Porridge

Your honour.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.

I admit to being a hacker.

But I wore that black hat proudly.

Mine was a victimless crime,

unless you regard the corporate world as victims.

It was my outrage against that bastion of venality and corruption

that put me in this dock today.

Remember 2008?

Financial meltdown?

All those innocent people lost their homes and savings.

Outrage and indignation.

This is completely irrelevant, your honour.

I agree. Mr Fletcher, could you please...

Contain my anger, sir?

No, I cannot. Not even today.

But I would like to add one thing.

In all the years of my alleged transgressions,

I donated over £48,000 to charity.

Which charities were these?

Save The Polar Bears...

Doctors Without Orders

and Orphans In Mali.

Bali.

Donations made on credit cards that were fraudulently accessed

by Mr Fletcher in the first place.

I call that giving back.

Nigel Norman Fletcher,

you have been found guilty of the charges brought against you.

A man of your obvious ingenuity and intelligence

might have used his gifts on behalf of society.

Instead you chose to employ them in a pursuit of self-indulgence,

greed and gain.

You will now face the consequences and go to prison for five years.

Fried bread or porridge?

Well, I was thinking more yoghurt, organic blueberries,

sugar-free granola and soya milk.

Is that gluten-free?

Naff off.

Didn't think so.

What's up, Fletch?

You ask me that every morning, Shel.

What's up? Nothing's up.

Today will be the same as yesterday and the day before that.

I will eat this inedible breakfast, spend six hours making lobster pots,

walk the yard, skip the gym and then go to my cell and read two chapters

of I Did It My Way by Sepp Blatter.

He might be in here soon, I should think.

No, he'll be in some mint nick up in the Alps

having muesli for breakfast.

-Richie Weeks.

-What about him?

He's in the room.

He's come to get his grub, i'nt he?

No, people take HIM his grub.

Oh, he's coming towards us, bro.

I don't think he likes me.

What are you staring at?

I wasn't, honest.

He was just saying, Weeksy, how much he admires your new Asda trainers.

You think I bought these at Asda?

These are custom made.

Undernourished children have to work 12 hour shifts

in the sweatshops of Manila so I can wear these.

It's just banter.

Men have died for less.

Got a problem, need a word.

Later.

Ladies.

I think he took umbrage.

It was you who mugged off his trainers, Fletch.

I never said a word. Can you talk to him? He likes you.

He doesn't like anyone.

Yeah, but you got respect.

You stole more money than all the lags in this place put together.

Right, you know how it works in here,

no-one does nothing for nothing.

-What do you need?

-Well, I don't smoke snout.

I don't smoke wacky baccy.

I don't do drugs or steroids.

And I don't want sexual favours off a 6ft cross-dresser called Dave.

That don't leave much.

You'll think of something.

Oh-oh, kanga, nine o'clock.

Shift yourselves, you two.

I haven't finished my brekkie.

Well, go and finish it somewhere else.

Question for you, Fletcher.

You'll have to be quick, Mr Braithwaite -

I don't want to be late for my napkin folding class.

It's in your area of expertise.

Oh, horticultural flamenco?

-Computers.

-Hold on, I am banned from access to all electronic devices.

It's just a simple question, all right?

It's my iPod - my laptop doesn't recognise it.

Well, have they been properly introduced?

Come on, be serious.

Well, maybe it doesn't like your taste in music.

-What have you got on there?

-Let's see.

Mariah Carey's Greatest Hits...

-I've got Riverdance.

-Well, that's your problem right there, innit?

Look, it was working last week.

Check the cable is free of debris at the contacts,

make sure iTunes is up to date and, erm...

And?

And you know the system, Mr Braithwaite,

tit for tat.

I'm not going to pay you, Fletcher.

A token of your appreciation, then.

Something that's no skin off your back but would be a luxury to me.

How about two ribeye steaks and a hacksaw?

Not sure how you've managed a single-occupancy cell

the last three weeks, Fletcher.

Good luck or bribery?

Solitude's been very beneficial to me, Mr Meekie -

gave me the chance to contemplate the error of my ways.

And I didn't have to share the bog paper.

A state of affairs which is coming abruptly to an end.

