1999 Football League First Division Play-off Final

You will not call that cunt a fucking potty, you will call that cunt a fucking slop-pail, got it?’ ‘Very good, sir. It shall be as you wish.’ After slopping out (a practice that Oscar Wilde, a hundred years ago had written to the newspapers to protest about and which the Howard League for Penal Reform has finally, I believe, managed to push into desuetude) one would be handed a safety razor (in my case a fruitless offering, since I was still so testosterone light that I had not even the faintest traces of down on my cheeks or upper-lip) and the ablution ceremonies would be performed, just as at school only conducted in complete silence, save for the rhythmical brushing of teeth and scraping of stubble. Next, we were marched down to breakfast for a completely familiar (to me) prep-school tea of tinned tomatoes and grey scrambled egg on fried bread. Then we were led to work. In the evenings there came Association. Association was the prison’s major carrot and stick. ‘Right! You, off Association for a week.’ ‘First one to clear up this fucking mess gets an extra ten minutes’ Association.’ Association took place in a large room, where there was a television, a dartboard and a ping-pong table ...»