Geezer's indigestion

I started a post last night that I fell asleep on literally. It needed so much editing I may as well start again.
Every time I go on a prison visit I get so nervous about getting into the place, one would think I was taking a kilo of H with me. I'll tell you why.

A few years back, pre Hamper G, I was already with her Dad (We'll call him LQ though he doesn't feature much) and he was doing an 18 month sentence for dangerous driving and a few other bits and bobs. He had sent me a Visiting Order for Myself, Stropster, Geekster and a friend of ours, lets call him Geezer cus he is a geezer. He hadn't been with us before and wasn't exactly a close friend of LQ but he had a car which made things easier so I just accepted that's how it was. I did wonder on the way over if he had been invited for a "reason" but I didn't ask, I didn't want to know. I wished I hadn't even started wondering about things in the car, now concerned that I might behave nervously on his behalf.

Let me just say at this point, If I were offered a million pounds to take so much as one bag of gear into prison I would absolutely, most definitely not, under any circumstances, get involved. I am just not the type to pull it off. Or even try to pull it off.  There are obviously many that can, and do, without a flicker of an eyebrow, but it aint me babe. When LQ was convicted he pretty much expected that I would help him in a way that ex girlfriends had helped him . . . Sorry lovey, call me spineless, and he did, but I have two kids (at the time) to think of. Tell me over and over that I will get in ok without a second glance but I know I won't. Shit I cant even tell a white lie so let's not be silly.

So we got there late, everyone else had gone through. I'm not sure if that was intentional on Geezer's behalf. Maybe he knew stuff like if you were late the dogs would have been put back to kennels or there would be less staff on entry or . . or . . I don't know, maybe we were just late. Anyhow we waited and waited. Geezer smelt a rat. He has a well trained nose. The staff went through the motions of walking us through the scanner arch, putting our belongings in a locker, the usual stuff. Then they ushered me and my two boys into the next room where there was a black Labrador waiting. That was unusual. Some prisons have them on every visit, some occasionally. For that particular prison it wasn't the norm. Geezer caught a glimpse of the dog as they closed the door behind me. That was when I saw the rat that Geezer had smelt. He was small, thin, steely-eyed, kind of perverse looking with a smirk of sadistic enjoyment. He told me to stand on the "footprints" and must have made some secret signal to the dog to "show interest" because the dog did indeed "show interest" and there was absolutely no reason why he should. I suppose if they have intelligence on someone who is definitely "carrying" something  ie.The prisoner has been heard boasting about having something brought in that day or has been heard making plans on the phone. And the dog shows no interest because they have it well enough concealed, there must then be a way of making  the dog "show interest" as an excuse to do follow up searches.
The Rat was up in my face, on his tiptoes, as I had platform boots on  "You will be looking at 7 to 10 years for this, how did you think you would get away with it? You foolish girl. Did you really think it would be so easy?"
I protested. The dog is wrong. Do you think I'm mad? I was shaking, my legs were failing along with my bladder.You're wrong. I wouldn't do it for a million quid. You don't know me. How dare you? Are you mad? I was crying. The boys were crying. The Rat was having  none of it. He thought I was acting up.
"We have intelligence on you" he said "We know you are carrying drugs! and you will face the consequences"
Shit. I started to believe him now. What if? What if  Geezer had slipped something into my coat pocket or . . . or . . . or.  No he wouldn't. Would he? Would he? Why else did the dog sit down? Fuck. Shit. God. Please God. I was dizzy. Nauseous. Seven years! This is not happening. I might not see the outside again. My boys. O God Please.
We were put in a side room where the boys and I were searched as well as they could without a strip search. They couldn't strip us there as they only had one female officer available. We were put in a corridor to stand for what seemed like hours with our hands held out in front of us. Geezer was strip searched in a side room and came out . . . free to go!!!! What? So where was it? Or was there nothing? My head was fucked. I started thinking awful things. Had Geezer put it in one of the kids pockets when he first smelt that rat? or in my bag? No. He's a friend. Surely not. But he was free to go. They told me I would have to wait to be taken to a police station to be strip searched. They didn't know how long we would have to wait. They put us in a holding cell. Geekster was only 5 he hid under the chair. He stayed under the chair. Tears catch my throat thinking about it. I was terrified. They were terrified. Geezer asked if he could see us. There was a female guard and a male guard in this tiny room with us standing at the door. Facing us. Geezer popped his head in (behind them) to say he would wait in the car outside for as long as need be. As he said this he made an "eating" motion with his hand to his mouth? Was he telling me to eat it? eat what? Did he think I had something too? I didn't know what to think any more. My head was a mess. Eventually a car was available. They took us to a police station.The driver was good to the boys and let them stay in the car whilst I was taken in to be strip searched. He was particularly nice to Geekster and let him sit in the front to make the blue light flash. God knows the lad needed some distraction. I wondered why they didn't want to search the boys. Why wasn't I hand-cuffed, I could have pulled out anything I might have hidden whilst in the back of the car and thrown it away on the way into the station. I started to realise this strip search was just humiliation and that I was no longer a serious suspect. And it was humiliation. I've had a few strip searches and that was by far the worst. The most thorough. Bitches. I didn't care. I was too damn relieved to find no one had planted anything on me. Even as they searched through my clothes I half expected them to pull out a surprise. No. Nothing. I could go. I was free. I didn't feel it. I was still scared.

We were driven back to the prison where Geezer was waiting. We drove off. I didn't speak. We drove home the back way through the countryside. Geezer told me when they took him into the room to strip him, they said they had seen him bite something from underneath his watch strap as I went into the dog room. He told them he kept Rennies there for indigestion. They said it would be on cctv. He said, good that way they would see it was Rennies. I could see now why Geezer had come with me. When he'd left the prison to wait for us Rat man had followed him out and said "Just off the record mate on a one to one, what was it then? Heroin? Crack?" . . .  "Rennies mate, Rennies"

He pulled into a field on the way home, downed a Special Brew in one, started throwing up from the car door, went into the field for a piss and seemed to score from somewhere. Two half t's (2 x 0.8g). He gave one to me but I didn't have any foil. We went straight to the nearest Spar. I needed that smoke. He needed another Brew.
I received a six month ban from all prisons. Then a year on closed visits (behind glass).

That's why I am nervous about getting into prison. I imagine all possibilities and impossibilities. I stay right away from everyone in the waiting area. One waiting area was rows of seating. I had on a hoodie. I thought what if the person behind me drops something into my hood to be retrieved in the visit room? My head goes crazy . . . I  go to the loo every 5 minutes, making myself look suspicious. I have no choice. I watch Hamper G in the play area of the waiting room. What if one of the parents tells their child to put this "sweety" in that girl's pocket? What if? And on it goes . . . No wonder I find visiting so stressful.