I browsed this on the boat coming home from England at the start of March.

I was saving it for a rainy day.

I was going to read it avidly.

I just knew that I was going to be disappointed.

I just knew that the author wasn’t going to be gang-raped in the showers on a daily basis, every day of his sentence.

And that’s a shame. That would have been justice. He deserves no less.

I would quite happily go to prison as long as I could go to the same one as Jeffrey (he’ll be back inside before long, just you watch) and was guaranteed the opportunity to sexually abuse him, on a daily basis.

Anally, you understand, with a stuffed porcupine. That would be worth going to prison for!

Sorry, I seem to be having an anti-Archer day today.

It must either be a Monday or a Sunday; or any of the other five days in between.

That aside. This is probably the best thing he has ever written (apart, of course from all that fiction he wrote about his University career).

In this book, he manages some compassion without too much I’m Jeffrey, I’m a very clever guy type stuff.

The ‘Fletch interlude’ however is bad. I vomited when I first read it.

He deserves to die in slow motion just for that. Yes you do, Jeffrey. Yes you do.

If Fletch (Whatever his real name is) has actually killed himself (as he threatened/promised) – it’s Jeffrey who’s to blame

That aside, he has probably found his calling – Jeffrey, my mate, I really believe that you should be sent to prison; for life!

All the best

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