This Life
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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BACK TO IRAQ
Hello world. Thought I'd bowed out, did you? Tell you the truth, I had. What with the changes that are hanging over 20six like the sword of Damocles and the mass exodus of Old Skool bloggers to the four corners of blogsville, I was ready and willing to join the flood, seeking pastures anew on WordPress. Still am, come to think of it.
But all that was before I was struck down by the return of my sciatica, the same excrutiating and all-consuming pain that afllicted me and so blighted my summer throughout last August. For the past ten days or so, I've been laid up, unable to move, unable to sleep and unable to escape or alleviate the pain. So once again, I'm drugged up to the eyes, lost in a sea of opium-induced drowsiness as the various drugs in my pain management regimen fight for supremacy in my central nervous system. Oh, and I've now got a referral to an orthopaedic surgeon too, so hopefully I can discover what's causing these intermittent bouts of intense pain.
Ironic really, as I spent the day before the onset of this particular episode with an eminent neurosurgeon, planning the logisics of a forthcoming feature which will see me shadowing him for a week as he performs brain surgery, talks to patients, and looks in on them in intensive care. Should be fascinating to say the least.
Otherwise, I've spent an awful lot of time working up forthcoming assignments, trying to put into place the neccessary arrangements for me to get where I need to be, with the right people, and at the right time. Oh, and along the way, making arrangements for the builders to move in for six weeks from the beginning of April to address the small problem of our house literally slipping away from under us. That little hiccup will require us to vacate the premises for a few weeks, so we rather have our hands full at the moment.
Thankfully, there seems to be some light at the end of the tunnel for me pain-wise, which is just as well as I'm going back to Iraq next week. The date had been pencilled in my diary since the tail end of last year, but it's taken until this afternoon for the neccessary approvals to come though. They have though, so myself and the man from The Times will fly out to Kuwait next Wednesday night, the first stop on the lengthy process of getting us into theatre. Only a short trip this one, but it looks like being action-packed and given what I know of the itinery, fascinating too. I'm due home on the 5th, but just two days later, I've got another assignment which will take me to the northern-most tip of Norway, way up in the Arctic Circle to watch the Royal Marines undertake their cold weather training. Brrr. So, desert to arctic within a week. Never let it be said that my life isn't about extremes!
Looks like this is going to be a busy weekend for me as I'll have lots of last-minute packing to do, plans to make, and things to buy. Oh, and it would be nice to try and live a little in there somewhere too, as I haven't done much of that in the past week or so due to being in so much pain. I shan't make any more lame promises of 'service returning to normal' because I won't be able to keep them. I'm definitely planning a move to WordPress which I shall facilitate upon my return, but until then, this is where you'll find me. A toute a l'heure
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WEST END GIRLS (or a TALE of TWO FELLAS)
Had a great night out in London last Friday with my good mate Nick, the perfect mix of low brow and high brow culture all in one evening. High brow was taken care of when we attended St Giles' Chapel, Cripplegate for a virtuoso performance by pianist Llŷr Williams, as part of BBC Radio 3's celebration of Mozart's 250th Birthday. Williams has been described as one of the most outstanding pianists of his generation, a confident and intelligent musician who brings a refreshing simplicity to the most complex pieces. The acoustics in the 14th century chapel, where Oliver Cromwell was married, were simply superb, the perfect foil for the natural, rich sounds which emanated from the Steinway Concert Grand Piano set temporarily in front of the altar. Williams played two pieces by Mozart, his Sonata in B Flat, K281 and his Fantasy in D minor, K397, and the concert was broadcast live by BBC Radio 3.
An hour later, having taken his final bow, Williams left, shortly followed by the audience (most of whom were overwhelmingly white-haired, bald of pate, and wearing clothes designed seemingly with comfort rather than fashion in mind, it must be said). Nick and I seemed to be the only two men there who weren't staring our sixties in the face, which was a little worrying - we did feel a little out of place, but then it made a pleasant change to do something different at 17:30 on a Friday evening and besides, it meant we had an early start on the fun stuff!
We hopped on a tube west, alighting at Picadilly from where it was but a short walk to Mint Leaf, my favourite London bar, bar none. Leila, my favourite waitress was there, the atmosphere was just right, and Nick and I were in the mood to relax, chat, and drink in the ambience. Leila set us up with a couple of dry Bombay Martinis, and we were set. Which is pretty much how the evening continued. The second Martini went down a little slower than the first (although not by much!), the third one was served with a delicious plate of Tandoori King Prawns, and after those, we couldn't simply up sticks and go, so we perhaps ill-advisedly had a fourth each. Which was fine until the bill came (an eye-watering £95.63!) - and until I totted up that the gin content in eight Martinis is roughly equivalent to a litre. So that's why my legs felt funny on the walk outside!
