Home Alone

It’s sometimes hard to show compassion and understanding for others who live in worse conditions than ours when we are more concerned with our living standards and personal problems. Such are my thoughts as I write this, my first article since returning to the UK.

I have moved back to the United Kingdom from Cypriot sunshine. I didn’t want to move from a beach house on an island to a flat in rural England. Stress and confusion have reigned supreme after twenty-seven years away and an eleven-year marriage ending with my wife’s sad loss. At least she got to rest peacefully in that sun-drenched place.

With business opportunities and the realisation that I have so much of my own country still to discover, I took a step back into instability and political madness. Whitehall and Westminster continue to lead us blindfolded into an unknown future while embroiled in the Ukrainian war. Government workers threaten to strike, and Westminster can’t decide who should be the Prime Minister.

Finding a new home and shopping around for a car while staying with a family member has kept me on my toes. After a month, I achieved both and reassigned myself to the NHS and the DWP. As usual, a change of address sends officialdom into a spin. One government department is much like another. They work slowly and sometimes forget all about you.

With all these things on my mind, I received a letter from a friend in America whom I have been writing to for a couple of years. The letter flushed away all the worries and sarcastic thoughts I had about my situation, and as always, when I receive a letter from Jeffrey, I spend time thinking of him and his situation.

Jeffrey lives in Louisiana and has had the same home for thirty-six years – a nine-by-six concrete box fronted by bars on death row. His box sits on the third row in a building at the back of a prison facility once known as the most brutal prison in America – ANGOLA. Google it and wonder how the inmates survive.

Jeffrey and I found each other through the one pastime we both enjoy. We are writers, and Jeffrey is exceptional. I have published two books for him about prison life, and he is working on his first novel, a thriller. To read about his lifestyle and how he exists despite beatings from guards, the same lousy food day after day, and only one hour a day for solitary exercise in a small yard is harrowing. He sleeps on the concrete floor in the summer because it’s cooler; in winter, he tries to keep warm with a single blanket.

At the moment, he has lawyers working on another appeal. It’s not my place to judge him, but I do ask the question; if most prisoners are in the place they are supposed to be, are we not supposed to treat these men and women humanely? Whatever crime he did or did not commit, Jeffrey deserves to be treated as a human being, not an animal. We are not supposed to wreak revenge on inmates but show them something they did not show their victims – Respect and a little understanding.

Back in the UK, I continue to rebuild my lifestyle. Thoughts of Jeffrey, the Ukrainian situation, and the ongoing political mess make me determined to voice my views via my fictional character, Pete West. His mission is to help right the wrongs of political corruption and stupidity by bringing them to?the attention of “Joe Public.”

I’m into another Pete West story involving the current situation regarding money laundering and industrial finance fraud. Yet, like Jeffrey, my surroundings will be plain and perhaps uninteresting compared to the worlds we are inventing in our imaginations. We are locked up in stories that take us away from our concrete homes and into a place where we can forget the natural world and enjoy being HOME ALONE.