Ok, admit it!...I've done stretch in prison...about and hour and a half all told, including remission for a good appetite.
A winding switchback road climbs higher and higher up the side of the Isle of Portland until finally the forbidding stone gates of the Verne prison rise up in front of you.
Passing through the grim stone portal you emerge onto a plateau at the Island's very highest point; here is journey's end. The Jailhouse Cafe is an enlightened venture which gives risk-assessed prison inmates a feel for worthwhile work in the community.
Though the cafe is no gourmet experience the food is adequate and staff are helpful to a T. Each and every one seems built like a brick s**t house, pumped up to bursting, presumably as a result of long hours heaving weights in the prison gym.
On a fine day the views from the lawn are breathtaking, stretching all the way to the Purbecks shimmering in the blue distance, while below massive granite breakwaters girdle Portland harbour; another communal convict effort but of an earlier age.
What on earth would those Victorians lags breaking the granite for the breakwaters far below have thought of their present day heirs mincing around balancing a cappuccino in each paw?...
On a fine day the views from the lawn are breathtaking, stretching all the way to the Purbecks shimmering in the blue distance, while below massive granite breakwaters girdle Portland harbour; another communal convict effort but of an earlier age.
What on earth would those Victorians lags breaking the granite for the breakwaters far below have thought of their present day heirs mincing around balancing a cappuccino in each paw?...
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