"That's rich coming from you," I replied to the only man I know who has come out of Broadmoor with a certificate to say he has been certified sane. Many of you may agree with Charlie and think that I, a prison officer, must be missing a few marbles to be playing scrabble on my own with Charlie Bronson in the heat of a summer's afternoon. If you do, all I can say is that you obviously do not know Charlie as I have come to know him over the years. Hopefully when you have finished this book you will understand a little more about the man behind the myth. That particular afternoon I was dressed in a grey prison-issue vest, a pair of blue prison-issue pyjama bottoms cut down to my knees and a pair of black plastic prison boots, so I may have looked a bit odd for a prison officer. When we first went out on the yard after I had agreed to help Charlie with a bit of training, I had forgotten to inform the control room of our plans. Consequently, when they saw me through the camera running around the yard with Charlie running closely behind me they raised the alarm and sent the mufti squad in as they thought Charlie had escaped and was trying to chase a nonce to give him a slap.
