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Episode 26 Haircuts Like MovieStars.
Kenko was gone today under acloud of smoke and left a trail
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of unsettlement behind him.
There are many words and phrasesI could use to describe him.
Some of them complimentary andsome of them not.
But I did have a soft spot forthe kid and I will remember him
fondly even if he did lethimself down, and others
including me along the way.
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K was desperate to be liked, orshould I say popular, needy, and
insecure, but with claws.
A lot like a spoiled cat wholoves to be pampered but could
still be sly and devious onother occasions and you could
never fully trust him.
I suppose you're wondering why Isay such mixed words about a man
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with whom I had a soft spot for,but the truth is the truth, and
based on the up close andpersonal observations and
experience I shared with him.
K had a ferocious appetite to bea somebody and a wealthy one at
that.
For all of his underhandedness,dodgy dealings and general
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bullshit, interestingly, wetalked a lot about his mother
more than anyone else.
A man in a boy's body dealing indrugs, and anything else that
was shady, and yet hecontinually spoke about his mum.
She was the only person who evervisited him.
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I think that says a lot initself.
K was a dead ringer for AlanHarper of Two and a Half Men.
He shuffled around like apensioner in his Hugo Boss tops,
like it was a fashion parade.
Everything in its place excepthis physique.
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Every day he would talk, orshould I say, repeat at any
opportunity, wild fantasiesabout the shape he was going to
get into.
Or alternatively, he wouldspiral into depths of despair at
the harsh reality that he was,as the lads described him, a
skinny fat boy.
He never shut up.
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If it wasn't about his bodyshape, dieting or Hugo Boss
clothes, or I just need to speakto such a person, well, for all
of his smiling and joking,sadly, he was also being used
and intimidated, although Idon't think he would agree.
But it was obvious.
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In the end, officers aren'tstupid or worse, hate it if
you're taking the piss, when intheir eyes you're in a
privileged position and you'reabusing it.
Certain officers get on betterwith certain lads, and that
helps.
K had a few in his corner, andalthough he made it to the Cat D
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nirvana, he was let go of inreception and blackballed on the
wing.
He was wildly insecure anddidn't listen or take any
advice, or he did, but it wasshort-lived.
There were a number of times hebrought out the claws,
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especially when the home truthswere landed on him.
For all of his defects ofcharacter, he was entertaining
and you either laughed until youcried or you wanted to strangle
the little fucker.
His name was called out fromwork to the wing and Toenails
loathed his popularity.
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Credit where it was due.
He was a hustler, and ifsomebody needed contraband of
one sort or another, he was onlytoo willing to facilitate.
He had the audacity to say onplenty of occasions, I'm a
younger, better looking versionof you, Georgio.
I told him he was having alaugh.
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You may be younger, but you arenot anywhere near as good
looking and I'm in my fifties.
The lads loved that shout,reminding him he's never been
called GG.
The lad loved it when I wouldswear or curse.
It was a rare treat, especiallywhen I would say or pronounce it
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in a non-Scouse type of way.
K sold his soul day in and dayout, prostituting his services,
abusing his position while hesmiled, like a cheeky schoolboy
who was dealing.
It is not for me to say wherethe locker or stash was, because
things such as that could onlybe kept in one place and are
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already written about on theplug topic.
K had a relationship with aChinese girl prior to entering
HMP.
He only told both her and hismother the day before court
sentencing about hispredicament.
For all of his fun qualities,below the surface, he was
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desperate to be a somebody.
A rich somebody to be precise.
He sold his soul before HMP anddid the same inside too.
After six months in here, heshowed me a letter he had
received by his mother from hisgirlfriend out in China.
To be honest, half of the wingsaw the letter before I did,
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including the despicable one,who gave him a torrid time.
When he sat in front of me whileI read it, I chose to give him
the fair interpretation,sprinkled with some hope.
Unfortunately, I felt it was nohope, and the letter was as
close to a Dear John withoutactually saying the words.
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If I'm honest, the girl made theright decision.
The letter could only beinterpreted as someone who was
hurting.
A hint of, I will always loveyou K, but.
also a sense of being polite asshe waved goodbye.
The line that resonated themost, however, was you never
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listen.
And to be honest, I was quick toremind him of this because it
was completely true.
Deluded is not a word I preferto use, having been on the end
of it by the judge, but he wasdeluded and disingenuous, and I
don't say that lightly or withany malice.
As time went on, I warned himthat he was on very thin ice
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with his activities and wrong tomislead his girlfriend in
tempting or promising her abouthis changed ways and bringing
her back.
By now, he had reached theblinded invincible stage of
believing his own hype, pushinghis luck in the wrong places,
and becoming a car crash of theunpleasant kind.
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He was taking his pressures andproblems out on me more than
anyone else, while schmoozingwith the enemy to win some kind
of short-lived favour orreprieve.
In the end, he burnt his bridgesas desperately he wanted to be
loved and respected, for me, itwas hard to take him seriously.
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In the end, I think he realizedI had been his only true
protective friend and he thankedme in a way that I knew was
genuine.
The lad who craved attentionended up receiving the wrong
type and within 48 hours he washistory, not a legend, how he
may have preferred to think hewould be remembered.
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I've seen many come and goduring the last five months, and
I've noticed this.
If an officer helps you or givesyou some slack and you abuse it,
then a ship out isn't far away.