You'll have a bottom-bunker by this evening.

You can't be serious.

It's not my worst nightmare moving in, is it?

A head-banger with halitosis?

You've had a good run. Get over it.

You've got it in for me, ain't you?

Is that why I still don't have a telly in my cell?

Television is a privilege, Fletcher,

and you haven't earned it yet.

I don't understand your attitude, Mr Meekie.

I'm doing a five but I'll be gone after three.

Keep my nose clean, bide my time, no dramas.

I'm not buying it, Fletcher.

First time I saw you, I knew...

I knew it in my water.

That one's a one to watch.

I know you're at it and I will bring you down if I ever catch you

up to something larcenous.

-Then I won't, Mr Meekie.

-Won't what?

Let you catch me.

-What do you want?

-I've got it, Fletch.

-I'll teach you to dance.

-Who says I can't?

I'm not talking about that Strictly Come Dancing ballroom crap.

I'm talking about hip-hop.

Why would I want that?

I don't expect you to Stanky Leg or Cat Daddy, not straight off.

That's a relief.

Basic moves, man.

See that?

It's like I'm trying to shake water out my ear.

Look, you work in the kitchens.

You want me to speak to Weeksy? Nick me a tin of pineapple chunks.

I can do that.

You having a seizure?

All right, Scuddsy? No, I was just trying to shake water out my ear.

Weeksy says gym.

After work.

Stop messing about, sit down.

Right, listen. I'm up for parole next month.

You'd think it would be a formality.

Scamming VAT on a cellphone fiddle?

White-collar crime, innit?

So why you doing your bird in a C-class prison, Rich?

Well, I've got testimonials supporting my case -

lawyer, local priest.

But there is this whole other bunch sending vindictive,

malicious e-mails about my family connections.

And my family's got a bit of a savage rap, yeah?

Yeah, right. A tightly-knit criminal coalition who have spread their

tentacles of evil over the greater Manchester area with a foothold

in drugs, money-laundering and extortion.

You looking for a clump, Fletch?

I'm quoting Wikipedia.

Wikipedia? Really?

How's about that, Scuddsy, eh?

Bustin'.

I don't see how I can help.

Well, all this stuff's on my file.

If you could get into the system, you could expunge it.

You're the IT genius, right?

I don't have access, Weeksy. You know my situation -

they won't even allow me an electric toothbrush.

Tell me what you need, I'll make sure you get it.

-Let me think about it, OK?

-No time for that.

Clock is ticking.

Well, I suppose, if there was some way to get me a smartphone.

Not impossible.

I will need a couple of other things.

Off the top of my head - copper wire, duct tape,

an N-type male connector, and an inductive coupler adapter.

That's an awful lot to get up one bloke's rectum.

Can I help you?

-Who are you?

-Who am I?

I live here. The top bunk's mine, is that understood?

Not that you look as if you could climb up, anyway. How old are you?

76.

Hope you're not going to be up all night with an iffy prostate,

cos I like my kip.

What's your name?

Joe Lotterby.

Sorry, Joe. I wasn't expecting company.

To be honest, I'm not overjoyed.

Can you confirm that you're none of the following...

A - a hypochondriac.

B - a religious freak.

C - a homicidal psycho.

Or D, a Millwall supporter.

Hull City.

Tolerable.

Just.

What's your name?

Fletcher. People call me Fletch.

-That's funny.

-What's funny?

Well, I knew a Fletcher called Fletch.

Yeah, 40 years ago, or thereabouts.

Slade, it was.

Hold on, my grandad was doing time around then.

Some nick up north.

That's it, Slade. Desperate place.

Is he still with us?

No, he died five years ago.

He never went back inside, though.

Nor did his celly - he married my aunt.

I remember him an' all.

-Young Goober.

-Godber.

That's the one, yeah.

Butter wouldn't melt.

Yeah, well, Godber felt he owed him.

He made a bit and set him up in a pub in North London.

A real pub, you know, for geezers.

Then it got taken over and turned into a gastropub.

Now it's all Chilean sea bass and shaved fennel salad.

What's all that about, eh?

I don't know what a fennel is, or why anybody would want to shave it.

