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WATERWORLD - ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE ON IRAQ
Ask most people about their perceptions of Iraq, and they're likely to tell you it's a country sliding inexorably towards civil war. They might proffer an opinion on our involvement in removing Saddam from power and our subsequent role in teaching the country's inhabitants the rudiments of democratic rule, but their likely conclusion will be that "It's a mess out there". Pressed further, they might expand upon its history as the cradle of civilisation, and asked about its topography and geographic properties, they'll probably describe its deserts, riverine economy and the sphere of influence of its two major cities, Baghdad and Basra. What they're most unlikely to know about is its coastline. Which is hardly surprising, given the country's geography, bordered as it is by Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Syria, Turkey and Iran. Its coastline measures little more than 35 miles in total, yet its strategic importance can't be overstated. It is the site of a number of important oil installations, most notably Iraq's two main oil tanker terminals, KAAOT and ABOT. Its chief importance is its strategic location, controlling access to the Shatt al-Arab waterway (and thus access to the port of Basra). My recent return to Iraq focused on this southern-most tip of the country, and it would be fair to say that I've come away with a completely different perspective on events. One of my biggest frustrations when I was based in Baghdad in 2004 was the way in which the U.S utterly dominated every aspect of life in the city, making it somewhat difficult to get an objective perspective on events. We spent U.S dollars buying U.S goods in U.S stores staffed by Americans. The only accents you heard around the city were American - from the people you worked with, from the radio stations you listened to; even the mobile phones we used on a daily basis has U.S dialling codes. The U.S military operates on a different footing to the British - whereas we engage local communities to win them over using the classic hearts and minds method, the American approach tends to be far more dominant and imposing. I was hoping to gain a different, and hopefully more objective understanding on my most recent visit, and given the group I travelled with, I think I may just have done so. I flew out of Heathrow on Wednesday night, the 1st March, with the Royal Navy's recently appointed Commander in Chief, Admiral Sir James Burnell-Nugent, KCB CBE ('CINCFLEET'). The purpose of the visit was for him to get a heads up on the role played by the Royal Navy in Iraq, through a mixture of briefings from his commanders on the ground, and visits to the various bases and places of strategic importance. Media wise, Michael Evans, the defence editor from The Times and myself were the only two journalists invited to travel with the Admiral and report on his trip.
Tactical Climb: The door gunner on our Sea King helicopter covers us against potential threats as we hover over the Iraqi port of Um Qasr (c) Black Rat. One of the upsides of travelling with a four-star General is that you get similar treatment by association. So, instead of a 36 hour journey into Iraq, travelling in a cramped Tri-Star and bone-shaking Hercules courtesy of the RAF as I experienced last time I flew there, this time saw us kicking back with a glass of wine in BA's Club World lounge at Heathrow before boarding a 777 bound for Kuwait, a mere five and a half hours flying time away. Being a night flight, the fact that we were travelling Club World was particularly welcome and the six-foot flat bed meant sleep wasn't too long in coming; just what we needed given the packed program that lay ahead of us. Being part of the Admiral's party also meant that we bypassed immigration completely on arrival in Kuwait. Instead, we were met by our defence attaché in the country with a delegation from the British Embassy and escorted to the airport's VIP area. Here, our passports were taken away to receive the requisite entry stamps, and instead of us fighting to recover our bags from the baggage carrousel, one of the Admiral's staff disappeared to collect our luggage for us (I could get used to travelling like this!) Once he returned, we changed from the lounge suits in which we'd travelled, swapping them for working rig in the case of myself and Mike and uniform dress for the Naval and Royal Marines officers who were in our party. Before leaving, and over hot tea, we were handed invitations to dinner as guests of the Ambassador at the Embassy on the Saturday evening, and whilst we packed only the kit we'd need in Iraq into one bag, everything else was taken to the Embassy for us, from where it would be transferred to our hotels to await our arrival. That done, we wandered out into the bright sunshine and a temperature in the mid-eighties (something of a shock given the zero degree temperatures we'd left in London) where we were driven the short distance to a Royal Navy Sea King helicopter, which awaited us out on the pan, its rotors already turning. Donning body armour, shades and helmets, we then embarked and without further ado, took off for the short flight across the Arabian Sea to MND (SE) the headquarters for British forces in Iraq situated at Al Basrah.
Hurry up and Wait: Michael Evans of The Times (back to the camera, in civvies) gathers up his gear as we await transport on the ground at MND SE (c) Black Rat. We were met on arrival by a fleet of British military Land Rovers and driven over to the HQ building for a briefing on the current situation in Iraq by Major General John Cooper, the General Officer Commanding (GOC) at MND SE. The briefing was in-depth and all-encompassing, aimed at bringing CINCFLEET up to speed on events in theatre, but both Mike and I were given an opportunity to ask questions throughout. One of the things that was evident to me throughout the briefing was just how great the dichotomy between how we do things, and how the U.S do things out there. We're very heavily committed to training and regenerating the infrastructure of Iraq, the key being to allow the Iraqis to take responsibility for, and master their own destiny. It's not our job to do it for them, but to train them, show them, and demonstrate methods which they can take on themselves to become effective. One of the threats, eloquently pointed out by General Cooper during the briefing, is that "Too often, we come in with our own mindset and our own way of doing things. What we need to do, and what we are doing now is letting the Iraqis establish their own identity, with Iraqis in key roles, doing things their own way. That's happening across the board now; from the police force, to the army, the border protection force, to the marines. Iraq's is a riverine economy, so the domination of her waterways by the Iraqis is vital". One of the keys to this lies in training the Iraqi forces through their involvement in live operations as opposed to staged exercises, as we'd do here, say.
Saddam-U-like: Admiral Sir James Burnell Nugent, Commander in Chief of the Royal Navy, greets a line up of senior Iraqi naval officers at their HQ in Um Qasr (c) Black Rat. Intelligence on the ground as regards the security situation in theatre tends to present a rather different picture to that which we see over here. Sunni support for extremists and those involved in the insurgency appears to be limited outside of the main Sunni strongholds, and the view amongst the man on the street is simply a desire for stability within Iraq's borders. Evidence tends to suggest that a large proportion of the insurgency is driven from across the border by Iran, another reason why Coalition forces are working with heavyweights such as Ali Al Sistani and Muqtada al Sadr, both of whom are seen as stabilising influences amongst their respective communities, with the power and respect to keep the peace. Ironically, the now-defunct Coalition Provisional Authority issued a warrant for Al Sadr's arrest on murder charges whilst I was in Baghdad in 2004, a warrant which remains outstanding. Such is the nature of realpolitik. One of the biggest problems facing the Coalition forces in rebuilding Iraq's infrastructure lies in the reluctance of Iraqis in government ministries to take responsibility for anything. That reluctance appears to be endemic, and stems perhaps from the darkest days of Saddam's rule, when any minister associated with a failure could, and would often be summarily shot. The corollary is that now, everything might be in place in terms of a project that is vital to Iraq's economy or future; the research has been done, the parts or equipment exist and are in stock, and the people are available to make it happen. Coalition forces will draw up the purchase order and forward it to the respective ministry in Baghdad, where it will become mysteriously 'lost' or buried at the bottom of the minister's in-tray. It's becoming a serious problem now, as vital work remains outstanding, simply for want of a signature authorising the spending of funds which are available and earmarked as such at the treasury. Quite how one solves that particular problem is anybody's guess.
