Excerpt from Inside

There was a fight on my landing this morning. One of my neighbours was badly hurt. It was a gruesome sight, but one I have become used to. HMP Coldingley has been my home for the last year.
When I was driven through the gates for the first time last November, the branches of the prison tree were bare. I can see that tree from the exercise yard and I've been watching its golden leaves fall. If I can keep clear of trouble I should be leaving here when the leaves start to grow again. The seasons have always played a significant part in my life.
Before I came to prison I was a professional golfer. For a number of years I played the European Tour, where I mixed and played with some of the best golfers in the world. I was elected captain of the Surrey Professional Golfers Association and twice I represented Europe in PGA Cup matches against the Americans. I was respected by my friends and colleagues.
When I left the tour to settle down, I became the head professional at one of the most beautiful courses in Surrey. The members became my friends. I lived in a flat on the course and in the early mornings I would often go out with my young son into its deserted bluebell woods where we would hide and watch the deer. Every morning I bounced out of bed, eager for the day to start. I truly had the most wonderful life. One day I smashed that world.
* * *
It was a cold November afternoon and I went to play in a golf match with a friend. After we finished we went to the bar for a drink. I'd always been very careful not to drink and drive, a discipline I'd maintained over twenty years of travelling to tournaments, but that night I chose not to listen to my conscience. When I left the club I was over the limit but I still decided to take the risk and drive home. That short fateful journey took me down a dark country lane where I hit a cyclist, and he was killed. In my panic I didn't stop.
* * *
Overnight my world was shattered and I began a journey into a living hell. Two years later I still shrink from thinking about the devastating consequences for all concerned. I am still trying to come to terms with my actions that night. Just once I took the risk. It proved absolutely catastrophic.
The morning after the accident I offered my resignation to the golf club where I worked, to the golf magazine I wrote for, for which I had great plans, and to the Professional Golfers Association. I had worked very hard in my career. In the blink of an eye I had lost it all.
The same day I sat my parents down and explained I was going to prison. My mother tried really hard not to cry, but they were shattered. Over the next few days I told everyone I knew. They were all devastated, stunned, and everywhere I went I left people in tears. Hardest of all was telling my son. He was only seven and breaking it to him still haunts me.
But what dwarfed every other emotion were my feelings for the cyclist's family. I lived in a nightmare world of sorrow and regret. It took nearly a year for the case to come to court. Every morning and every night I thought about the consequences for the victim's family. Every moment of every day, I longed for forgiveness. At every corner I had to ask myself: if I hadn't had a drink could the accident have been avoided?
During that year I wrote a letter to the victim's wife, expressing my great remorse. It was the hardest letter I have ever had to write. When I received a reply accepting that it was just a terrible accident, that I was forgiven, I wept. I was overwhelmed by her compassion.
But living with such grief and torment prompted me to ask myself whether my own life should continue. Many times throughout the year the easiest option seemed to be suicide. Had I been younger, less experienced in life, I doubt whether I could have coped, but I was able to do so through the incredible support of my girlfriend, family and friends, all of whom knew that my actions on that dreadful night were totally out of character. More importantly, I have survived thanks to support from the victim's wife, who has humbled me with her forgiveness, and who, knowing of my previous character, spoke on my behalf at my sentencing trial. Without her forgiveness I would not be here today.
* * *
As the day of my trial drew closer it seemed the media was preoccupied with reports about prison. Like most people, my attitude was that prison is a holiday camp—I believed the reports I read in the newspapers. It was not until the day of my sentencing trial, my first day in prison, that I realised that newspapers only tell one side of the story...