Lockdown, ten seconds!

Counting.

Oh, I can't get used to these automated doors.

I never thought I'd miss the jangle of keys and the screw's ugly mug

through the bars.

All amounts to the same thing, Joe.

We're still banged up.

Society has to extract its petty revenge, however inhumane as it may be.

Don't get bitter, son, just do your time and move on.

Well, I mean, will you? It's not any of my business

why you're in here, but...

Oh, it was a heist, you know, wages van.

I were the driver, I hit a bloke and he died two weeks later.

It were manslaughter at worst but they threw the book at me.

Innocent bystander?

No, it was one of ours,

he were putting his balaclava on and I backed into him.

That's rough justice.

His widow was very understanding, though.

Took it well, then?

She married me three months later.

Stella - she's got a tanning salon in Redcar.

Trouble is she's my age,

so if I do get out I won't be in a rush to open the Viagra.

The screws are watching Weeksy like a hawk.

Group therapy, 4 o'clock.

-I don't need therapy.

-Oh, yes you do.

And what you wanted will be under a chair.

No, no, it's my wife what had the problem, not me.

I mean, I was never a user.

Took a little Nurofen if I had a cold, but...

But, you were buying drugs for her, Shel.

Yeah, course I was, I didn't want some skanky dealer ripping her off.

It's called enabling.

Oh, you're the same as everyone else, trying to say it's my fault.

Fletcher, what are you doing here?

Well, I've got problems like everyone else, Doctor Marsden.

Very well, take a seat.

Now, you need to learn to draw boundaries, Shel,

otherwise the pattern will repeat itself.

Your wife will never have a problem finding drugs because

she knows you're always there for her.

Oh, Fletcher, will you stop playing musical chairs and sit down.

I'll try,

but it won't be easy.

I've got OCD.

Why have you never told me about this before?

Well, I have tried many times but I never got this far.

Why not?

You see, when I go up a flight of stairs there's a whole ritual to it.

Four up, two down.

Five up, three down.

Seven up, five down.

By the time I got to the top you've gone home.

How did you manage it today?

I left early.

Do you mind if I sit there? I don't like my seat.

Fletch, I'm trying to deal with years of guilt,

remorse and low self-esteem here.

Give me a naffing break.

Oh, sorry, Shel. Don't mind me.

Unburden yourself, just pretend I'm not here.

Quiet!

Now, I know co-dependency is a dirty word, Shel.

Bless you.

But you mustn't be ashamed.

Right, well, I think that's me done.

Thanks, Doc, I do actually feel much better.

One, two, three, four...

One, two...

One, two, three, four.

One, two...

One...

Is there something wrong?

Yeah, that.

Oh, bloody 'eck, that's gold in here.

I know. It's two months in the hole if I'm caught with it

and six months on my stretch.

Well, who do you want to phone that badly?

It's too complicated to explain, Joe.

Hi, Mr Braithwaite. What do you want?

Have I come at a wrong moment?

Oh, no, we were just having a leaf through Joe's cricketers almanac.

Is that your game, is it?

Well, when I was a lad they said I was a natural off-spinner.

I bet you were.

Anyway, nice talking to you, Mr Braithwaite, we must get on.

No, no, there was something I wanted to ask you.

Oh, yes. My laptop has frozen again.

Is there something I should do?

Well, the first diagnostic procedure to recover from an unresponsive state

is to power cycle the device to clear the low-level software error,

re-initialise its configuration parameters and restore it to

a steady condition. Do you know how you do that?

Turn it off and turn it back on again.

No flies on you, Mr Braithwaite.

-I shall give it a try.

-Yeah, you go for that.

You should be in Silicone Valley, you should.

Silicon Valley, Joe.

Silicone Valley is where they make the breast implants.

They've got a few of them over on E-wing.

-Here.

-Thanks.

-Where am I going to stash it?

-Here.

Be my guest.

I'm trying to give up the snout anyway.

All right, Dad? What's up?

Awful journey up here.

-How's Mum?

-Not too bad, yeah.

Still having trouble with her, you know...

Bummer. Probably seasonal. A lot of pollen about.