Meet and Greet: Admiral Burnell-Nugent talks with officers from the Iraqi forces, portside at Um Qasr, as we await a demonstration of an opposed boarding by Iraqi marines (Black Rat) It's clear though that things are markedly more positive compared to how they were when I was last in the country, with the Iraqis taking ever-greater control and responsibility for what happens within their own borders. One gets a sense that the Coalition forces are there more as a backstop in many cases, and Iraqi forces taking the lead response has become the norm. Take the recent bombing by Sunni insurgents of the Al-Askari Shrine in Samarra, one of the holiest sites in Shia Islam. The response to that was effected by local governors, involved Iraqi forces, and was led by them without reference to the Coalition. That's exactly the sort of independence the Iraqis have achieved, but it's a message that's been slow to emerge, buried under the weight of a daily news flow of bombings, attacks and ever-increasing numbers of dead. Other positives to come out of the briefing were that, with the democratic process now firmly established in Iraq, there's a steady improvement of governance. Oil and electricity production are within touching distance of their pre-war levels, and the water supply is better than it was before the war. There's a deeply-held belief amongst the senior British officers that I spoke to that 2006 will see burgeoning Iraqi sovereignty, although there is also a recognition that, as time moves on, we may become seen as part of the problem rather than the solution. We may be well regarded by most Iraqis at present, but that goodwill has a best before date stamped across it that we will disregard to our detriment.
Lock and Load: An Iraqi marine, H&K MP5 submachine pistol at the ready, waits for the order to board an Iraqi Navy patrol boat, which is playing the role of a suspect ship (Black Rat). When the briefing ended, we were driven over to the mess hall for lunch, where we were joined by a number of locally based RN and Royal Marines officers, keen to hear Admiral BN's plans and engage him in conversation. From there, we were driven across the pan to the Joint Helicopter Force HQ where, after a brief photo call, our Sea King arrived to fly us down to the port of Um Qasr, Iraq's only deep-water port and the home of the country's fledgling Navy and Marines. It was at this point that the importance of the waterways - and their role in Iraq's oil infrastructure and contribution to the country's regeneration, started to hit home to us. Previously, I'd wondered just what impact the Royal Navy could be having with regard to the British military's presence in the Gulf, but here the evidence was writ large. They're training Iraqi marines - how to effect boarding of boats and ships threatening Iraq's territorial waters. They're training the country's navy, now almost 900 strong and operating patrols in defence of Iraq's waterways 24/7. Our senior Naval officers have been working with the Kuwaiti Navy to promote a closer working relationship with the Iraqis (bear in mind that memories of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1991 remain strong) and the result is joint ops between the neighbouring countries.
Give me Warp Speed! A Sailor of the Iraqi Navy steers a course as we leave port for the Khawr Abd Allah waterway (c) Black Rat. We watched a demonstration by Iraqi marines of an opposed boarding at sea and I was surprised at just how efficiently they performed the task. Next, we donned life jackets and boarded one of the Iraqi Navy's 24 new aluminium-hulled fast patrol boats, a gift from the U.A.E. With an all-Iraqi crew, we took off at speed along the Al Faw peninsula, for a demonstration of the boat's capabilities - which with twin 250hp Mercury outboard engines, was impressive enough. The .50 calibre machine gun mounted astern and manned by a crew of 3 is more than enough firepower to deal with reluctant smugglers or insurgents intent on attacking the country's oil platforms, and the comms fit and GPS were all state of the art. The Iraqi Navy counts 5 shallow hull Predator patrol boats amongst its fleet, as well as 6 high-fit ribs, and they have a new class of patrol boats on order which feature a deeper draft, are wider, and with space for a larger crew. It might not sound much compared to our own Navy, but then its about the right tool for the job and with just 35 miles of coast to patrol, they have exactly what they need to project firepower and force where it counts - they have no aspirations to become an expeditionary force, they're there solely to patrol territorial waters and defend the oil platforms.
Firepower: Iraqi sailors man the mounted GPMG, the patrol boat's main armament as we patrol the Khawr Abd Allah waterway. (c) Black Rat We drove over to the Navy college where a number of senior Iraq navy officers were presented to the Admiral and it was driven home to us just how motivated these men are, given the risks that face them. Attacks by insurgents on senior military officers in the country's regenerated forces are widespread and the higher up the chain someone is, the greater the risk. Just two days before our arrival, the chief of the Iraqi Navy, who we'd been due to meet, had his home shot up whilst he was there with his family (fortunately, nobody was hurt in the attack). The risk is evident too even lower down the chain of command - at a recent graduation ceremony for Iraqi Marine recruits, not a single family member was able to attend due to the risk. These are men with a great deal of pride in their country, whose single greatest desire is to see it returned to a position of strength and independence, free of the debt to Coalition forces, and free from the instability created by what is by and large, and insurgent threat from across the borders. The sun was setting by now, so after bidding our hosts farewell, we returned to the pan where our Sea King was awaiting us, engines hot and rotors turning. Donning body armour and helmets once again, we boarded and took off on the short flight across the Gulf to our home for the next two nights, the amphibious assault ship HMS Bulwark, the Royal Navy's newest vessel. She had assumed duites as Flagship in the Northern Arabian Gulf (NAG) on the day of our arrival and would also be playing host to Commodore Bruce Williams, the commander of Command Task Force 58 (CTF 58) for the duration of our visit. It was on this short hop across the sea that things got interesting. A short time after take off from Um Qasr, we appeared to come under attack. I looked out of the window to sea two tell-tale smoke trails heading towards us, followed shortly after by three or four loud explosions, accompanied by blinding white light as the aircraft fired off its chaff and Electronic Counter Measures. We banked sharply to starboard, and climbed to altitude, and continued on our way, shaken but not stirred!
Attention on Board: Captain Clive Johnstone, captain of HMS Bulwark, in discussion with Admiral Sir James Burnell-Nugent, CINCFLEET, Royal Navy. (c) Black Rat. I was surprised at just how spacious the ship was when we arrived. On disembarking from the aircraft, the ship's crew stood to attention to receive us, and our bags were taken from us to be delivered to our accommodation. After a short welcome brief from Captain Clive Johnstone, we were shown to our cabins, with both Mike and I allocated private cabins on the Wardroom deck. After a quick shower and change, we joined the ship's officers for dinner in the wardroom, but it had been a long day, so I retired a short time later.
