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There are drawbacks, now and then, to being funnier than a penguin playing banjo.
For example, when you-- hypothetically-- are visiting your mate who's been unjustly imprisoned for assault, and get quite tired of the prison guard calling your friend, variously, "that dozy Scottish psychopath", "the short one what likes cutting peoples up and such", "the one that won't be seeing daylight for a few years, I'll tell you that much for free" and "that bit of all right"(?!) while manhandling said innocent friend and generally just behaving in an intolerable manner towards someone you absolutely cannot bear to see hurt-- and then you, say, for example, keep telling the guard to lay off it every time you visit until finally he shoves your handcuffed friend too hard, sending him stumbling the ground, and you snap and invite him to step outside with you, and then when he calls you a poncy little furry-footed nelly, you forget to bother with the "going outside" bit and also forget about the part where he's a police officer and therefore reel off a (might I say, well-delivered and quite powerful) punch to his delicate blown-glass jaw, flooring him and enraging him such that he attempts to retaliate only to be set upon and bitten by your furious boyfriend-- well, if you have a reputation for comedy, and you phone up Peter Jackson from prison to tell him about all this, you might just find yourself stuck in gaol with Pete laughing in your ear, "Good one, Dom. Very funny! Well, if you and Elijah want to take some time off, we've rearranged the schedule to accommodate the elves going missing. We're working mainly with David and Miranda for a while. So you're free for a couple of weeks-- I'll send you a call sheet. Have a good time!" while your stomach sinks and the dialtone drones desolately in your ear.
Er, just putting this forward as a what-if, you understand.
Oh, sod it. We're in prison. And yes it's awful and miserable and boo hoo, except actually 1) It's a low-security New Zealand prison so it doesn't seem all that bad and 2) In a way, it's a lot like working on a film. You can't leave a confined area; you have to sit or stand around all day, go wherever you're told to go and do whatever you're told to do. So it's all the bad, boring parts of making movies, with the good bit of actually making the movie subtracted out and replaced with vicious yard fights.
At first, Elijah and I were put in the holding cell with a couple of off-their-heads drunks and a weary, constantly sleeping bloke who was in for unpaid parking tickets. So we passed the time in our usual way, with nigh-constant cuddling and shagging. But after a couple of days, we were moved into proper prison cells-- I'm in a cell with one of the drunks. I'm not exactly sure where Lij is, he's around a corner from me, but he seems to be all right; he's in with the unpaid parking ticket bloke.
We've been communicating through morse code. If you've never had morse code sex, I quite recommend it. Especially when your other options are lying in a bunk staring up at the ceiling missing your boyfriend so desperately you feel you might scream.
I am now terribly worried about Billy, though. We were giving him loads of cigarettes to keep his scary cellmate Trevor from making untoward advances on our Bills. Now, as we're in prison as well, there aren't any more cigarettes. Trevor's due to sober up any day now.
Tch, and I'm nearly at the end of my time-- we get Internet privileges for good behaviour, but not for very long.
We seem to be quite bogged down in the NZ legal system since we don't have citizenship, so it'll probably take ages to spring us; if anyone reads this, please don't delay!
But don't fret about us too much either. So far we are bearing up well enough here, and at least Billy isn't alone any more. Elijah's in the cell right near Billy's and has been trying to keep his spirits up.
There's probably not much more that we or anyone else can do for the moment. However, a few more cartons of cigarettes for Billy wouldn't go amiss. Ta.
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