Did you get them things I asked you for?

Most of them, yeah. Pitta bread, falafel.

Couldn't find any red pepper hummus.

Ah, you did well, Dad.

Amazing the amount of flavours there are now.

In the old days the most exotic was cheese and onion.

Hope you like Hong Kong fish balls.

Just the ticket.

Oh, what do we have here?

They searched me outside already.

Didn't look inside this, though, did they?

Feel free, Mr Meekie.

You like the flavour?

Maybe next time he'd prefer the Kicking Chicken Taco.

Can you believe this, Dad? Flagrant abuse of civil liberties.

You keep your hands off my son's falafel.

Please.

All right. Carry on.

Oh, where's Fletcher?

-Got a visit.

-Oh. Will you see he gets this?

Pressie, is it?

Not exactly, just tell him I'll expect some IT advice in return.

Your sister's bought an accordion.

The vet wants to put the cat down.

I might need root canal.

Well, I'm missing it all.

Got a promotion coming up.

Deputy head of subsidies.

Subsidies, eh? Another step nearer your dream, eh, Dad -

time-share in Tenerife.

I dunno. Be honest, can you really see me in a place like that?

Why not? Tommy Bahama shirt, Speedos.

Pair of water-skis, margaritas at sunset.

No, not really.

-Who are you?

-Who are you to ask?

Don't give me any lip, old timer. Where's Fletcher?

Got a visit.

-What's this?

-Not yours.

It is now.

Got what you need. Go to the gym in half an hour.

Pineapple, that's nice.

Yeah, were a gift.

Who from?

An admirer.

More people like me than you think, Fletch.

Oh, that's reem, boss.

Yeah, we got a tin opener?

Don't need one.

Weeks.

-What have you got there?

-What have I got where?

-That.

-Oh, this.

-Found it.

-Where?

-Foot of the stairs.

-Finders keepers, right?

-Wrong.

Petty pilfering.

When you have a moment, see that gets back to the stores, will you?

I will, Mr Meekie, yes.

Yoga, Fletcher?

That's right, Mr Meekie.

It's all the rage inside.

I bet you've noticed a big drop-off of aggro and mayhem.

I've never noticed you doing it.

Oh, yeah. I do it all the time.

Downward dog.

I beg your pardon?

Basic yoga move, Fletcher.

Downward dog.

That does not look like downward dog to me.

Might be a different breed.

I need to take a look inside that yoga mat.

On your way.

Namaste.

That was a close one.

What you up to, Fletch?

Sorry, Joe, did I wake you?

No, no.

No, I'm prone to melancholy since I got here.

Oh, come on, Joe. You look well enough to me,

and you've got your parole board coming up soon.

Yeah, but they won't let me out until I'm 80

and that's over three years away.

Well, I've still got my stretch to do.

We'll see it through together, eh? Me and you against the world.

You're a good lad, Fletch.

Yeah, well.

What you up to there?

I'm trying to hack in to the prison's main computer.

With that thing?

Go on, explain it to me as if I were a ten-year-old.

No, nowadays as if I were a five-year-old.

Well, there's no wireless connection in the block.

But I need an access point,

so I've made this "cantenna".

With any luck it should boost the capabilities with a waveguide that

directs all the radiation inside the cylinder in one direction.

And the...

I've lost you, haven't I?

Yeah, but I've got nothing better to do.

I'm going fishing.

Officers' married quarters are over there with a bunch of PCs.

If I can hack into the network and take control of

one of those computers, I can piggyback into the main system.

Why all the bother?

Because if they trace the signal,

they trace it over there and not back to my cell,

cos I would be the primo suspect in any digital misdemeanour.

Boom.

And I'm in.

COMPUTER BEEPS

They're really running the entire prison off a gateway tower using Windows XP.

This is too easy.

ALARM BLARES

Oh, that's nice, just get into bed, yeah?

Thanks for your help(!)

Oh, it's chaos out there.

Extra screws on the block cos the cell doors are still stuck open.

That fire alarm went on for an hour.

I slept through it.

Smoked some lethal crow last night.

I was well blunted.

What you reckon happened?

Why you asking me, why should I know?

