JonWo

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About JonWo

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About Me

  • About Me
    Wednesday Till I Die, Up The Owls!!
  1. I'm in my 29th year in charge at Sheff Wed
  2. There always seems to be a few world class African regens floating around at some point on my saves. I've currently got a Malawian international called Ben Mwanza (83 goals in 84 appearances for Malawi) in my Sheff Wed team. I didn't get him cheap (£25m) but Sunderland (who I purchased him from) got him for just 80k from Bullets FC.
  3. lol, yeah... I can't see many people paying for the privilege of writing you're content for you.
  4. Does anyone remember a Brazilian player called Djalminha for one of the earlier CM's? Possibly 99/00, 00/01 or 01/02, I can remember the exact version. Anyway, Balotelli is FM 11's version of him - an uncontrollable player who can be a match winner, but is generally more trouble than he's worth.
  5. I would be in theory, but especially for some of the lower league teams, it's difficult to find accurate player information (if any at all).
  6. Chapter 13: 24th July 2014 Moscow is in a state of bedlam; the streets are strewn with bodies, buildings have collapsed and the city’s citizens have been ordered to stay in their homes and keep their lights out. Huddled beside Dmitri in the basement of our recently purchased five bedroom townhouse, I felt a familiar wave of fear and anxiety sweep over me. For a few months, we had lead the good life; our business booming and our nation flourishing, we hadn’t a care in the world. But the Russian-North Korean alliance had begun to drift apart. With both countries basking in their reflective glories and assuming the war was won, they had taken their eye off the ball. The rogue state of Italy had been increasingly quiet over recent months and whilst this might have lead to a certain apprehension in the Kremlin; for the Average Joe on the street, it hadn’t been an issue. But now, with the decomposing bodies of those very Average Joe’s laying in the once thriving streets of Moscow, it was a solemn reminder of the true horrors of war. A war that was still very much alive and kicking. 26th July 2014 After a two day government imposed media-blackout, the television news channels have returned to our screens. Me and Dmitri had dared to step out of our basement and into our living room. Turning on the television we were relieved to hear that the Russian troops had managed to quell the attempted Italian uprising. We stared at the screen as our beloved leader, Mr Putin, delivered an address ordering a ’return to normality’. However, no sooner had his speech finished, than the news anchors cut to scenes of absolute carnage in downtown Moscow. The official number of dead was set at two thousand, but looking at the devastation and destruction on my screen, I couldn’t help but think that was a cautious estimate. 27th July 2014 The city of Moscow will never be the same again. The events of July 23rd 2014 will live long in the memory of all of us Russians. It is a day where the city lost many citizens, landmarks were destroyed, but most importantly, one of it’s main football clubs was brought to it‘s knees. The fans of Dynamo Moscow had the very hearts of their beings ripped out. The Petrovsky Park had been one of the areas worst hit and the Dynamo Stadium lay in tatters. The chairman Yuri Isayev and his fellow board members had been at the ground at the time and are presumed dead. 28th July 2014 I remained at home with Dmitri, dismayed at the devastation caused to my country. The news cut to heart rendering images of a small minority of Dynamo supporters huddled around the crumbled remains of the stadium which used to host their once great football club. ‘That’s a crying shame’ Dmitri said, ‘Dynamo used to be a massive club…’ ‘Indeed…’ I replied. ‘Those fans are some of the greatest and most loyal in all of the world. They live, breath and are willing to die for their football club’. ‘Dmitri’ I continued, pointing at the pictures of the Dinamo fans on the television screen ‘There is our fan base, those people are our potential millions and our chance to reinvent ourselves as footballing moguls’. With Dmitri nodding in a somewhat bemused appreciation, I spoke my mind ‘Dmitri, let’s pool our money together and purchase Dynamo. Under our tutelage, they can rule the world!’
