Words almost fail me.
The disorderly potato lay on the floor all night hiccoughing loudly.
That I should be expected to share a cell with such a lout is beyond belief. The warders found it all most amusing and kept shouting through the bars : “Are you still mashed matey?” and then they all roared with laughter.
I , of course, kept my dignity and my sanity, by sitting bolt upright on my tortuous bed reciting dramatic lines from Well Known Poems. Then, at seven in in the morning, as our meagre breakfast was shoved unceremoniously into the cell, the wretched vegetable sat up, grinned and slurred:
“Hi, I’m Spud, who are you?”
Spud! What kind of a name is that! I gave him my most withering look.
“I am a well known Egg, tap dancer, opera singer and raconteur. My name is Egg O. You will doubtless have heard of me.”
“Nope!” he said cheerily. “What are you in for mate?
Now it’s one thing to be languishing in a cell, cruelly and unfairly punished for driving just a teeny bit fast, it’s quite another to be forced to communicate with a loutish over friendly potato.
But there was no stopping him. All day he bombarded me with questions and when he wasn’t doing that he danced a jig until at last, worn down by his enthusiasm and jollity I gave in.
Jumping down from my bed I pirouetted lightly on my toes and joined him in a merry dance and when the warders came to take away the plates they found us balancing them on our heads and singing.
By the end of the day I found myself feeling a strange affinity with Spud and decided to tell him about my plan.
My plan to escape!