Whoa, don't bark down my throat, bro.

Oh, here we go.

Scoot.

Not you, mug!

Sit.

Was that you last night?

-Yeah.

-What happened?

I triggered the fire alarm which triggered the codes on the cell doors.

-Where's the phone?

-Gone.

When they evacuated us out into the yard I slipped it down a drain.

I went to a lot of trouble to bring that in here.

Drones don't come cheap.

-Sorry, Weeksy.

-You got a plan B?

Not as yet.

Suppose I could hang myself but you'd need to supply the rope.

Get on it.

You'd better magic something up, Fletch...

or he might get very snippy.

Snip, snip.

HE TITTERS

You look somewhat down in the mouth, Fletcher.

One of those days, Mr Meekie,

and even you can't make it no worse.

Oh, maybe I can.

Come with me, Governor wants to see you.

KNOCK AT DOOR

Come in.

This is Fletcher, Mrs Hallwood.

Ah, right, yes, Fletcher.

Is there a problem, Governor?

Yes, there's a problem.

Someone with your area of expertise must be aware of that.

And you automatically assume I had something to do with it?

What? No, of course not.

-You don't?

-Well, how could you? You were in your cell.

That's right. I was in my cell, and I was sleeping like a baby

until that fire alarm went off.

Now, here's the thing.

We've had IT geeks working on this all morning

and they've drawn a blank.

I thought you might be able to help.

Governor, I cannot personally recommend that course of action.

We need to fix this today, Mr Meekie -

we have the parole board here in the morning.

Even so, ma'am, Fletcher...

We need to be able to let them in

and then let them out when it's time for them to leave.

I'd like my disapproval on record.

Duly noted. Now, Fletcher, if you...

I don't think I should do this, ma'am.

-You don't?

-Well, you know my record.

I'm a cybercriminal... Was.

If I was an alcoholic, you wouldn't invite me up here for cocktails

and ask me to skull a bottle of tequila, would you?

This is an emergency and I can assure you,

it would sit well on your record.

Very well. You do realise I'd need to access the entire system.

Yes, yes, obviously.

Excuse me.

Do you mind, ma'am?

No, of course not.

I might be a bit ring rusty.

-Password?

-Oh, it's...

Oh, should he hear this?

Probably not.

Cover your ears, Mr Meekie.

He can still see.

Can you turn around?

Right, it's case sensitive.

Upper case P, lower case O,

double R, I

D, G, E.

Porridge.

Shot.

-Sorted.

-My record?

-Sanitised.

-See, that's what I'm talking about.

Blokes like Fletch, they come through for you.

And when you get out, there's always something for you on my patch, yeah?

Cash in your pocket, pied-a-terre on Moss Side.

I'm getting giddy just thinking about it.

I owe you, that's all I'm saying, yeah?

(Fletch.)

Hey, cop this.

-Luxury.

-Courtesy of the governor.

She's not ungrateful, Fletcher, nor are any of us.

You saved the day.

I've brought a small token of my gratitude.

Much appreciated, Mr Braithwaite.

Well, as days go, you'd have to put this one down in the win column.

New telly, tin of fruit.

Hard man off your back and you're in the Governor's good books.

That's right, Joe, it's been a good one.

Ring room service, tell them to send up a bottle of bubbly

and a bowl of Twiglets.

Eh, "little victories", that's what your grandad used to say,

and by God, you need them inside.

Well, you won't be inside much longer, old-timer.

I told you, they won't let me out until I'm 80.

Well, that's before I got into the system and changed your record.

You're three years older now, you'll be out by your next birthday.

Feel free to come in, the door won't close behind you, I fixed all that.

My PC was requisitioned.

They've taken it apart,

trying to work out how the signal originated from my living room.

Yeah, I thought that when I traced it.

It wiped all my e-mails,

and the photographs of my recent holiday with my wife.

What, all those lovely shots of you up in the Lake District?

How did you know that?

Well, you go there every year, don't you?

A nice B&B in Penrith with the three garden gnomes.

Or was it two?

I will have you, Fletcher.

I will have you.

And I will have that, too.

Win some, lose some.

It don't matter...

I've got another one.