We caught a taxi over to Brick Lane, in the East End and were accosted as soon as we alighted by a waiter from one of the street's countless restaurants, who promised us everything but a free meal if we would grace his establishment. We were too drunk to argue, and from what I remember, the beer, poppadoms and curry were all excellent, the perfect end to a perfect evening. Caught the 00:36 train home if I recall correctly (the drunk train, by any other name), but since I fell asleep, I couldn't tell you what it was like. Woke up as the train rolled into the station though, and the walk home in the freezing night air was just what I needed to take the edge off of my lack of sobriety.
This week has been a nice mix of busy and laid back, kicking off on Monday with a lunch appointment in Covent Garden, courtesy of Sophie, a new PR contact. I arrived at her offices to be met by her, Toby and Natalie, two colleagues of hers, and together, we walked a short distance to Cafe des Amis, a delightful modern French restaurant in Hanover Place. There, we enjoyed a delightful lunch, shared conversation which was both constructive and enjoyable, and drank fine wine. I came away with three new contacts and a raft of ideas for potential features, they left with the knowledge that I could place the stories that their clients wanted told.
Strike Force: Group Captain Susan Gray, OBE, one of the RAF's highest ranking female officers.
From there, I caught a tube the short distance to Liverpol Street, where I met with Sarah, one of the journalists that I met on the BA press trip to India. We walked the short distance to the Great Eastern Hotel (wash your minds out!) and took a seat in Terminus, its brasserie, where we talked business over tea. Sarah's now editing a new magazine, and has commissioned me to write for it, so I came away with some more work, after an enjoyable couple of hours in her company. From there to Kings Cross, where I met with blogger Pixel Diva, and thence home.
Tuesday had something of a military hue to it, seeing me driving into Buckinghamshire for a 10:00 audience with Group Captain Susan Gray, OBE, at RAF Strike Command in High Wycombe. Susan is the officer in charge of the RAF's media and communications, and we spent a couple of hours chatting. Strike Command is awash with senior RAF officers, so I wasn't entirely surprised to bump into newly-promoted Air Chief Marshall Sir Joe French, previously Air Officer Commanding-in-Chief and a key player in the Hutton Affair. With effect from January 13th, he was appointed an Air Aide de Camp to Her Majesty the Queen and is one of the RAF's few four-star Generals. He knew Susan from the earliest days of her career, so she introduced us and we spent ten minutes or so chatting on the stairs (as you do!) From there, I drove the short distance to RAF Uxbridge, where I met another contact for lunch, and I was home disgustingly early! I've spent the week since working on a raft of new commissions, interspersed with emails and phone calls in connection with ideas for assignments that I'm planning for later in the year.
Before I go, thought I'd give you a quick heads up on three very useful bits of software that I really couldn't do without and have revolutionised my PC. The first, Videora iPod Converter, will prove invaluable to anyone with one of Apple's iPod videos. Unlike Apple's own QuickTime Pro, it's seemless, efficient, and blsiteringly quick at connverting any video format you care to throw at it, to mp4 format, so that you can transfer it to your iPod and watch it. Since downloading it late last year, my iPod has stored my favourite music videos, films and TV prorgrams, all of which has previously been viewable only on my PC.
Secondly, and also media-related, is Media Player Classic, an extremely lightweight and tightly-coded media player whose features far outweigh its size. It's based on the original Media Player, except it’s open source and released under the GNU GPL, and doesn’t have the annoyances of MS’s original. The interface is similar but a little more up-to-date and XP friendly, and comes with some more advanced features. Without doubt, the best thing about this player is the range of formats it supports. It’ll play just about anything you throw at it, whether it’s an MP3, an Ogg, a WMA, even a QuickTime file. And with Real Alternative (which Media Player Classic is bundled with), you can add RealMedia files to that list, negating the need for RealOne Player, which has to be enough reason to download it in itself. It'll also handle QuickTime files, sand since it doesnt doesn’t take an age to load, doesn’t annoy you with an ‘Upgrade to QuickTime Pro’ popup and lets you view movies in full screen, it's worth it for that reason alone, too. Try this, and see it beat MS' over-bloated media player to a bloody pulp.
Lastly, for anyone who hasn't yet heard about it, TechnoBubb's blog archive software is a must for anyone with a blog on 20six. It's a tiny piece of code that Bubb has written, which runs inside Microsoft's .NET framework, and makes a backup of your blog on 20six, including all images, comments, and images within comments, in RSS format. He's also written an RSS archive importer for Word Press, meaning anyone from 20six who wishes to migrate to the vastly better featured and independent world of Word Press, can do so, bringing with them all of their archives from 20six - images and comments too! Which has to be a good thing. Three cheers for Bubb, for a selfless and inspired piece of work.