Commando: A Royal Marines Commando from the detachment aboard HMS Bulwark mans the 7.62mm GPMG mounted on our Landing Craft as we cruise across the Northern Arabian Gulf towards the KAAOT oil platform (c) Black Rat Friday was a day spent learning about the finer points of Iraq's infrastructure, a fast track to learning exactly what it all means to the country's regeneration and future - in short, everything. As it stands though, that message seems to be lost to the world at large due to the focus placed upon the insurgency, and the problems within the country's borders. Understandably, the world’s attention is on the mainland, where multinational forces are trying desperately to hold the country together and prevent all-out, bloody civil war, but the social and political troubles besetting Iraq are overshadowing the potential vulnerability of its economy.
Bearing the Scars: KAAOT oil platform as seen through a slit in the landing ramp of our LCVP. Despite its size, this platform is almost redundant, rendered almost unusable through intense fighting during the Iran-Iraq war of the 1980s. The money doesn't exist to regnerate it, and inward investment is difficult to attract at present given Iraq's volatile security situation. (c) Black Rat. Iraq’s northern oil pipelines are closed at present, following a series of terrorist attacks last last year, so the 1.1 million barrels of crude oil that Iraq exports each day is being pumped to two oil platforms in the south, just off the al-Faw peninsula. The Al-Basra oil terminal (ABOT) handles the overwhelming majority of this (roughly 90% of total exports) and the Khawr al-Amaya oil terminal (KAAOT), which was badly damaged in intense fighting during the Iran-Iraq war handles the remainder. The two terminals, run by Iraq’s Southern Oil Company, lie just sixteen miles off the southern coast of Iraq, and oil is fed to them via huge 48inch diameter pipe that snake along the seabed.
Unsteady Legs: The rusted, holed carcass that is one of KAAOT's main supports for the oil platform above. The holes were caused by gun fire between Iranian and Iraqi boats during the war of the 1980s. (c) Black Rat. Given that between them, KAAOT and ABOT are responsible for almost 97% of Iraq's Gross Domestic Product (GDP), it would be fair to say that they are vital to the country's economy, and they are the reason that the Northern Arabian Gulf is awash with Coalition ships; the military forces of CTF 58, currently led by Commodore Williams are there to protect them, because those two platforms and the piplelines that feed them hold the key to the economic survival of Iraq. The point isn't lost on those intent on Iraq's destruction; a two-day shut down in April 2004 caused by an attack on the platforms, which killed three U.S servicemen is estimated to have cost $28 million and the price of oil spiked on world markets resulting in a further loss to the global economy of approximately $6 billion.
A Hole Runs Through it: This gaping hole which disects a steel strut, one of the main beams across KAAOT, shows the sheer firepower of an armour piercing round. You can see the thickness of the steel; this is the damage caused by what was most likely a uranium-tipped, armour piercing round. KAAOT is littered with other, similar damage. (c) Black Rat. Michael and myself accompanied Admiral BN on a rare visit to both platforms to meet those who are guarding Iraq’s future and protecting the oil flow. With a detachment of the ship's Royal Marine Commandos and Andy, an RM Lt. Colonel who is my media liason back in the UK, we were lowered into the Gulf aboard a Landing Craft (LCVP) and taken first to KAAOT. Known as “Waterworld”, the platform is commanded by US Navy Lieutenant John Moses from Mobile Security Detachment 31 of US Naval Coastal Warfare. Under his charge are 13 American military and 30 Iraqi Marines; he works with the terminal's manager, an Iraqi, and the 34 Iraqi workers who run the platform, but his role and that of those under his command is not to lead; the U.S military are there as a kind of 'older brother' to the Iraqi marines, who are now entirely responsible for the point defence of the platform. That defence is concentrated on the north side, consisting of twin .50 calibre machine guns and grenade launchers, which are manned round the clock.
Coalition Forces: Standing L-R at rear are Lt. John Moses of the US Navy, Admiral James Burnell-Nugent, CINCFLEET Royal Navy, and Captain Paddy McAlpine, RN, operational commander of CTF 58. Crouching at front are two Iraqi marines, responsible for point defence of the KAAOT oil platform. (c) Black Rat. KAAOT was severely damaged in the Iran-Iraq War in the 1980s and is in dire need of repair; evidence of the intense battles that were waged over this vital strategic location is everywhere, from the rusting supports, which prop the platform up, to the holes ripped through 6 inch thick steel beams by uranium-tipped rounds. The platform is in a state of utter decay and is gradually slipping into the sea. It has only one berth for oil tankers and is only able to accommodate vessels limited to carrying one million barrels of oil; in effect it is little more than a back-up platform. In four months Lt. Moses has left the platform only once and that was to go across to ABOT. He explained his rules of engagement: “If any boat enters the exclusion zone, we warn them off with loudspeakers, flares and whistles. “That normally puts them off. If they keep coming, we fire warning shots over their heads and, if they still don’t turn away and come within 500 metres, we’ll blast them out of the water.” Asked if he and his team had engaged in firefighting in the event of an oil fire, he replied: “No, sir, the only firefighting we do is with our guns.” How does he motivate his men, having to spend every day sitting on an oil platform, month after month? “I tell them their safety is inextricably linked to the safety of this platform, that motivates them,” he said.
The White House: The main accommodation block on KAAOT which provides housing for the terminal manager, his staff and Lt. John Moses, commander of US troops based on the platform. The US troops are based elsewhere on the platform. Conditions are better than the appearance suggests; wi-fi internet, a fully equipped gym and extensive DVD library all help to while away the hours. (c) Black Rat. “Iraq’s GDP is flowing through these pipes,” Admiral Burnell-Nugent said. Cupping his hands around the pipes, which resonated to the sound of oil being pumped through them, he said, "it's not often that one can experience something so literal, but I have almost 100% of this country's economy in my hands at the moment. There can be no more graphic representation of just what this country relies upon that this".
"Fill 'er Up!": An ultra-large supertanker, one of the world's largest ocean going vessels, takes on crude oil alongside one of the ABOT platform's four berths. It takes approximately three days to take a full load of oil onboard. (c) Black Rat. A 3,000- metre exclusion zone exists around each platform, and every fishing boat, dhow and RIB in the area - anything up to 1,000 a day - is warned in the strongest possible terms not to intrude even a few metres over the line. If they do, they risk being mistaken for an insurgent or a terrorist. “I have the job of deciding whether it’s a fisherman or a terrorist, but we don’t get a second chance,” said Royal Navy Captain Paddy McAlpine, the operational commander of multinational task group CTF 58. With HMS Bulwark, our temporary home on constant duty around the two platforms, accompanied by vessels from the Australian and Singaporean navies, US Coastguards and, most importantly for Iraq’s future, British-trained Iraqi Navy teams in patrol boats, there is a round-the-clock lookout for terrorist suicide boats.