Kenko got a lucky deal.
Moving on to Cat D, but myinstincts tell me he'll fuck it
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up there too.
How to make friends andinfluence people?
Cut hair.
I've been cutting hair now for acouple of months.
I love it.
From nothing to at least acouple a day on average.
Now, even Mr.
H approached me and took thechair.
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I told the lads from thebeginning, I'm a stylist, not a
barber.
Young Dan asked me, what's thedifference?
I told him, a stylist gives youwhat you ask for, and a barber
gives you what they think best.
A stylist has more flair while abarber is prone to being a one
trick pony.
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He said on that basis, he'd likea cut from a stylist.
Most days I announce the salonis open.
It brings out the best in me,allows me to be creative even if
I am limited.
I've mentioned way back in theearly days how haircuts are a
big deal in prison, especiallyfor your visit, when you want to
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make an effort for your lovedones.
I've seen far too many shockerson visits and believe with
practice I can do much better.
J was my first cut.
Or should I say, volunteer.
He's been in my corner since Ilanded in reception.
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He's Walton's number oneListener, and the only inmate
with a red band.
He can travel around the prisonand between the wings without
being escorted or accompanied byan officer.
If I confide in anyone, it is J.
With Toenails and Number Onedoing everything to derail me,
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undermine me, and generally behorrible, J has been a star.
T had sent me in a pair of Wahlclippers.
I unboxed them and christenedthem on J, albeit he had been
sporting a decent cut in thefirst place.
I'd previously told the lads I'ddone a bit of cutting when I was
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younger, which is true, butpotentially a little misleading
too.
I did cut my brother's headswhen we were kids, and my cousin
was a stylist and I used towatch her in action when we
received free cuts as a family.
It's worth mentioning that if Ibelieve I can do something, then
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I do it.
I just get on with it and go,undeterred, you could say.
It makes me feel creative.
I feel free, and I love seeing abad head day turn into something
quite presentable.
I've been pointing out to T onvisits, heads that I've cut.
I don't charge either.
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The going rate is a tin of tunaor two, but I couldn't think of
anything worse than charging ortaxing a fellow inmate.
It brings me so much joy,learning something as I go
along, trying different methodsand working on varying
hairstyles.
Some lads like J have a thickmane of hair and they're never
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going bald, but he likes itshort from a zero up to a two.
Thick, but short on top andcarrying a fringe.
Other lads are going bald andfeel embarrassed.
Especially if Toenails isaround, who delights in making
them squirm with Baldy shouts.
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I remind the lads that Toenailsmay have his hair, but he's got
a dodgy eye and talks like aScouse Popeye.
They love it when I show theclaws to Toenails.
Some lads have hair like wirewool while others, it's thin and
baby soft.
I find fringes can be tough andget the crown wrong and you're
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fucked, and they look like BillyWhizz from the Beano.
I take my time or it takes timeand sometimes my client is
sweating with the prayer mat outthat I don't fuck it up.
Everything is about the blend,and if you fail there, everyone
is winding me and the client upfor hours, if not days.
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At this stage, I'd like to thinkI'm better than no barber or
stylist at all, but I am makinggood progress and practice makes
perfect.
The key is not to hesitate orshow that you look daunted and
scared.
The easiest method is just to goup and down the numbers.
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The blend gets shorter, quicker,the more mistakes you make in
the first place.
What adds to the pressure iswhen one of the lads wants to
permanently hold a mirror to thecutting.
My thinking from landing herewas to cut hair in case I'm
moved.
It's a great icebreaker in astrange place, and when you cut
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for free, then there's normallya queue.
The lads open up in the chair asthey relax.
There's always prison talk ofone topic or another, but
usually anything that's on theirminds, pours out.
The great thing about working inreception is I have hours of
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freedom to read, write, and cut.
It's funny, but some of the bestcontent is said during the cut.
Equally, the lads are alwaysinquisitive.
They seem to love the stories ofmy life and lifestyle, in the
old days.
Lads on the wing, they approachme too, if I'll cut on a Sunday,
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that's if I'm unlocked.
As I say, I enjoy it.
It kills the monotony and I feelchallenged, as well as thrilled
after every cut.
The lads don't get it, but I do.
It's been a game changer forsettling and being closer to the
lads while I'm left to do my ownthing.
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J drops into receptionmid-afternoon and it's either me
cutting hair or we're playingcards.
Milk is a big issue.
Or should I say Milk Gate?
It's a perk.
Whatever workstation you work incarries its own perk.
The lads in the job benefit, orthat's how it's meant to be.
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However, even this has become anissue, fuelled by Toenails once
again.
If it wasn't so serious, youwould be laughing your head off.
I think Mr.
H taking the chair is a bigshout.
J seemed to think so.
He said it was a clear messageto the lads and officers that he
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was in my corner and I won't bederailed and out of reception at
the hands of Toenails or NumberOne.
I told J that I said to Mr.
H the cut reminds me of JohnSaxon in Enter the Dragon.
He choked laughing and said thatthat one line to Mr.
H secured my future in receptionmore than anything else.
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Finally, there's no progresswith Open Uni.
May has come and gone and Juneis almost over.
I'm reading a book a week nowtoo.
The latest is Sapiens.
It's a history of humankind.
It does make me wonder whatHarari, the author would make of
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this place.
First thing he'd recognize isthe Neanderthal gene is still
flourishing.