  7. Chapter 12 3rd March 2013 The last two months have been a mixture of joy and sadness. My newly found freedom has proved to be both a blessing and a curse; in some ways I am a man without a direction and crave for the structured discipline of prison life. On the other, each day that passes brings new excitement and happiness. However, a part of me still feels somewhat unfulfilled. Myself and Dmitri have begun working as market traders on the streets of Moscow. By day we sell fruit and vegetables on our modest stall, but by night, we are both studying for Economics degrees at the city’s University. Despite being relatively poultry in comparison to the vast sums of money I used to earn, myself and Dmitri are both receiving decent wages from our market stall enterprise. Well, at least the profits were enough for us to move out of the dingy hotel we had once inhabited and into a semi-detached flat, just outside the town centre. 31st December 2013 As I bade an extremely fond farewell to 2013, I can only imagine what 2014 has in store for me and Dmitri. The Russian Ruble has gone from strength to strength, whilst all the other major European currencies are floundering. Having started our fruit and vegetable business on a mere market stall, we upgraded to a small warehouse in mid-August and hired a team of workers to do the more menial aspects of the job for us. 2nd February 2014 With Russia experiencing an economic boom like never before, I sat back in my new reclining office chair, with a huge grin across my face. Myself and Dmitri had just purchased our second warehouse and the money was really beginning to pile in. We were now one of Europe’s chief exporters of fresh produce and had large enough profit margins that we could afford to hand the responsibilities of the day to day managing of the company over to our newly hired management team. 5th June 2014 ‘The King has returned to his throne’ Dmitri said as we sat outside a local bar in downtown Moscow, drinking shots of vodka. ‘Not quite yet, Dmitri’ I replied, ‘But we are getting there; the Roman Empire wasn’t built in a day and neither will Roman’s Empire. We had the world in the palms of our hands five years ago, Dmitri and now I want that back’. ‘What do you mean boss?’ came Dmitri’s confused response. ‘We can’t go back to Fulham’ he replied ‘the allied forces won’t let us’. ‘Not Fulham!!’ I bellowed back at him, thumping my fist onto the table and sending Dmitri’s drink flying, ‘I never want to here that club’s name mentioned in my presence again!’. 23rd July 2014 Ah, what an age to live in and what a time to be a young - well, relatively young - free and single man in Russia. With the city bathed in a haze of Sunshine and the temperature reaching thirty degrees; I stroll down the main high-street of Moscow city centre, decked out in a pristine Armani suit, attracting more than my fair share of admiring glances from the young ladies. With a self assured smile on my face, I headed towards what was the unofficial headquarters of mine and Dmitri’s business enterprise. However, as I approached the building, my swaggering stride was broken by the sound of an almighty boom that jolted me off the ground. This was followed by four or five more deafening explosions and before I could even begin to comprehend what was going on, the entire city seemed to be encapsulated by fierce heat and chokingly thick and dense black smoke.
  8. Chapter 11 January 4th 2013 Finally, I was home. As I stepped out of Sheremetyevo International Airport and felt the ice-cold wind pound into my face, I found myself smiling for the first time in many-a-month. This most certainly wasn’t the Moscow I had left in the late 1990’s; the city was now the cultural and economic epicentre of the world. January 5th 2013 As I sit in my dingy hotel room, typing this message via a decidedly shaky wi-fi internet connection in one of Moscow’s poorest districts; staring at my black and white television screen, watching the news. My attention is drawn in by the male news anchor as he begins to talk about the latest sports news. “Tomorrow at 5pm, the Russian Premier League draft will begin. The best football players from around the world will be allocated to teams in Russia and millions of our loyal subjects will tune in to see this televisual spectacular take place”. The Russian military, having conquered all of Europe, bar mainland Italy, have forcefully removed all of the star players from Europe’s top teams to terminate their existing contracts with their respective clubs and tomorrow, they will be conscripted to the Russian Premier League. Making it the premier football league in the entire world. January 6th 2013 Today is the big day and I am staring at the television intently as the presenters explain the rules for the forthcoming ‘Russian Premier League Draft‘. - Each Premier League team will be able to choose five players from a previously determined list to draft into their squad - They must select one goalkeeper and four outfield players from the list, to add to their existing squad. - Only players from the conquered regions of Europe are permitted The Conquered Regions: - Great Britain - Spain - Germany - France - Portugal - Holland - Belgium - Sweden - Denmark - Norway - Poland As the glitzy opening ceremony got under way and I sat on the edge of my bed, eagerly awaiting the draw. Vladimir Putin himself, made his way onto the stage and stood in the middle of two large tom bolas - one containing the name of the seventy players in the draw and the other, the name of one of the sixteen Russian Premier League teams. The Teams: Alania Vladikavkaz Amkar Perm Anzhi Makhachkala CSKA Moscow Dynamo Moscow FC Rostov Krylia Sovetov Samara Lokomotiv Moscow Rubin Kazan Saturn Moscow Oblast Sibir Novosibirsk Spartak Moscow Spartak Nalchik Terek Grozny Tom Tomsk Zenit St. Petersburg The Draft Picks: Goalkeepers Alania Vladikavkaz - Jose Manuel Reina Amkar Perm - Heurelho Gomes Anzhi Makhachkala - Manuel Neuer CSKA Moscow - Victor Valdes Dynamo Moscow - Rene Adler FC Rostov - Maarten Stekelenburg Krylia Sovetov Samara - Edwin van der Sar Lokomotiv Moscow - Steve Manadana Rubin Kazan - Mark Schwarzer Saturn Moscow Oblast - Hugo Lloris Sibir Novosibirsk - Ben Foster Spartak Moscow - Petr Cech Spartak Nalchik - Craig Gordon Terek Grozny - Iker Casillas Tom Tomsk - David De Gea Zenit St. Petersburg - Joe Hart As each player and corresponding club were drawn out of the two tom bolas, the news feeds cut to various bars scattered around the country, with reporters on hand to gauge the fans’ reaction to their teams latest acquisition. The loudest cheer by far, was in Moscow, as the Spartak fans celebrated the capture of the world class Cezch Republic international, Petr Cech. Still, the drafting of the goalkeepers was a mere appetiser to the main course of the outfield players and a veritable deluge of top notch talent. This really was must-see tv for any true football fan and the natives were becoming restless, as the anticipation grew for the final stage of the draft, with each of the sixteen teams gaining four new outfield players. The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 1 Alania Vladikavkaz - Cesc Fabregas Amkar Perm - Wayne Rooney Anzhi Makhachkala - Ronaldinho CSKA Moscow - Cristiano Ronaldo Dynamo Moscow - David Villa FC Rostov - Xavi Krylia Sovetov Samara - Romelu Lukaku Lokomotiv Moscow - Frank Lampard Rubin Kazan - Lionel Messi Saturn Moscow Oblast - Gonzalo Higuain Sibir Novosibirsk - Robin van Pesie Spartak Moscow - Luis Fabiano Spartak Nalchik - Steven Gerrard Terek Grozny - Sergio Aguero Tom Tomsk - Fernando Torres Zenit St. Petersburg - Andres Iniesta The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 2 Alania Vladikavkaz - Edin Dzeko Amkar Perm - Nemanja Vidic Anzhi Makhachkala - Carlos Tevez CSKA Moscow - Bastian Schweinstager Dynamo Moscow - Luka Modric FC Rostov - Juan Manuel Mata Krylia Sovetov Samara - Thomas Muller Lokomotiv Moscow - David Silva Rubin Kazan - Gareth Bale Saturn Moscow Oblast - Arjen Robben Sibir Novosibirsk - Yoann Gourcuff Spartak Moscow - Mesut Ozil Spartak Nalchik - Kaka Terek Grozny - Franck Ribery Tom Tomsk - Karim Benzema Zenit St. Petersburg - Philipp Lahm The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 3 Alania Vladikavkaz - Daniel Alves Amkar Perm - Javier Mascherano Anzhi Makhachkala - Patrice Evra CSKA Moscow - Diego Dynamo Moscow - Nilmar FC Rostov - Luis Suarez Krylia Sovetov Samara - Jack Wilshere Lokomotiv Moscow - Sergio Canales Rubin Kazan - Aaron Ramsey Saturn Moscow Oblast - Welliton Sibir Novosibirsk - Nicolas Anelka Spartak Moscow - Gabriel Agbonlahor Spartak Nalchik - Toni Kroos Terek Grozny - Didier Drogba Tom Tomsk - Gervinho Zenit St. Petersburg - Ashley Young The Draft Picks: The Final Four: Round 4 Alania Vladikavkaz - Emmanuel Adebayor Amkar Perm - Darijo Srna Anzhi Makhachkala - Miralem Pjanic CSKA Moscow - Diego Forlan Dynamo Moscow - Angel Di Maria FC Rostov - Eljero Elia Krylia Sovetov Samara - Rio Ferdinand Lokomotiv Moscow - Pepe Rubin Kazan - Pedro Saturn Moscow Oblast - Dimitar Berbatov Sibir Novosibirsk - Adam Johnson Spartak Moscow - James Milner Spartak Nalchik - Samir Nasri Terek Grozny - Carles Puyol Tom Tomsk - Florent Malouda Zenit St. Petersburg - John Terry What a line up it was; the crème de la crème of world football, on my doorstep. As well as being the dominant force in world politics, we were now destined to become the dominant force in world football and despite being fresh off the back of the most hellacious eighteen months of my life… I wanted to be a part of it.