Pipework: Admiral BN with Lt. Garth Kaliczack, US Navy Commander. Visible behind them are two of the 48 inch pipes, which carry the oil that is vital to Iraq's future. Within these pipes flow almost 100% of the country's GDP. (c) Black Rat On board the two platforms, US Navy troops and Iraqi Marines live and work together to protect Iraq’s economy, patrolling the 1,000- metre-long structures and manning point-defence gun positions at each end. They are under constant observation by a small team of Iranian military positioned on a sunken crane, just inside Iranian territorial waters, which lie no more than 3000 metres from KAAOT, although the top of the structure bends over into Iraqi waters. Outside the CTF 58 exclusion zone, it is an ideal observation point for the Iranians, although Captain McAlpine is not suggesting that the Iranians are planning anything hostile.
HMS Bulwark at Anchor: HMS Bulwark is the Royal Navy's most recent ship to enter service, one of the Albion Class, Landing Platform Dock Ships (LPD's). The primary function of Albion Class ships is to embark, transport, and deploy and recover (by air and sea) troops and their equipment, vehicles and miscellaneous cargo, forming part of an Amphibious Assault Force (c) Black Rat. We're taken to ABOT, by far the more important of the two platforms because it has four berths for ultra large super-tankers - the world's biggest, each with a maximum capacity for three million barrels of oil. You're looking at three days to transfer that sort of quantity of crude, and there's a constant stream of ships in and out of the platform throughout the year. Lt Garth Kaliczak, the US Navy officer in charge of an 82-man team welcomed us to the “ABOT Marriott”, as he calls it. He has up to 40 Iraqi Marines under his wing. “My job is to defend and train,” he said. On the day of Admiral Burnell-Nugent’s visit, there were four super-tankers in position, all plugged into Iraq’s oil flow, drawing out crude oil in return for the money that is Iraq's future. ABOT is handling 95,000 barrels of oil per hour; in terms of value, $65 million a day or up to $11,000 a second.
Looking to the Future: Andy, a Lt. Col with the RM who acts as a media relations officer looks across the clear waters of the Gulf from the deck of HMS Bulwark. Just visible on the horizon is KAAOT oil platform (c) Black Rat CTF 58, which was set up in 2003, has previously been commanded by the Americans and Australians but is now led by the British for the first time, under the overall control of Commodore Bruce Williams, Captain McAlpine’s boss. Commodore Williams emphasised the importance of building up intelligence of all the regular users of the sea area for which he is responsible. “The key to this is the involvement of the Iraqi Navy (rebuilt from the navy destroyed by American and British bombing in the first Gulf War), which goes around among the fishing boats and dhows to explain why there is an exclusion zone. Most of them are quite happy with the situation when they realise it’s the future of their country at stake,” he said. One Royal Navy officer on board HMS Bulwark, who has been given the job of mastering the intricacies of the Iraqi oil business said: “If these oil platforms were taken out by insurgents or terrorists, Iraq would be bankrupt.”
Landing Flare: A Royal Navy Sea King, part of the Joint Helicopter Force based at MND SE flares before landing on the deck of HMS Bulwark. A short time later, we're en route for Kuwait, the final stop before coming home. (c) Black Rat. That night, we had a private audience with HMS Bulwark's captain, followed by a private dinner in our honour hosted by Commodore Bruce Williams. With just six of us around the table in his private dining room onboard the ship, he expanded on his remit and was candid about his vision of the future and how he sees it taking shape. Although his command is for a fixed period, he's keen to see it extended until the point that Coalition forces are able to withdraw, handing control and responsibility fully over to the Iraqi forces - he has no wish to leave the job mid-way through completion.
GPMG: The door mounted 7.62mm machine gun, which protects most British Military helicopters, lies dormant as we transit across the Arabian Gulf towards Kuwait. Over Iraq, these weapons are manned whenever the aircraft is flying, but here, over the benign waters of the Gulf, any potential threats are a long way away. (c) Black Rat After dinner, we retired to the wardroom for a private chat with the Admiral over brandy. He's an amiable fellow, fiercely intelligent, with a great strategic overview of global affairs as you might expect, and it was useful to hear some of his insights and his plans for our Navy, which he is going to have to manage with a zero percent increase in funding over the next five years. "In essence", he told me, "we're going to have to deliver better productivity from the resources we have".
Cabin Crew: Two journalists (one visible), two Royal Marines offficers, the Commander of CTF 58, CINCFLEET and two Naval assistant officers comprise our final cargo as we head for Kuwait and a reception by the British Ambassador, Stuart Laing. (c) Black Rat. The following morning saw us saying farewell to HMS Bulwark, as our helicopter landed on deck to transfer us to Kuwait. Attached to the cabin via a lanyard, I was able to sit with my legs dangling outside the open door as we flew at low level across the Gulf. Out of danger, our flak jackets and helmets were left packed for this mission as we transited the crystal clear waters getting ever closer to Iraq's safer, and richer neighbour. On touching down at Kuwait Aiport, we were met on the pan by Stuart Laing, Her Majesty's Ambassador to Kuwait. He and Admiral BN are old friends, having met at Cambridge, their alma mater where they also met their wives. Michael, Andy, his colleague Richard from the Royal Marines and myself all took our seats in an armoured Mercedes and joined a motorcade led by the Ambassador's car flying the penant, on the short drive to Kuwait city. Here we peeled off, as the Admiral and his aides headed for the Embassy. We had the day at leisure before dinner that evening, so were driven to our hotel, the Mariott Courtyard in Kuwait City.
Circle the Wagons: On the ground at Kuwait Airport by a vehicle of the Kuwaiti force protecting the British Ambassador. Several of these, together with a number of armoured limousines from the Embassy comprised the motorcade in which we left the airport, bypassing immigration entirely! (c) Black Rat As expected, our lounge suits and other kit were in our rooms waiting for us on arrival, and we quickly changed into shorts and headed for the rooftop pool and sun loungers to soak up a little of the 90 degree temperatures over lunch. Once again I was left to ruminate on the moral issue that is a journalist's nightmare whenever departing a war zone. Soldiers and those fighting on our behalf are faced with court martial and a prison sentence if they choose to leave. We on the other hand, are given 5 star treatment in luxury hotels, and business class flights to our home airports.
The Lap of Luxury: Three hours after leaving the hostile waters off Iraq's south coast, we're relaxing by the pool of the Mariott CourtYard under the clear blue skies and mid 80 temperatures of Kuwait City. (c) Black Rat We spent the afternoon at leisure, wandering the Souks and malls before heading back to the hotel to change for dinner. A car arrived at 19:40 to convey us to the British Embassy for a private dinner given in the Admiral's honour. There were just sixteen, a mix of senior embassy staff, and three or so high ranking Kuwaiti Naval officers, including the General commanding. We sipped gin and tonics on the verandah of the Embassy, the night sounds of Kuwait the soundtrack to conversations with our fellow guests who wandered hither and thither amongst us, introducing themselves. At dinner, I was seated next to the embassy's first secretary, and arms salesman who introduced himself to me thus: "Hello, I'm Keith, and I'm a dealer in death", without any hint of irony.
