Apologies! I began the articles, the blogs, this week with the promise that I would reveal how relatively easy it is to give up some of the tastes we have enjoyed for much of our lives, and in my case, more years than I can remember.
|Locked away ... Life, everything, changes in prison. Photo by kyryll ushakov on Unsplash|
As you probably guess, it wasn’t for health reasons such as when the GP says no more sugar and jam.
Circumstance dictated, and dictate, the need. But, contrary to what I expected, giving up many favourite foods was surprisingly simple. Very soon, I didn’t miss them.
The cause, the need to adjust the diet came from injustice, and it’s more than likely that suffering injustice helped enormously with coping.
Get stuck in a prison cell for eight years and 14 days, and a change of diet and tastes loses any importance.
|Belmarsh, Hellmarsh ... After sentence, I learned here that the sentence just handed down to me was longer than an airliner hijacker's whose bombing took 259 lives.|
The enforced diet was helped, too, by the shock of being found guilty for smuggling drugs, which I am sure the prosecution knew I didn't do.
It hurts to be betrayed by a system I had believed in for all my life.
|The truth is that not only did I not do it, I couldn’t have done it for at least two excellent reasons, which the prosecution knew, although only admitted it near the end of the in-camera trial. I was sailing alone when the mainsail suddenly ripped almost in two ... I could sail only downwind, and downwind meant sailing south, certainly not northwards to home.|
I was sailing towards Britain alone when the mainsail suddenly ripped almost in two in the Bay of Biscay. It meant I could sail only downwind, and downwind meant sailing south, certainly not northwards to home.
Eventually, the prosecution had to admit that I sailed no closer than eleven hundred-plus sea miles offshore.
They grudgingly admitted, too, that the yacht had been searched most aggressively twice in St Lucia, only two weeks or so earlier.
And as I tell in Sailing to Purgatory, the yacht had been not just searched by the most aggressive Customs men I have had the displeasure of dealing with, but was completely emptied by them, too.
Of course, no drugs were found because I am not a smuggler.
Cynics might scoff
Cynics might scoff that if I defied Tricky Dicky’s drugs law, I was fortunate indeed to have had the sentence reduced to nearly 3,000 days.
The experience helped with dieting needs – for the prosecution stole almost all my life savings and possessions, including my wonderful yacht – but it certainly didn’t give me any respect for non-sensical drugs laws.
Devious Tricky Dicky’s version of Prohibition is an affront to thinking humans, just as alcohol Prohibition proved to be.
Oops, oh dear, here I am still not passing on the advice about dieting, which certainly isn’t recommending prison to make it easier.
Cross my fingers to offer the advice tomorrow ….