From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 37)

Traditionally a barbers is a place of male refuge, and somewhere one can pick up something for the weekend with a touch of discretion (although, I doubt any gentleman who might be overheard would ever answer in the negative - even if he already had a significant collection of French Letters sitting unused in a drawer). Yes, most definitely a very male place.

It can also be a place to pick up useful gossip, for this vice is not only the province of women. Usually, one’s club is the best place to do this if one is looking for information about which laws members of parliament, and the aristocracy in general, have most recently broken.

However, the barber shop offers a more intimate atmosphere. Taking someone who considers themselves a chum of yours is somewhat akin to rite of passage. After all, you both sit together while the barber holds a sharpened razor to your throats. Of course, I don’t have chums - perish the thought. But I am not above making someone believe I am their friend and contriving a situation where they may feel safe enough to open up to me. Strangely enough, accompanying someone on a shoot, at a weekend party, also seems to bring out the same bonhomie in such men. I can only think that the presence of (extremely) mild danger makes them feel a bond. Good grief, if I felt a bond with everyone that I had been in danger with, I’d have hundreds of friends. What a horrid thought.

The crux of the matter, with finding a decent barber, is twofold. Firstly, it is essential that they can give a decent hot shave and trim one’s hair to one’s liking without question. When I am going undercover, I often change the way my hair is cut, or simply have it shorn extremely short if I know I’m going to be working in the field for some time. Sometimes, in the pursuit of one’s duty to King and Country, one does not have time to worry about one’s hair, or even spare the time to shave. My job can be quite uncivilised at times.

Secondly, one has to trust the barber. You might think this should come first, but in my experience, if you bother to watch the man in the mirror, you can tell if he’s about to do the dirty on you. Per my suggestion, the service now keeps a record of trustworthy barbers. I don’t allow this to lessen my alertness when I am sat in the chair, but it does mean I am slightly less tense.  I do very much enjoy the hot towel over the face at the end. Sadly, this is the moment one could easily be taken unaware, so I ask for this to be restricted to below my nose.

I have only ever had to accelerate the mortality of two barbers. The first I doubt was ever an actual barber. He held his razor rather like an assassin. An amateurish move, and a complete give-away. The second had proved, over the course of some months, that he was exceptional at making my hair look excellent. I regret I had to end his career (and his life) so abruptly.

Now that Griffin has joined me, I have sent him to be trained in the art of cutting hair and providing a decent shave by my favourite barber. Griffin is a highly intelligent man, as one would expect with his background, and although the role is somewhat beneath him, such is the need in these troubling times. Besides, I have assured him I will only use his skills in extreme circumstances.

I am as certain of him as I can be, but do not think that when he holds a razor to my throat, I will not watch him as closely as I might watch an enemy spy. I have no desire to have my own mortality accelerated while in pursuit of a decent shave. That would be a terrible epithet for a spymaster. Besides, Jack would miss me.

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