RSVP: An invitation to dinner from Stuart Laing, the British Ambassador to Kuwait and his wife Sibella (c) Black Rat. We left Kuwait early the following morning on a British Airways flight that left at 08:50 - exactly the same flight I'd caught home two years earlier after my last visit to Iraq and I was left to reflect on the changes I'd noticed this time around. There's no question that there's a different slant on things as seen from the south of the country, compared to in the north. There's no question that the majority of Iraqis I encountered on this visit welcomed what we are doing there and saw us a a positive influence, compared with the negative viewpoints and dislike of the Americans which I encountered on almost a daily basis with the Iraqis I met in Baghdad. There's an unmistakeable air of progress in the south, of the Iraqis working to take responsibility for themselves allied to a frustration and hatred of those visiting violence on the country. Most Iraqis I spoke with see the insurgency as an outside thing, not home-grown. They are glad to see Saddam gone, and amongst the Iraqi military we encountered, their favourite daily entertainment is watching the broadcasts of his trial on TV. On an Iraqi Navy patrol boat that we cross-decked to en-route between KAAOT and ABOT, the TV was tuned permanently to the trial, and the boat's crew would watch intently, mimicking, gesturing and laughing every time Saddam's face was shown. T.E. Lawrence, better known as Lawrence of Arabia, gave wise counsel in an article published in The Arab Bulletin in August 1917. He listed 27 points which were his guiding principles in dealing with the Arabs so successfully, and one paragraph in particular sums up the British military's approach in Southern Iraq. It reads thus: “Better the Arabs do it tolerably than that you do it perfectly. It is their war, and you are to help them, not win it for them. Actually,also, under the very odd conditions of Arabia, your practical work will not be as good as, perhaps, you think it is. It may take them longer and it may not be as good as you think, but if it is theirs, it will be better". If we are achieving successes there, it would appear to me to be due to our working to this creed, and a dedicated desire to win the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people. There's a marked dichotomy between the reality on the ground out there, and how it is reported back here and in the U.S by the mainstream media, which I suppose is just one of those things. Certainly, there seems to be amplification through the miles, in how events are portrayed here. I spoke to one of the Iraqi marines about the new photos which had just been disclosed of the torture at Abu Grahib by U.S soldiers, and of the video which showed British soldiers beating up their Iraqi prisoners. He was sanguine about them, saying "We want to move forwards, not backwards. You get this in war, there are bad people in every organisation, but not representative of those organisations as a whole. Britain is good for Iraq. Saddam bad. One day, we have true independence and when that day comes, In Sh'Allah, it will all have been worth it". It's hard to admit you're wrong, doubly so when your opinions are published on the internet for the world to see. My thoughts and opinions on Iraq, and our role in removing Saddam, which I wrote contemporaneously whilst based in Baghdad in 2004 are representative of how I felt at the time, based upon what I saw and experienced then. But based on what I saw this time round, I'm beginning to reassess my opinions. I still have trouble with Blair's justification for our being involved and I'm even more concerned over the legality of it. I despise the way the British military has submitted so many soldiers to the stress and pain of criminal investigation over their actions in combat - more so than in any other conflict of recent times - and there is no question that we're embroiled in a mess in Iraq, a country that might yet slip over the precipice into a civil war that will make Beiruit in the 1980s look like a vicar's tea party by comparison. The fact is though, that we're there, we are involved, and nothing is going to change that. Withdrawal, at this stage, is simply not an option, no matter how much we wish it to be. We have an obligation, having removed Saddam, to do all we can to stabilise the country, and see that those desirous of violence and power for thier own ends, do not succeed. The big question is whether or not we have both the finances, and the stomach to achieve that goal. |
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16.3.06 16:42 |
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SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME
I had often wondered what she looked like. Thought about the lay of her hair, its texture, its colour, its cut. Spent hours ruminating on her voice, her look. But most of all, I wondered about her. What was she like? Where did she go when she wasn't with me? What did she do? She's always been there; she's had my back for as long as I can recall, always there to warn me, show me the hidden dangers, point out that which I've missed. And on countless occasions, she's saved me from myself. She was there with me in Baghdad in 2004, when I stood rooted to the spot as Iraqi insurgents launched a salvo of Katyusha rockets at my precise location (I didn't take it personally, they could hardly have known I was there!). One landed close enough that the concussion wave when it came lifted me from my feet. But that first rocket was as nothing compared to the next one, which I watched arcing over toward me, its parabola placing it within my line of sight. I watched its trajectory and as it fell inexorably towards me, it hit the ground...and failed to detonate. She was there the day that I left my helmet on my motorcycle in a busy central London street and went into WH Smith's, only to find it had been stolen when I returned from the best free library in Britain after ten minutes (yeah, I know, how stupid can you get?) I could hardly ride home helmetless and I'd come out minus my wallet, but she'd placed a long-forgotten £200 casino chip in my pocket, which I was able to cash in. I got to the accessories shop in the West End ten minutes before closing, and walked out with a better helmet than the one I'd had stolen, too.
She had my back too, when I was involved in a motorcycle accident in 1999 that could have prevented me from seeing the dawn of the new Millenium. A car took me out from behind at 60mph and I was knocked unconscious when I hit the deck. I don't remember any of this, but witnesses and the police later said that I went body surfing along the main road and into the path of oncoming rush-hour traffic, coming to alongside the pavement about 100 yards from where the impact occurred. The paramedics might have been concerned that I'd broken my neck, carting me off to hospital on a spinal board, but I was discharged later that night, walking away with no more than soft tissue damage and a broken toe. If I recall correctly, she had a hand in having my favourite, and too expensive Hugo Boss cashmere overcoat and several irreplaceable items returned to me a week after I'd lost them. My fault I guess for including such an expensive item in my wardrobe of beer clothes and wearing it on a night out with the lads. It was stupid of me to leave it on the coat mountain in a pub made tropical by the heat of a thousand bodies, whilst I got slowly drunk. So I shouldn't have been surprised when I went to leave several hours later and found my coat had beaten me to it. The loss of the coat was a bitter pill, but all the more so when I remembered what was in its pockets - my keys, my mobile phone, and my little black book; the book in which I had countless celebrity phone numbers, contacts, irreplaceable jottings and bullet points from God knows how many meetings and assignments.
