I dreamed a dream. Of young people freed from the shackles of the criminal justice system. Through access to musical theatre.
I have, for some time, been in communication with Feltham Young Offenders Institution. This prison for the young lies in the barren waste lands beyond zone 2. Intending to make an impact, as one does, I drew memories of the 1970s by attending the security gate on a Space Hopper which I had endorsed, 'Dare to Dream'. When challenged, I continued to bounce, suggesting my free spirit, and wish to free those within those dank damp walls. My deeley boppers nodded in suggestive agreement.
Unfortunately, due to the Neanderthal attitudes of the prison authorities, I was detained by the police service, my spirit somewhat dampened by the notorious use of the 'Section' under the Mental Health Act. Whilst detained, I bonded with a young man named Nathan. It seemed that Nathan had previously been detained at Feltham, and was receiving treatment for an alleged mental disorder having stabbed a cell mate.
I could see beneath his steely demeanor that Nathan was a delicate soul who's propensity to violence was artistic rather than vindictive. I drew him under my wing, and offered services learnt within the prison community to the consultant psychiatrist to allow us 48 hours of liberty.
Nathan recognised my dream to save the souls of the young 'offenders' through the medium of musical theatre, and immediately stabbed a shopkeeper to allow himself entry back into the Young Offenders Gaol. He would become my champion within.
We began to communicate via a mobile telephone he stored within his anus. He demanded I supply items to assist his development of a youth theatre movement by causing controlled drugs and weapons to be supplied to him. I conducted this activity with gusto, tossing my packages over the wall in a style reminiscent of the Jets in West Side Story. My production met with many appreciative calls from the inmates, many of whom demanded I strip. One never turns down an ovation, so I danced into the night on more than one occasion.
My dream crumbled when news reached me of Nathan's demise at the hands of someone called the 'Daddy' who had asked where his 'tool' was. As is the wont of any creator, I felt that the only way to honour his memory was to seek bloody revenge.
I sought the assistance of one of the finest wardrobe and make-up managers in this wondrous isle to become a notorious youth gangster. I attended an estate in south London, where, over several months, I developed a drug supply business enforced with exaggerated and un-necessary violence. Just before my arrest by heavily armed police officers, I had a network of over twenty crack houses and a team of unwilling prostitutes holding up my empire.
I was finally brought before the youth justice system, where my dreams of avenging the memory of my muse, Nathan, would come to fruition. Sadly, despite my somewhat shameful begging, I was sent to an immigration holding centre. It seemed that my admittedly remarkable voice skills had led the authorities to suspect I was in fact an illiterate gentleman from a obscure Chinese province who had been born in the early 1950s to a copper miner and his wife who was also his first cousin.
Thankfully, my love of Nathan, and the life lessons he taught me, meant that I am adept at storing mobile communication devices within my anus, allowing me to continue to communicate with you, my darling readers, whilst incarcerated.
My love remains.