  9. Chapter 10 October 1st 2012 It’s like World War III out hear and I’m running for my life. Britain has been invaded by the North Koreans, in cohorts with Vladamir Putin’s Russia and we are very much on the back foot. Belmarsh prison has been obliterated; the cell in which I once stood is no longer standing. With the system in disarray; the Koreans and Russians dropping bombs and running rough-shod over our democratic freedoms, I am at a loose end. I was a prisoner of the state and that state was in England. The former inmates were deserting Belmarsh in their droves and I watched on in horror as they dispersed onto the streets and began looting and pillaging the local stores. October 4th 2012 The hospitals have been closed; the airports, sea-ports, roads and motorways have been shut off to the general public. England is in the midst of the worst crisis the country has ever faced. Marshall law is in place; the countries residents are under a strict curfew’s and the government has begun rationing food, gas and electrical supplies. Myself and Dmitri are a law unto ourselves. Stuck on the M1 motorway without any means of escape, we are essentially waiting for the cruel grasp of death to pull us in. ‘Stick your hand out, Dmitri. Hopefully some kind soul will pick us up’ I said, as Dmitri beckoned for someone, anyone to find us. However, with no food, sustenance or acquaintances, we appeared to be doomed… October 8th 2012 ‘Hallelujah! Salvation!!’. A lone long distance lorry driver has answered our prayers. Picking up both myself and Dmitri, we offered the man a reward. ‘We have 600 pounds between us. Take us to the East Midlands airport and it is all yours…’ October 9th 2012 We arrived at the East Midlands airport with the sounds of mortar shells and heavy artillery ringing in our ears. The Koreans and Russians were advancing and the once great British Empire was on the brink of collapse. I sat in the airport check-in lounge and stared on in horror as I watched each and every television channel turn to static. First was the BBC; the Korean’s had never been in favour of free-speech and their bombing of BBC head-quarters would prove to be a focal point of the war. ITV went next and then Sky. The images I was seeing were more befitting of an Oscar winning war film , than modern day Britain, but still anarchy continued to reign… ***** January 1st 2013 Today sees the beginning of a brave new world. The Russian-Korea alliance continues to exert it’s dominance over global politics. The Former Democratic Republic of Great Britain is now at the mercy of the Kremlin and yet here me and my faithful companion - Dmitri - stand. Together as one. January 3rd 2013 As I watched the ground disappear beneath me and looked up into the night-time sky, I knew I had made the right decision. Only in Russia could a man truly be free.
  10. Chapter 9: 4th Septmeber 2012 “Ahhh, Dmitri, my faithful companion” I said as I roused from my slumber in my hospital bed, placing my hand on his face. “This wasn’t the way it was meant to be…” However, the doctors had me dosed up to the eyeballs on painkillers and before Dmitri could respond, I drifted out of consciousness again. 14th September 2012 Today is a big day for me… a happy day. The first happy day I have had in a long time. I’ve been given a clean bill of health by the doctors and I am returning to Belmarsh Prison. But that’s not the reason I am happy - although I thank my Lord and saviour Jesus Christ for every day that I am alive. The reason I am in such exuberant spirits today is that my closest friend, my confidant, Dmitri, will be my new cell mate. No longer will I have to live every second of my life, constantly looking over my shoulder. I just pray that now, I can find a little piece within myself and try and see out the rest of my days relatively contented. 20th September 2012 The sirens and alarms blared inside the prison as the officers began shouting ‘Lockdown! Lockdown! Lock the joint down’. Myself and all the other prisoners didn’t have a clue what was going on, but I knew that it must have been something serious. I stared out from behind the barred doors of mine and Dmitri’s cell, as I watched the prison officers frantically racing backwards and forwards, fire extinguishers in hand and guns drawn. ‘This is a ‘code red’, I repeat ‘code red, all personnel to the main entrance’ one officer shouted into his radio. Almost instantaneously, the entire prison was overcome by the police SWAT teams and an unfamiliar looking group dressed in camouflage attire. ‘Secure the perimeter’ another shouted, as the AK-47 toting officers began dispersing. ‘What the **** is going on?’ came the cry from the cell adjacent to me, “Shut up, maggot…” 21st September 2012 A national state of emergency has been declared! The English have been invaded by currently unknown forces and my prison block is in a state of absolute bedlem. I have felt the aftershocks of many explosions rippling throughout my cell and with every moment that goes by, my weak heart threatens to give out. 22nd September 2011 The officers have finally unlocked our cells, but I’m more worried about the fact that they have all deserted their posts. The prison block is little more than a desolated waste-ground now and it’s very much the law of the jungle. Know-one knows what is going on, but everyone is scared. The ground around me is erupting before my eyes and fragments of cement flying everywhere. It would seem that we have been left to fend for ourselves in a land devoid of law and condemned by those who once enforced that law. The one question still praying on my mind and that of those around me though was, why and what exactly is going on…?