Hair, and a 'look' Like This... She must have been looking out for me then, because imagine my surprise when I got a phone call a week later, (having given up all hope and reported the items lost to the police), from a man who ten months earlier, I'd run down whilst riding my motorcycle (bear with me, it'll all become clear)! At the time, I'd written his contact details down on the first page of my notebook. And somebody had found that notebook in my coat pocket, turned to the first page, and called the number saying something like "You don't know me, but I am trying to contact the person who has your details in their notebook". The person trying to reach me was a man who, one week earlier, had found my coat on the windscreen of his car, which he'd parked outside the McDonalds opposite the pub I'd been drinking in. He'd stopped to buy a burger before driving to Yorkshire or somewhere, where his father had had a heart attack. Picked my coat up, meaning to do something about it, and drove off, remembering it when he came home and found it in the boot. Long and short of it is, he returned it to me, exactly as it was when I'd taken it off - everything I'd had in it was still there in the pockets. What do you say to a person like that? Actually, those years when I was riding a motorcycle on a daily basis must have really kept her busy! Remember the guy I mentioned who I ran over whilst riding my not-very-old but very expensive and shiny Yamaha R6? I wrote about the story here a couple of years ago. I was riding home through rush-hour London one balmy summer's evening. The traffic lights were green in my favour, and I was carrying a fair bit of speed, when Nigel, a lemming-like pedestrian, tried to run across my path. He failed, stood rooted to the spot like a rabbit caught in headlights, and I went straight into him. We were both unscathed, but my bike had incurred £1,500 of damage. Step up two traffic cops who'd watched the whole thing unfold, and then shamed Nigel into paying up every penny to have my bike put right. You seeing a pattern here? I could go on with the anecdotes - and I haven't even started on all the positives she's seen me through, the luck she's brought my way - but you're probably already hating me, so what's the point? Is it any wonder I've felt blessed by the presence of someone to watch over me? I used to joke about my 'Guardian Angel', but she never had a face, or even a form; it was a label for something that I didn't, couldn't and still don't understand. I'm not a terribly spiritual person, so it was my ironic name for the series of bizarre coincidences and ironic occurrences that have accompanied me throughout my life. 'It' had to be a 'she' though. I mean, come on. This is me ;-)
So yeah, we've shared a lot, her and I, although it's never been a relationship of equals. And as I've grown older, I've assumed, in that 'don't really believe she exists but just in case she does' kind of way, that she's remained forever young. Er..and sexy. But until recently, I'd never seen her face. She was a stranger to me. She's not now. A few weeks ago, I had a night out with my mate Ian. Remember him? I've written about him here several times. He's the fella I used to work with in the City, the one I lost contact with for a few years, but who I hooked back up with. We met up one night in February for a few too many beers and a curry down Brick Lane, and having bid one another farewell, I'd somehow made it to Kings Cross unaccompanied. Let me paint you a picture: It's a quarter past midnight. I'm walking on somebody else's legs, and joined-up thought is some long-forgotten concept that left me somewhere between the last pub and the restaurant. My phone beeps with a text message from another mate. I read it: "What is the group of bad people called in 'Angels and Demons' by Dan Brown?" I think that's what you call a curve ball. Something from out of left field. I did a double take. "You've got to be fucking kidding!", I thought. (hey, I'm less than sober, okay? It made perfect sense to me). "Why on earth does he need to know the answer to that now? More to the point, how am I going to answer him? It's two years since I read that particular book, and I average two books a week at the best of times; the answer's there in the back of my mind, but it's like trying to grasp clouds in your hand. No chance!"
But dressed like this! I wouldn't mind, but it's not like I'm being asked something about the Da Vinci code. I mean, everyone's read that one. And for those late to catch on, there are a fair number to be found still reading it. So the chances are there'll be somebody on the train I've just boarded (the 00:36 if you're interested, also known as the 'Drunk Train' on account of the people who catch it) reading it that I could ask. But no; he wants to know an arcane question about one of Dan Brown’s lesser-known books written in over six years ago. I sit back, frustrated. (I don’t like failing at anything, no matter how obtuse the challenge - I’m male, so the competitive element comes with the Y-chromosome). Just then, I look up as my peripheral vision detects a devastatingly sexy thirty-something girl, shapely and with long, dark, lightly-curled hair tumbling down to her shoulders, boarding the train. I'm not the only one; each and every fella on my train seems to have found an excuse to look up and as one, their eyes follow her as she gracefully walks the length of the carriage...and sits down next to me. I try to avert my gaze, but it's difficult because (a), I'm more drunk than sober, so my co-ordination and sense of timing aren't exactly in synchronicity and (b), rather predictably (as my regular readers will know) she's wearing 'The Uniform' - a white blouse, black mini skirt and black tights allied with a terrific pair of black leather (obviously!) fuck-me boots. She looks at me. Smoothes her skirt And smiles. I'm looking at her face, but I'm aware of her reaching into her bag for something as she settles down for the journey ahead. The doors close and the train moves off. I look, and even as she reaches into her bag for it, I know. A shiver runs down my spine, like somebody's just walked over my grave, and I watch the scene unfold like I'm the director of a film that I've both scripted and cast. I know what's coming. She takes out a paperback copy of Dan Brown's 'Angels and Demons', opens it to page 53, and starts reading. My heart begins to thump. My mouth's dry, and I hear the words as if spoken by someone else... "Look, this is going to sound like a really lame chat-up line", I offer - and she looks up and smiles at me - "but my friend's just texted me to ask me a question. It might sound a little bizzarre, but could you tell me the name of the brotherhood who..." - her smile cedes into a coquettish laugh, but she stops herself to interrupt me, and I hear her speak for the first time; she even sounds angelic! "Oh, you mean The Illuminati?" she asks, flipping back two pages to show me the symbol that is printed there on page 51 in a biazarre gothic font, which means it reads the same whether viewed left-to-right or in reverse. I smile back at her. "That's it", I say, and we chat briefly about the book and Dan Brown. I want to say more, flirt a bit, but there are two reasons why I can't; firstly, I'm married. Besides, she's my Guardian Angel, it'd be like...like..nah, don't go there! And anyway, she's sober, I'm not. Three reasons then. I look away to text my friend the answer to his question, feeling smug, despite still being perplexed as to the pressing reason he'd want to know such a bizarre thing - and so late on a school night, too. I leave the girl to her book, troubling her no more, but smile to myself at the unlikely series of events that have brought me together with this...what? Who is she exactly? Just a commuter? Or have I just seen the face of, talked with, flirted with, my Guardian Angel? Half an hour later, I get up as the train rolls into my home station. I walk unsteadily towards the doors (look on the bright side, at least I wasn't at the dribbling stage of drunk!) and as I look back, I see her holding my gaze, looking at me, smiling. I smile back, and step out into the night. |
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23.3.06 14:03 |
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SOMETHING FOR THE LADIES...
