding person with much to offer society. However, you have chosen to behave in an irresponsible manner. Ecstasy is a scourge on our society. It is my belief that your education, intelligence and good employment situation aggravate the situation. I am going to sentence you to a custodial sentence of four years.'

Four years.

Four years.

YOU. ARE. HAVING. A. LAUGH.

And the funny thing is, I did. Down in those holding cells, I was laughing away with the other lads. Real criminals, and there I was laughing away with them. Four years!

One other thing worth mentioning as an aside is my mother didn't see me taken down. It happened that quick, she was still in the toilet... I think she was a bit upset by that.

A Reliant screw came in to announce that my brief wanted to see me.

We sat in that room, me still in my suit- a suit I wouldn't see for over a year.
'We're going to appeal. That was just completely excessive. Hang in there.'
I smiled 'I'm going to have to.'

The girl from my solicitors looked at me 'You all right? You must be shocked?'
I exhaled 'Yes. But also relieved. Because that's it now. This has been hanging over me now for eighteen months. Now I KNOW what lies ahead and every day now, is another day done. If the appeal fails, then it's a max of two years eight months. If I get parole, I'm out for the world cup.'

She looked at me 'Bearing in mind you've never been before a judge before, and you just got what you did, you're taking it very well.'

I smiled 'Hey. Don't worry. I've spent eighteen months preparing for the worst in my head. I lived with Claire don't forget- prison CAN'T be that bad. I'll just look ahead, England playing in Germany me with a pint in my hand. I'll just do some reading' I grinned.

Five minutes later I was being led onto the sweatbox. They call them sweatboxes for a reason. Each man to his own compartment. And you can see out, outside can't see in. And I watched the journey, savouring it. Cars, people, shops, Birmingham, beautiful Birmingham. Now I'd be in the city, but never see it. Up the express way, through Aston and then...



The steel gates slide open. The sweatbox rolled in. In front were another set of steel gates.
The ones behind slide too before the ones in front opened. The landscape ahead, could have been Belsen 'Arbeit mach frei', I thought. My new home.

Welcome to Winson Green.

To be continued...