By Paul Howard
One man's tale of existence within the pleasure – compulsive, chilling and frank. A no-holds-barred account of a criminal's time within the infamous Dublin felony, as published to journalist Paul Howard. This awesome existence tale tells all of it. The determined way of life of a junkie; bullying and savage beatings one of the prisoners; creative drug-smuggling ploys; the despairing cry for support of a failed suicide try. yet along the soreness there's humour – from the hilarity of global Cup celebrations to the distraction of a pretty aerobics instructor, from bingeing on altar wine to the shortest-ever "hunger strike". the 1st ever glimpse of Mountjoy criminal – from the interior. Illustrated with black & white images.
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Additional resources for The Joy. Mountjoy Jail. The shocking, true story of life on the inside
Sample text
Sorry the result didn’t go your way but, as you know now, there’s a few of us in here are a bit handy at the auld ball. Still, it was a really enjoyable day and having you give us that little talk during the tea and biscuits, well, it made me feel a lot happier going back to me cell. I think I speak for most people in here, Father, when I say that meeting you was a big thrill and I hope we can do it again. By the way, will you ever get a grip? Your show is fucking brutal, man. Get off the air. I sign it “Ulick Magee”, slip it into an envelope and address it.
Yeh, he says, he’ll be getting gear in all right. Fuckin plenty of it. Hash, smack, acid, everything. Got contacts on the outside, he has. And share and share alike happens to be his motto, too. ” In here, that translates as “I’m definitely getting some gear in on Wednesday” and I make a note in me mind that Wednesday will be the day he gets his first bating. Within an hour of him coming back empty handed from his visit, two or three of his new friends will drag him into a cell and go over him with stainless-steel forks, nail-studded coshes and toothbrushes with blades melted into their handles.
We’d rather be over with our own kind. ” The two other guests duly arrived with their blankets and pillows. They saw their mattresses thrown out on the landing and started exchanging a bit of rapid-fire patter, which me and Redser didn’t understand. It’s like they have their own bleedin language or something, those knackers. I reckoned the upshot of it, though, was that we were going to get battered. ” Redser, who was too gargled to have any kind of feel for the guy’s tolerance level, just marched up to him, pushed his face right up close and started shouting: “I’ve nothing against knackers, right?