  11. Chapter 8: Dmitri ‘Wake up boss, wake up!” I wailed, leaning over his hospital bed. Roman was in a coma; his attempt to hang himself had initially proved to be unsuccessful, but staring down at his lifeless body; hooked up to all those machines, he may as well have been dead The boss I had once known was now gone and all I could do was pray that he would pull through. I regailed in horror at the stories the prison officers had told me about his first year in incarceration. ‘Not my boss!’ I shouted, ‘He wouldn’t have taken no **** from any fags, let alone what your saying’. Me and Roman together; that’s what I will always remember. The Emperors of Craven Cottage; two visionaries, way before their time and two visionaries who had the gumption to do away with an individual who had outlasted his stay at our football club. As the incessant bleeping of the bosses heart monitor continued, I couldn’t help but imagine how life might have been, if not for that pesky Wolstenholme. Fulham had qualified for the Champions League during the season that me and Roman had been incarcerated, but that twenty million pound bounty that comes with the entrance to Europe’s premiere club competition could have set the both of us up for life. What a fickle mistress fate is… and whilst I will never regret my actions in disposing of that stubborn old fool, I do regret that I was eventually caught. ***** The months passed, but I refused to leave Roman’s side, I had always been an obedient servant and no matter how hard life had become for me inside, I had always stood tall; never backed down from a fight and always remained true to my heritage. The black, Hispanic and Aryan gangs held no allure for me, I was a soldier to the end. A Chervenkov soldier and I would not let anything or anyone overcome my Moscovite spirit. ***** From unresponsive to responsive, to ‘clinically dead’ to being in with a ‘fighting chance’, Roman’s body never let out on him. He was a Russian after all! I was delighted to be by his side on that fateful day in mid August of 2012 when the king-pin finally regained consciousness. The doctors had given him forty-eight hours to live, but Roman had never been the kind to lay down and suffer his fate; he was a born fighter and as I listened to his heartbeat, as it grew stronger and stronger, I felt a glimmer of hope that the boss I had once known, might finally be able to return to his throne.
  12. Cheers, been posting this story on another forum, but have neglected to keep up with my updates on here. Chapter 7: 11th April 2011 “Get off me! Get of me you ****ing queer…” 12th April 2011 “No, no, not again. Leave me alone, we’re supposed to have each other’s backs. Stop it… no… NO…. NOOOOO!!” 17th April 2011 “Resistance is futile. ‘Take it again you little bitch’, Jeffran squealed, his newly found harem, pinning me face first into my mattress. Jeffran let out another shrill cackle as he pushed himself away from me, ‘Make me do your laundry, will you, bitch… The balance of power between me and my cell-mate had very much shifted.” 19th April 2011 “Dear Diary, I have reached my very lowest ebb and I can take no more. I entered this prison a proud man, but I am now resigned to leaving both this squalid cell and putrid existence as a man, broken. Broken by my inmates and broken by the system”. 20th April 2011 “Dear Diary, With my belt buckled tightly around my neck, I bid this mortal world goodbye. I have had a fair run, I only hope that the prison guards (who I presume are reading this), will grant me my final wish. Please, please… do not let my cowardly death be known to my friends and family. I had really tried to make a life for myself on the inside, but my cell-mates have made my existence intolerable. I want… in my final hours on this Earth to say sorry to Mr. Al-Fayed for the pain and suffering I have caused him and I also want to say sorry to Dmitri - wherever he may be - for leaving him to fend for his self. Most of all, I want to say sorry to Fulham football club; their fans and that manager of theirs, whom I’m sure you all remember the name of.” With tears filling my eyes, I stood on top of my bunk bed, my belt tied around my neck and leapt forward… 21st April 2011 “…”
  13. 5th, just missed out on the Europa League /o\
