Highdown Harry: Chopper Charlie the prison barber

I’d always thought Chopper Charlie acquired his nickname playing football. Or maybe as the wing barber. However, as I sat on the plastic prison chair that doubled as a barber’s stool on C wing, a third and altogether more chilling option suddenly crossed my mind…

“How do you want it, Harry?” asked Chopper, plugging his clippers in and holding them out in front of him like a gun. I shivered, thinking that if all the rumours about him were true, then this pose might have been the last image his victims had ever seen.

“Er … How about number four on top and two around the sides?” I stammered. I was starting to wish I’d never asked him, but the missus was coming on a visit tomorrow and I wanted to look my best.

“I expect you’ll be wanting me to blend it, like,” said Chopper, grasping my head in one of his giant paw-like hands and setting to work. “I’m good at blending. There was this geezer on D wing. I blended him good and proper.”

My attempted smile probably looked more like a grimace as Chopper started furiously shaving away at the side of my head. I couldn’t help wondering whether his meaning of blending and mine were quite the same thing. When he got to the area near my ear he asked me to hold the lobe back with my fingers.

“Wouldn’t want to chop it off by mistake,” he offered, setting to work again with renewed vigour. Fortunately, he didn’t cut my ear – but he made a right mess of my fingers…

“Sorry, forgot I took the guard off,” he mumbled, handing me a toilet roll to staunch the flow of blood. “Anyway, nearly finished.”

Twenty minutes later, Chopper was in a right old rage. He couldn’t get both sides the same length. The pressure he was exerting on my head was causing my neck to concertina into my shoulders, while the clippers had become so hot there was a distinct smell of burning in the air. Or perhaps it was my scalp that was starting to sizzle. Just at that moment a loud cry came from the landing.

“Right, c’mon lads. Bang up time. Everyone behind their doors!” Determined to finish, Chopper suddenly launched himself at me with all the zeal of a striking cobra. I felt a sharp pain just above my neck.

“Oh, damn!” cried Chopper, realising he’d forgotten the guard again and had given me a zero right at the back of my head.

I got back to my cell and stared in disbelief in the mirror. Not only was one side distinctly longer than the other, but I had a white stripe perfectly bisecting my remaining dark hair, making me look like a skunk. Even worse, I had no way of correcting it before my visit tomorrow.

In future, I decided, I’d just have a number one all over. Even Chopper might have a chance of getting that right!