It's been three weeks and I'm managing to hold it together – despite the many odds (twelve of them, to be exact) trying to ruin me.
This year's voluntary convicts need a lot of help – they suck more and more of my wisdom milk from me every day. It won't be long until my nips are saw and blistering, and I am finally dry of new ways to tell them TO WRITE FOR THEIR READERS.
The other captains have been reporting curious behaviour. Richard the long-suffering shorthand tutor described one lesson in which one of the convicts slipped off her chair mid-sentence and floundered around on the floor trying to get her coat unstuck from the chair wheels for five minutes. Apparently every time he says the phrase "as soon as possible" the class doubles up and can't be calmed. Surely some stupid in-joke. Beginning to fear these 12 squawking loons are here as part of some government conspiracy to keep nutters off the street. Perhaps we should replace the next media law lesson with some group therapy? It's difficult to have all of the answers all of the time.
Oh, note to self: one of the convicts has some weird eating habits that are beginning to affect the others. Every day she force feeds them macaroni and cheese and appears to have some waffle fettish problem. It's getting a bit grating now. Remind me to tell her to tone it down.
Words: 285. Perfect word count, of course. LIKE IT'S HARD.
(as imagined by Helena Kealey)