As the old adage goes — you've done the crime, now you do the time.

There are almost 9,000 prisoners at any given time at Queensland's correctional facilities, and on Tuesday I was one of them.

A handful of Brisbane journalists were shackled and bused into south-east Queensland's Borallon Correctional Centre for a glimpse of its operations.

My sentence? Three to six … hours.

Thankfully with good behaviour I got out in time to share these pictures, and tell my story.

So I'm going to prison, how do I get there?

When you're carted off to your new prison digs, chances are you'll be taken via prison transport.

These buses are used to ferry prisoners to and from correctional centres, along with taking people on remand to and from court appearances.

Timothy Swanston got the full experience — including handcuffs and a trip in the prison bus. ( ABC News )

In fact, more than one quarter, 2,586, of Queensland's prison population, are people who haven't been sentenced on their charges yet and are awaiting trial or sentencing.

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I was assessed as fairly low risk, despite my extraordinarily large and intimidating physique, so I was simply chained by the ankles and wrists and led into the transport.

Each transport cell has two seats, an emergency alert button, and a camera so that the driver can monitor those in the back.

Fun fact about those handcuffs I'm wearing — I'm told if I misbehave a corrections officer can grab them by the middle and rotate them forwards, twisting my wrists painfully to the ground.

The physical drive out to the prison is nauseating and claustrophobic. A radio blares to life for a few minutes but is then turned off.

I'm just glad the bus is clean.

'That's the wall where they strip-search prisoners'

Once I'm ferried through the gates and past the razor wire I'm asked to hop off the transport and I'm de-cuffed.

I join a line of my colleagues who are already facing against a wall, hands behind their backs and a Passive Alert Drug Detection (PADD) dog is whisked around the contingent, searching for any drug odours.

I'm marched inside a processing area, and shown a wall. That's the wall where they strip search prisoners.

That process involves taking your trousers off, facing the wall, lifting your legs and wiggling your toes.

For the purposes of this media exercise I don't have to be strip searched.

Phew.

We're given our standard prison uniforms, dump our mobile phones into a box and are issued with a bag of spare clothes, sheets and towels.

We're also offered the usual prison administration, health assessment, mugshot, that sort of thing.

The standard outfit at Borallon Correctional Centre. ( ABC News )

Welcome to my cell

I've gotten through prison transport, been checked for contraband and assigned to C block.

If you're actually going to jail, this is the first day of what could be the rest of your life.

I won't lie. The cells weren't as bad as I was expecting — apart from having to double up. The new cells they've built here at Borallon Correctional Centre are complete with bunk beds.

The cells were remarkably clean and I completed an entry report with a prison officer when I arrived.

Welcome to C block, enjoy your stay. ( ABC News )

There's a shower, a toilet (my colleague had the decency to turn around when I needed to go) and some shelves for personal items.

I give my cell 2 out of 5 stars.

I hear you screaming: "Show me the prison food!"

Well, here you go. Beef, coleslaw and a green salad. It's prepared by prisoners.

3 stars.

A standard meal at Borallon. ( ABC News )

So what else is there to do?

Borallon Correctional Centre is an "earn and learn" prison, meaning prisoners can sign up to 50 TAFE courses and complete certificates, along with working for local businesses that have set up work stations there.

If that doesn't take your fancy, there's a library, the prison gym and you could always count the bricks in your cell walls over and over.

As for me, I spent an hour in the cell, took a tour and, when paroled, grabbed a burger and fries on the way home.

Timothy Swanston reflects on his time on the inside. ( ABC News )

So what was the point of this exercise?

Queensland Corrections wanted to show off more than 100 new cells being opened at Borallon, allowing men to vacate the privately run Southern Queensland Correctional Centre, so it can be turned into a women's prison.

Sisters Inside spokeswoman Debbie Kilroy has slammed the decision, saying it would be the first time in Queensland's history that a private corporation would manage women in prison.