Prison isn't so bad after all, says Lord Black of Crossharbour, currently a guest of a Federal Prison (softies wing) somewhere sweaty in the United States.
He's having a jolly time, wandering around in loafers with his shirt out, doing a bit of rudimentary teaching, making new friends and - this isn't a surprise - writing his account of the decline and fall of C Moffat Black. In sum, the book will assert that They got the wrong man.
Is it too obvious to say that there remains more than a touch of megalomania and denial about Conrad? On the other hand, what is the alternative? To acknowledge that one did wrong - a shattering experience that would undermine his conduct during a long and rapacious and extremely well renumerated career.
What fascinating thought processes must be going on behind those dead, grey eyes, what edgy brain chemistry. How can an intelligent man deny what is so plain? Sir Compton formed the view during a couple of brief encounters with the great man that he was obviously crooked but obviously didn't think so. An amazing contradiction. Or is it just arrogance?
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Just as fascinating was the case of David Chenery-Wickens, who killed his wife when she confronted him over a series of affairs. He has yet to give a satisfactory account of what happened and, although given an 18-year tariff, won't be getting out for a very line time unless he does.
He is a spiritualist minister - that in itself should be a caution to anyone - and was nicknamed the Vicar of Fibley for all the obvious lies he told.
Neither Lord Black nor his Reverence got away with it but both thought they would or could. What is it that makes people think that way?
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