Dear Diary
‘NOW Jeffrey Archer is out we can ask him what he knows about those ‘sexed-up’ dossiers. As head of MI5 (1939-45), the so-called First Man knows a thing or two about intelligence.
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| ‘Now, Jeffrey. No jokes about my pussy’ |
But we’ll have to ask him tomorrow, since he spent the better part of his first day out, after 730 days on an undercover mission to examine the state of Britain’s penal system first hand, breathing the sweet air of freedom.
It’s 8:17am. The Guardian tracks Big Brother winner Jeffrey’s long walk to publicity as the gates of HMP Hollesley Bay, Suffolk, are thrown open.
Blinking in the harsh sunlight, Jeffrey looks like a white Nelson Mandela in a shirt and tie.
He slinks off into a waiting car and arrives back in Grantchester, Cambridgeshire, at around 10am.
There, Mary ‘Winnie’ Archer offers her husband her line-free right cheek to kiss and smiles as wide as her facelift allows.
The Guardian hears locals shout outside Jeffrey’s compound. Jeffrey moves inside. The locals look to the Press and shout, ‘Bastards!’ The Press laugh.
Jeffrey and Mary then travel to London where he meets a representative of the Probation Service in Brixton. It’s opposite a Portuguese snack bar. Jeffrey then returns home to his Thames-side penthouse.
It’s 4:45pm and the Guardian sees Mary visit her husband’s London flat. It’s just gone 6pm and the Independent watches Mary leave for a reception at Buckingham Palace. Jeffrey goes to visit a London art gallery.
Jeffrey’s vivid pictures of sunflowers are the toast of the art world and, after casting his expert eye over an exhibition of more than 400 watercolours and oils, he leaves for Belgravia.
He enjoys a ‘good meal’ at Anton Mosimann’s eponymous restaurant before leaving after 11pm.
What he does next is up to anyone’s imagination. We could ask Jeffrey but, what with his track record of perjury and perverting the course of justice, it’s doubtful we’d believe what he told us.
‘
Posted: 22nd, July 2003 | In: Broadsheets Comment | TrackBack | Permalink
