Brian awoke to see weak daylight creeping through the window. Sheer
force of habit meant that he always woke up at the same time every day, and it
was only after a few seconds the he realized that it was New Year’s Day, and he
was entitled to a little extra lie-in. Not that this day would be particularly
special: he knew exactly what was going to happen. Certain people would wish
him a “Happy New Year”, and he would wish the same to them: others he would
attempt to avoid. After breakfast he would have a stroll outside. He always
tried to walk round the garden unless the weather was absolutely foul: not
that there would be anything much to see there at this time of year, but he
could at least reflect that in a few weeks little green shoots would be emerging from the
soil. And maybe he would see a few birds come down for the crumbs that he
always scattered. Then for the rest of the day he would read and watch
television, and maybe play the odd game of table tennis or pool with his mates. In fact, it
would be a day much like any other. The next day was just as predictable, and
the one after that. Another year in his life had ended, another was beginning.
The sheer sameness of each day,
and each week, might have preyed upon some minds, but Brian had become
accustomed to it, and it no longer bothered him. In a way, the unchanging
routine that stretched for years into the past, and ahead into the future, was
quite reassuring, and saved him having to think too much. Though of course, he
reflected, there could be some major change lurking in the coming year,
something beyond his control, which would upset all his routines. They might
even decide to transfer him to another prison.
.
