Adapted from the Tory perjurer's diary of life behind bars in London's Belmarsh prison, this makes for a very curious hour. If it were not so ineptly staged you might wonder whether Archer himself was behind the enterprise, so keen is it to show him in the best possible light. He has apparently approved the adaptation and lent the "Tigger" rugby shirt that he wore inside.
Such authenticity does little to ease this painful 60 minutes as it charts Jeffrey's amazement at life behind bars, as he longs for - and fails to get - a bowl of cornflakes. Jeffrey's obsession with his stomach is only dwarfed by Jeffrey's obsession with his ego and a total unwillingness to accept that he did anything wrong.
As a portrait of a man who has lost touch with reality, whose every encounter is about him and not the other person, the piece does have minor interest. But the production and performances are perfunctory and the writing is, well, by Jeffrey Archer. I rest my case.
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