One of the things I most enjoy about my job is the sheer breadth of subjects that I'm commissioned to write about. Each new assignment means my undertaking research, conducting interviews with the right people, visiting different places, and the process never deviates, whether it's a subject I'm famililar with, or something completely new. In many respects, it's the new ones that inspire me the most, because those are the assignments that confer new knowledge upon me, gifting me an awareness where previously there was ignorance. I find an angle or a hook to hang the story from and then immerse myself in someone else's world, soaking up as much data as I can. I make notes, record interviews, take pictures. Then it's a matter of filtering out what's not relevant, so that I can write a feature that hopefully educates or informs the reader. When the copy is filed, the knowledge combines with what I experienced whilst undertaking the research, and I'm one step further along the learning curve. It's the best insight into life anybody could wish for. A quick look through this blog's archives might suggest that I only write about aviation or the military, though. And whilst it's true that I've spent quite a bit of time with all three of our services over the past few years, it doesn't tell the whole story. For every trip I've had in an RAF fast jet, or ship I've sailed on with the Royal Navy, there is a raft of features that I've written on a whole world of subjects - from business, women's interest, technology and automotive to news, celebrity interviews and lads' mags, with everything in betwen. I'm a profligate writer, churning out countless stories each month on a range of subjects for two news agencies, but they rarely see the light of day on here because it's my higher profile assignments that take prominence. I thought it high time I softened the feel of this blog with something a little more feminine and tactile than guns or military hardware, so for my female readers - and the men actually, come to think of it - I offer you this story about online retailer figleaves.com and the blooming success story that is the lingerie market in the U.K. And you thought business was boring?! A changing demographic in Britain has seen professional women becoming an increasingly powerful economic market force and nothing underlines this better than the market for intimate apparel. In the UK, intimate apparel sales (the collective term for hosiery, corsetry and lingerie) have rocketed in recent years, climbing by some seven per cent in 2004 to over £2 billion as shoppers bought garments ranging from knickers and bras to thongs and stockings in record numbers. Retail sales for hosiery and lingerie stood at £624m and £552m respectively in 2004 with brassières alone accounting for 33.4%.
High Street retailers like Marks and Spencer used to be the de facto choice for underwear purchases, but for a generation raised on ‘Sex and the City’, tastes are becoming ever more adventurous, leading to a whole new market of designer-band luxury items, which shun scratchy lace in favour of sheerer, more comfortable fabrics. The lexicon for the internet generation is ‘anything goes’, a legacy of the rave culture of the eighties which saw underwear worn as outerwear. A gradual blurring of the lines between work and home wardrobes by young women and a penchant for using sheer, diaphanous fabrics in outerwear by designers has seen sales of brassières and panties outstrip the growth of other lingerie items by a considerable margin. Whereas women once regarded underwear as a commodity and bought out of necessity, it is now regarded increasingly as a luxury indulgence or fashion accessory and it’s designer names like La Perla, Lejaby, Love Kylie and DKNY which are reaping the rewards, replacing the more familiar High St retailers’ labels on the garments in the discerning woman’s underwear drawer. The development of new fabrics and the use of new materials in lingerie have provided an opportunity for companies to diversify their product ranges ever further and no company has been better placed to take advantage of this than online UK retailer figleaves.com. Figleaves was founded eight years ago by its current chairman Daniel Nabarro and survived the dot.com crash of 1999, which saw some high profile casualties including the one that started it all, Boo.com. Figleaves almost went the same way - they originally started out with the name 'Stuff for Women', but when current chief executive Michael Ross joined, he came up with the rebranding and used boo.com simply as a source of inspiration for the revised business model. The boo.com vision was that fashion brands are truly global - the 'open a copy of Vogue, and it will be the same all over the world' concept. But whereas Boo focused on outerwear, figleaves concentrated on underwear; it’s branded, light, and easily shippable, anywhere in the world. You can see the attraction - and so can the customers. Figleaves got lean and shaped up, offering intimate apparel from its website in over 2,500 styles from over 170 designer brands. Today, the company offers online shoppers the widest range of lingerie, hosiery and corsetry available anywhere in the world offering more styles, sizes and brands than any other online or physical retailer. 80 per cent of the 400,000 customers are women in the 25-50 age range, spending an average of £50 per transaction. Figleaves’ philosophy is a simple one - to provide a simple, one-stop shop for all intimate apparel needs, regardless of size, style or budget through a simple, easy to use web portal. Customers place orders online; these are checked against stock before being despatched from a purpose-built 27,000sq.ft warehouse for free global delivery. From its humble beginnings in 1998, the company has grown from a staff of four to its current complement of 70 and has seen turnover increase from £180,000, doubling year on year to an estimated £14m this year. The company is now nudging profitability as planned.
Growing at that rate is not easy for any business, be it offline or online and chief executive Michael Ross, doesn’t pretend that it is. He says it has been made possible by having a clear vision and sticking to targets. “We knew from the beginning that breakeven was going to be at around £15 million turnover, and we couldn’t have afforded to wait 10 years to get there,” he says. Perhaps just as notable though, is the fact that Figleaves.com has succeeded where so many of its peers have failed – by breaking America. Unlike Marks & Spencer, which came unstuck when it paid over the odds for luxury shirt maker Brooks Brothers, and Midland Bank, which lost over £1 billion on California’s Crocker Bank, Ross did not expand into the U.S until the company had already established a presence there. “On the day that we launched in America it was already our second biggest market,” says Ross. “Most British companies fail in America because they start with high costs, such as setting up flagship sites in New York. But American women were ordering online from us and only realising that we were based in Britain when they received the underwear and saw it was posted from England.” Figleaves.com has since set up a separate American website and all the online marketing deals are negotiated by somebody who flies out once a month from England. The company now runs a concession within Amazon.com. “We did a joint launch with Amazon and Anna Kournikova for a new Shock Absorber bra,” says Ross. “Jeff Bezos, head of Amazon, had a tennis match with Anna Kournikova in New York and within a week we had orders worth $250,000.” Having conquered America, Ross now has his sights set firmly on Europe, particularly, France. France has a huge lingerie market - even small French towns seem to have as many lingerie shops as bread shops - but Ross thinks there is still a niche for him. “The French lingerie market is worth about £3 billion a year,” he says. “We are looking to turn over £8m in four years’ time, mainly from expatriates or people who don’t like shopping.” The company already exports to 66 countries. Traffic to the Figleaves website sees over 3m unique hits each month, and has seen over £2.5m of sales to customers who arrived via Google alone. A growing customer base that is rapidly approaching half a million, has taken Figleaves firmly into the Top 10 of UK internet retailers with the result that the company now boasts a host of prestigious awards from business and media, including the prestigious Online Retailer of the Year 2005 award from Retail Week.