  14. Chapter 6: “29 March 2011” I scrawled, before taking a step back to admire my handy-work. “It ain’t getting any better now, is it? Let’s be honest… I’m out of solitary and back into the general population. I’ll cling to those happy memories of the one night I spent alone in my room before my new cell-mate arrived. Gone was Stefan and a big Belmarsh ‘Hello!’ to Jeffran. My new fellow incarceratee (not a real word, I know). You’ll realise that the prior sentence wasn’t filled with mentions of fear, dread and worry. The main reason for this was that Jeffran was that most peculiar of prison inmates, he wasn’t a man in the sense that me and you would imagine. Jeffran was a transexual, a lady boy, if you will. I took one look at him, eye-balling him as he stood clutching his pillow and blanket and almost struggled to stifle my laughter. ‘Your gonna get eaten alive inside here” I cackled, as the cell door slammed shut.” “3 April 2011” “It’s nice to not be the bottom-bitch for a change. Jeffran doesn’t tell me what to do, I tell him. ‘Wash my clothes! Pass me my food! Do my laundry’ I would shout and Jeffran would hesitantly cater to my every whim. It got to the stage where I almost felt sorry for him. As we headed to the lunch room one afternoon; him following a few steps behind me, as was prison etiquette, showing who was the dominant individual in the relationship, Jeffran seemed to be enjoying all the cat calls and wolf whistles his feminine physique was attracting. ‘Come by my cell anytime baby’, ‘I’ll show you a good time’, ‘I’ll make you love me long time’. ‘Ergh!’ I said, contorting my face in disgust, as Jeffran shook his ass in recognition of the come-ons. Jeffran, showing a new found sense of confidence replied ‘You wish you could handle all of this bay-bee. Everybody loves meee’ he continued, ‘You’re my main man though, kisses’ he said blowing me an air kiss and then giggling like a school girl. I had no words, I felt like punching the ******. As if the prison food wasn’t enough for my delicate constitution to contend with, I now had this camp monstrosity to try and keep at bay.”
  15. Chapter 5: My heart raced as I barged my way past the two armed officers who were guarding the entrance to Belmarsh prison and a feeling of dread sank in as I crashed into the electric fence surrounding the compound. My body convulsed as the electric current surged throughout my torso, before I slumped lifelessly onto the unforgiving tarmac pathway. ***** As the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, I slowly began to recover from the injuries which my prison doctor said would have ‘killed most men’. A born survivor, that was me. But having had my sentence extended by another five years as punishment for my attempted escape, I was spiralling into a pit of despair… one I would never get out of. I spent most days confined to my hospital bed, gorging on fast food and watching my television - a concession not afford to you in prison. My weight sky-rocketed and my once muscular frame had withered away into a mound of flabby sagging skin. For a few fleeting moments as the burgers and chocolate passed my lips, I would feel happy. My nurses told me I would make a full recovery and all my external injuries would heal, but I knew that the psychological toll that the last year had taken on me would never go away. Stories of my attempted jail-break had made headline news around the world. As I laid in bed at night, I would listen to the radio phone-in shows. With my mental stability on the decline, I took a sick pride in my own infamy as I listened to my once fellow Cottagers phone-in deriding me and demanding retribution. “Bring back the death-penalty” one enraged caller demanded. Quite frankly, at that particular moment in time, death would have been a sweet release from my hellish existence. ***** My decline continued but the doctors had deemed me fit enough to recommence my fifteen year stint inside. The prison officers had not taken kindly to my attempted escape and the media attention it had attracted. They sent me straight back to solitary confinement. “See you in three months” one sneered as he pushed me face first into that oh so familiar pitch black tomb. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried like a baby during my first night back in the hole. I wanted to end it all, I wanted the blessed relief that was death, but I had no means of taking my own life. The guards would intentionally ‘forget’ to pass me my meal trays and as the days passed, starvation was getting the better of me. My flabby reserves were being eaten away and my body was becoming emaciated. In my starved state my mind began to wander and I would have hallucinations at night and couldn’t sleep. During one of my worst episodes I would see the spectre of Jonathan appear before me. “Why? Why? Why?” his ghostly figure uttered… before fading away. His image continued to haunt me. I felt helpless. With the prison officers ignoring my screams and vivid night terrors, I finally snapped. It was during what might have been my third week in solitary where I picked up a stone off the floor and began digging it into the wall. Scrawling, trying to leave my indent as chalk residue fell onto the floor. I began, “24 March 2011”… Barely decipherable though my etchings were, I continued to write on the wall with the stone “Life inside this place is hell, if there is a God, please let him take me now…”