I nearly did a double take when I saw a friend’s teenage daughter in an Instagram post frolicking on the beach near Lamu in Kenya. The caption read “Essential work”. She was wearing a polka-dot bikini next to an old fishing boat.
How the hell did she get a golden ticket out of here last week? I thought international travel was banned? But no! There is a loophole, I find out after bumping into her yummy mummy while I walked Muggles in Wormwood Scrubs – the least glam venue in west London. I can’t help but glance up at the bars on the windows of the prison and think “there but for the grace of god go I”. That could have been me peering out of those bars when I nearly ended up on remand at Holloway for unknowingly becoming a getaway driver for a burglar during the dark days of my addiction.