Right, that's enough lingerie for now, let's talk TV. I'm loving the new (and final!) third series of No Angels, which airs on Tuesday evenings (er...like today) at 22:00 on Channel Four. I might be a little outside of the demographic for the audience, but I still love the storylines, the slick production, kicking soundtrack and the brilliantly cast characters. I've obviously got a soft spot for medical dramas, because I'm completely hooked on ABC's Grey's Anatomy, too. Oh, and whilst we're on the subject of TV, and medical comedy/drama, Channel 4's inspired sit-com/sketch show Green Wing returns this Friday for its long-awaited second series. The writers really broke the mould with Green Wing, a smart and original blend of sitcom and sketch show, with a hint of docu-soap, and a grim determination to drive the tired old genre of TV sitcom into fresh and dynamic new areas. Green Wing for the first time expanded the traditional sitcom format from half an hour to a full sixty minutes. In making this bold move, the show liberated its large team of writers from the Albatross of having to “move the plot forward” in every scene, and gave them enough screen time to create surreal “freestanding” comedy moments that were there for one reason only – to be funny. And my God, they are! If you didn't catch this first time round (and Ch4 will be broadcasting the first series each night until Friday for those of you who didn't) don't miss this. And for my readers in the U.S - unlucky! Actually, that will include me from next week. With the builders moving into our house from Monday for the next couple of months so that the subsidence can be dealt with, I'm off to my parents' house in warm and sunny Louisiana for two weeks whilst they get the dirty and heavy work sorted out. Hopefully, by the time I get back, we should have a new floor downstairs, and it'll just be a case of working around the painters and decorators who will have to make good every room on the ground floor (including my office, natch). The cats are off to a cat hotel whilst the messy work is going on, so I'll have the delightful task of driving them there on Monday and making myself scarce until my flight leaves a week tomorrow. Still, I have an assignment to undetake before then, plenty of writing to keep me occupied and a host of things to do before I go so I'm expecting the time to fly by. |
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28.3.06 13:01 |
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SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES
I've always been a fan of BMW's cars. For me, German cars have always set the benchmark in automotive engineering, and I had a soft spot for BMW's designs. I had two successive 3 series coupes in the latter half of the 1990s, and by the time the Millenium beckoned, I'd graduated through to a 7 series. They were all company cars, each bought to my specification, but paid for with my employers' money. I'd had the choice of anything I wanted within the price range, but for me, they were the only vehicles worthy of consideration. Dynamically, as well as aesthetically, each was definitive within its class; tight, sorted and epitomising the German engineering ideal. Whilst the marketing men had to take some of the credit, no product could withstand an advertising campaign as relentless as that of BMW, if its integrity was lacking. Design-wise, the whole range was faultless. The flowing lines, low stance, feline silhouette; muscular, yet feminine too; agile. You'd expect the cabin to be the perfect cocoon, and it was. But it was outside of the driver’s immediate environment that the attention to detail really shone. Everything was in synergy - even the components under the bonnet that would never see the light of day. The bonnet was damped to perfection, as were the doors and boot. The electric sunroof opened and closed at just the right speed, at with just the required amount of force to communicate its position. Somewhere in BMW’s headquarters in Stuttgart, sits a man whose sole reason for existence is to find the algorithms necessary to enable the doors to shut with just the right ‘clunk’. To push buttons a million times until he discovers the value to give them the right amount of resistance. The same must apply to the chemist who toils away in a darkened room in the depths of the factory, working night and day to improve on the already perfect formula of the windscreen wash. Here is a chemical that gives off the most wonderful essence when sprayed through its electronic jets to the tinted, heated screen. Whatever smell is supposed to convey ‘quality’ in screen-wash, BMW have discovered it. Don't ask me how - it's screen-wash, for God’s sake; water and something else available through a million outlets. So couldn’t BMW do what every other manufacturer in the world does and send its cars from the factory with commercially available stuff? No, of course it couldn’t, The screen wash has to be like the cars – perfect, in aroma, colour and operation. Who thought of a detail like that? What kind of person is so obsessive?
Losing my company-financed BMWs was probably the biggest wrench when I left the City for life as a journalist, although the pill wasn't as bitter as it might have been; I might not have had one sitting on my drive 24/7 then, but a call to the press office could source me what I wanted and for a couple of weeks, I'd have a top spec model on hand to play with, which has to be the next best thing. But then Chris Bangle came along to re-design the BMW range, and suddenly, it didn't seem to matter as much. People fall into one of two camps when they look at Bangle's work - they either love it, or loathe it, and there's no middle ground. Personally, I fell into the latter camp and for a couple of years, BMW and I have been strangers. Recently though, I've undergone something of a conversion. I've started looking at BMWs with renewed interest and the designs no longer seem such a departure from the norm. Maybe it's familiarity. Maybe I've softened as I've got older. But I could no longer ignore the hype, and besides, a commission is a commission. And I'm not even going to try and moan about it, because at the end of the day, even I know that having to live with a £45,000 car for a couple of weeks isn't exactly living with a hair shirt. So when I get back from America, BMW and I are getting reacquainted in the form of a 535d M Sport Saloon. She's fully loaded, with about £7,000 worth of toys and options including a head-up display and adaptive headlights and we have plans!
One of the best aspects of freelancing is the freedom. Okay, I could let the car sit outside my office for the duration, and use it for the school run, but where's the fun in that? No, I wanted an adventure. So I've devised one. Myself and a mate will be driving the BMW the thousand-odd miles from London to The Millau Bridge in southern France, a structure that has to rank as a modern wonder of the world. From there, we're just an hour or two from the coast and the Mediterranean Sea, so I fancy we'll spend another night down there before heading back. That should see a couple of thousand miles under the BMW's belt, a nice mix of urban and provincial roads together with some long, straight motorways, which will be just perfect for me to get an angle on what the car is really like. On the journey, we'll have ample opportunity to take in the sights, stopping in places like Clermont Ferrand, drinking in the majesty of the Massif Central. It'd be rude not to stay in a fine hotel and partake of some of France's best wines and gourmet food, and as we won't want to appear impolite, I suspect that's exactly what we'll do. Technology has moved on apace since my last BMW, so as this one will come pre-wired to receive my iPod, I'll fire it up with a playlist of specially selected tracks for the journey, including a few by the extraordinarily talented and beautiful Russian soprano Анна Нетребко. (known outisde of Russia as Anna Netrebko and pictured above) who I've only just discovered. Her voice is notable for having both the softness and flexibility of a lyric soprano as well as the resonance and darkness of a spinto soprano. She also has a large range, being able to sing high E flats and high E's. You can hear her singing Simpre Libera from la Traviata - click the link on her name above, which goes to her offical home page, and the excerpt loads with the page.
Millau Bridge and Montpellier on the South Coast should provide some great backdrops for the pictures, and...well, it's a road trip, so the stories will make themselves, really - I'm not planning on thinking about that particular aspect of the gig too hard! It's not one of my most stressful assignments, it must be said, but the logistics of arranging press facilities at the bridge, accommodation, passage across the Channel etc have all kept me busy of late, and besides, it'll be the perfect antidote to my time in Iraq. Expect words and pictures in early May, then. |
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30.3.06 12:25 |
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