– I lent them to one of the prison warders.
– Which one?
– The fat one with the dirty hair. Susan.
– Are you sure that’s her name?
– I think so. Why?
– Well that’s my name, mum.
– Oh yes. Of course. Well, she’s the one with the dirty hair.
– What colour?
– She’s white.
– No. Her hair. What colour is her hair?
– Brown. Or black. Something like that. Dark anyway. Dirty.
– Ok. I’ll ask the nurses in a minute.
– Oh. Do they have nurses here as well? That’s nice.
– Yes, mum. It is nice.
– I don’t trust them, mind.
– I know, mum.
– They steal things, you know.
– Well, I know you lose things. Your glasses, for instance.
– Yes. That’s because they steal them, Susan.
– And is that why you took the string?
– What string?
– The string you took from the post office.
– Well, if I don’t tie things down, they go missing, don’t they?
– Hm. I expect that’s what the man in the post office thought too.
– I didn’t like him. He was dirty.
– No he wasn’t, mum. He was very kind.
– He was very dirty. I know that.
– No mum. He was Asian.
– They should have separate prisons for the Asians.
– You’re not actually in prison, mum. Luckily for you. Nor is he.
– Well he should be.
– Are you sure you haven’t tied you glasses to something?
– Why would I do that?
– To stop the prison warders from stealing them?
– Don’t treat me like an idiot, Susan.
– Well you did tie your radio to the sink. Remember that?
– Oh you do talk rubbish. Why don’t you go and do some work?
– I’ll go in a while. Have you looked in your cabinet?
– I can’t see very well, can I? I need glasses.
– I’ll have a look for… What on earth are your knickers doing in here?
– They’re dirty.
– Oh God! Why haven’t you put them in the washing basket?
– I don’t want the guards rummaging through my underwear.
– They’re nurses, mum. In any case, they don’t do the washing.
– I know. They’re dirty.
© Gerry Webber 2015