Tommy Robinson – my prison diary

Day 1

History is full of political heroes who wasn’t afraid to say it as it were and who done time on account of it. Jesus was crucified by the authorities for warning about the Islamification of Jordan by the pc mob who wanted to ban page 3, Nelson Mandela done thirty years for trying to tell the people of South Africa about white genocide (still happening), and Teresa Giudice of Real Housewives of New Jersey done six months for so called tax fraud. All of those people are heroes of mine and some of the very bravest people you are ever likely to meet. Not that I have met any of them. The middle class critics might be surprised to see Nelson Mandela in there. Fact – unlike Sadiq Khan – I am not racist. In fact, I’m the opposite of a racist. I’m a tsicar. All I have been doing for my whole adult life is to warn people about Islam and ‘Muslim is not a race’ so you can’t be racist about it. Paedophile isn’t a race either. So highlighting the problem of paedophile Muslim grooming gangs isn’t racist…… it’s contempt of court apparently. And they banged me up for it. I arrive at the reception area.

“Hello Mr Yaxley-Lennon.”

“No comment.”

“Do you have any special dietary requirements?”

“No comment.”

“Unfortunately we don’t have any prison uniform in your size.”

They hand me a woman’s one. I refuse to put it on and start singing the national anthem – but I can’t remember what happens after ‘God save our gracious Queen’ and am led away.

Day 2

I’m back inside with the convicted nonces and murderers and thieving scumbags and drug dealers. A lot of them seem pleased to see me and have my picture on their walls.

“Good for you mate!” They shout as I am taken to my cell.

My lawyer tries to explain to me that the judge warned me in my last case that this would happen. He’s read it on twitter and has printed it off. Thing is – I can’t remember being warned about this. That last case went on for quite a few hours and the idea that I should be expected to listen to what the judge said at the end is stupid. It’s not school is it. Also as she were talking…. “yadda, yadda, yadda”…. I started to get this idea about a new formula for tooth whitener involving a mixture of Vanish gold and chlorine – that’s how my brain works. I’m often thinking and that’s not surprising. From television to salad bar sneeze screens to tanning beds, the white European male has come up with everything good in history. The indigenous European people need to get behind their race before it’s too late and that starts with good dental hygiene.

Halal by stealth

Day 3

8 a.m. Breakfast comes. As it’s passed through my cell door I demand to know if the bread and butter is halal. “NO mate!” The guard shouts back “but the jam is.” There’s laughter. I’m not having that. I write a letter to the Governor explaining that I am now going on hunger strike and that when I die, he, Sajid Javid and Sadiq Khan will have my blood on their hands. Not that you bleed when you go on hunger strike.

12 p.m. I have called my hunger strike off after getting reassurances that the bacon on the lunch time menu isn’t halal and that the Governor will meet me. You can’t have halal bacon because Muslim grooming gangs aren’t allowed to eat pork. You would know that if you’d read my best-selling book “Tommy Robinson’s guide to Muslam – the smell of fear.” News reaches me that on the outside world millions of people have swarmed parliament demanding my release. My new cell mate Keith asks for my autograph. I ask him what he’s in for and he tells me that it’s for allegedly looking at porn involving kiddies on his laptop but his hand had just slipped. I tell him he’s innocent because it’s biologically impossible to be a white man and a paedophile. He asks me if I’ll look at his penis because he’s ‘worried about it.’

Day 4

I ask to see the Governor. I am a political prisoner and as such I have certain rights under the European Convention of Human Rights. You learn stuff like that when you study Youtube. The Governor’s a bird. I’m not talking to a woman governor. She should be at home raising her kids – that’s not right. I’m not sexist and nothing but women should be mothers and white men should be standing tall and fighting for our motherland. When I tell her this she laughs.

“You find the struggle for our culture and identity funny?” I ask. “You won’t be laughing when a Muslim grooming gang is forcing you to stay at home and not leave the house.”

“No!” She says, “it’s because you said ‘stand tall’…. because you can’t.”

I’ve had enough of this. I demand to be taken to the spa.

“What spa?”

“The Spa that’s in every prison in Britain,” I say. “I read the Express and I know what goes on.”

Typical prison spa

They lead me back to my cell and slam the door. Keith puts an arm around me and promises me that everything will be alright. I tell him that I will keep fighting for him and his way of life and that I won’t stop until every British law has been upheld and our way of life has been wrestled back from the fascist PC mob who think that British laws should apply to white English patriots like me.

Lights out. I lie on my bed and try to remember the words of Land of Hope and glory. But I can’t remember what happens after the glory bit and Keith is making a lot of noise.


(As told to Otto English)