Doing Bird*

I'm walking through the shortcut past Brixton Prison after spending the night at Suzie Wong's house. We went to Plan B on Sunday for her Gina Ling's birthday, where we had a wicked night dancing to old school soul and hip-hop, trying to recreate the old moves (The Wop anyone) in 3 inch wedges and heels. A fit guy I've seen before was there. Could have potential for a midnight panty raid. I don't think he'd have much to say though, but he sure did look good on the dancefloor. The only thing that let him down was he got his friend to give me his number. That hasn't happened to me since I was in secondary school and my boyfriend Vincent told my friend we hadn't kissed after 'going out' for two weeks and he was gonna chuck me if I didn't free up. So I didn't call Fit Guy for that reason. So when he tried to give me the number himself I said I had it. So he's like so why didn't you call me. So I says to him: "My name is WOMAN. So your name must be MAN." I was a little tipsy.

As I pass the prison, the huge doors open, and a big van used to transport prisoners rolls out. Mr Slick Black Man is wearing his crisp white shirt and CHiPS style shades, as he drives past me, he slows down his HMP people carrier to get his mack on. "You are really beautiful. I like you, when can I see you again?" It's honest, it's direct, it's not rude. But it's around 8.30am, I am wearing the clothes I wore the night before (with flip-flops), jeans and a sparkly t-shirt with shades, and am in desperate need of a toothbrush, hot water and strong coffee. Which means I cannot talk to him. So he gets the Mona Lisa smile as I'm too wounded to speak after only 3.5 hours sleep.

The man's on the Queen's business, but he's still got time to holla at a sister, while driving a truckful of human cargo like he's rolling on 'doves'. I had to give it to him, the brother was smooth and respectful. And I in turn respectfully turned him down.

It seems that the prison theme is the subject du jour as a new live show started yesterday from HMP Cardiff, a Category B Prison. The BBC are using our tax dollars to show us the reality about prison life. And who's face did you see first onscreen? As The Pessimist said when we talked yesterday, and I quote: "Nig-nog. Niggy-niggy nig-nog.""Did he have plaits or cornrow?" Plaits. Shame and grace.

The prison is the cleanest looking prison I have never seen. Pristine, looked like you could nyam off the floor. They showed you the inside of cells, took you through a cell search, spoke to other prisoners, a mampy white girl who obviously worked in the kitchen and was teefing all the pies, who was in for drug offences. A woman who used her kids to shoplift to support her heroin habit. Deep.

I hate programmes like this. In my opinion they act as a PR exercise for whatever service is being shown. Oh look at what a hard job we have to do. It's all just too black and white, with very little contextural analysis. I think in many cases it just serves to reinforce stereotypes about the alleged criminality of certain races. And for anyone who thinks I'm being unduly cynical, lest we forget, the Prison Service stands accused of 186 failings following the racist murder of Asian prisoner Zahid Mubarek in Feltham young offenders institution. Mubarek, who had a three month sentence for theft, was killed after being deliberately placed in a cell with known, racist psychopath skinhead Robert Stewart who battered him to death with a table leg. The Prison Service failed to protect him. I doubt this subject will be touched upon in the cosy chats between the TV presenters and prison officers.

* Bird = Doing time, and is also a euphemism for a woman, e.g. chick.