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PENTHOUSE and PAVEMENT
There are some elements of my job that I adore and as I've said time and again on here, would willingly do for free. But as no voyage of discovery is entirely without obstacles, so the media is no exception; it would be naive to think that every assignment is a gem in a sea of rough. Sometimes though, you can be forgiven for forgetting that simple fact, and when you do, Saint Frances de Sales, the patron Saint of journalists steps in with a graphic reminder in the form of a launch party. Now don't get me wrong, they're not all bad and besides, you're probably wondering how free Champagne and a 'guest list only' admission policy can ever be termed as 'hard'. But of if you're asking the question, you've obviously been lucky. Sure, you get the odd one within media circles that proves the exception to the rule, but most of them are a liggers' paradise, filled with freeloaders and friends of the organiser, with the odd Z-list celebrity in attendance attempting to prop up a terminaly flagging career. Lame doesn't even come close.
Lame is a good word to describe last night's launch party for Hot Cow, at The Penthouse in Leicester Square (although I still think of that particular club as Home) to which both myself and 20six's own JoJo had been invited. We both had meetings in town yesterday - Jo with a potential new client in Docklands, me with Tom Mahon of English Cut in Saville Row. So we met up afterwards at Virgin Records in Picadilly and headed off together to AllBarOne in Leicester Square first for a drink. It was great to catch up, and we had an interesting chat about blogging and the vagaries of our respective careers. Homeworking is a lonely occupation at times, so it's always nice to meet up with fellow journos to swap notes, and generally talk over ideas. Although Jo and I have kept in contact, I hadn't seen her for over two years, so we had a lot to catch up on. And if I'm honest, neither of us was eager to cross the square to the launch party; the line on the invite that said, "mingle with over 250 people from the elite circles of media/marketing/fashion and film' told us all we needed to know. I mean, how elite could it have been - we were invited!
Still, you never know, and we weren't going to write it off without trying. Besides, the 'Diamond Champagne reception' ("everyone will get a diamond in their Champagne; however only one person will have the REAL diamond a diamond specialist from our sponsors Gassan Diamonds will be on hand to tell us who the lucky winner is") intrigued us. And who says you don't need cheap gimmicks to make a launch party successful?!
Hot Cow describe their idea as "creating a “buzz” around your brand, to a targeted audience, through the medium of fashion". They call it 'People Advertising'. I call it Pants. They claim that "the concept is developed to inspire creativity in brand advertising, add a new dimension to direct marketing, and to boost awareness and sales in a crowded consumer marketplace". Now there's a sentence that can only have been born out of a PR's mind. We tried something remotely similar when I had the magazine three years ago; in pursuance of our zero-budget advertising strategy, our regular models, Sam, Kelly and Karen would ambush car and motorcycle commuters stuck in gridlocked London traffic on Friday evenings to promote the magazine.
The ethos of Hot Cow revolves around the idea of what they term "trendy urbanites, dressed in custom made striking outfits, with the client's logo splashed over it (sic) and generally themed around the company’s image and marketing concepts. These people walk around designated high impact areas, where the brand's target audience can talk about what they have seen, creating a “hype” around the product or brand." So, if you find yourself assailed by strangely dressed men and women on your tube journey to work one morning, don't say you haven't been warned.
We were both handed a glass of Champagne when we entered the club and initial impressions were favourable; there was a huge ice-sculpture of a cow on display, a good mix of people, and a definite buzz in the air. As numbers increased though, we felt like we were the only normally dressed people at a fancy-dress party. You can spot journalists a mile off, and none of our fellow partygoers looked anything remotely connected to the media. A few bizarrely dressed women, the odd PR, and no shortage of fashion-world liggers for sure, but that was about all. The promised fashion show that was supposed to show us 'Hot Cow in action' would have worked so much better if everyone had been able to see - and if the organisers had utilised some real clients instead of 'near beer' subsitutes, such as Vella Hair, Starbox Coffee etc.
And my smile quickly faded when I went to the bar to get Jo and I some more drinks. There was a strict 'two drinks' policy in operation after which you had to pay - a most unusual strategy for a launch party. So I ordered two Vodkas with cranberry juice and took out a £10 note. I thought I'd misheard when the barman said, "That'll be £17.25, please" and he'd mistook me for a foreigner, quoting the price in pesos or something. But no. I heard correctly. £17.25 for two vodkas. And he still handed me my change on a silver plate, as if in expectation of a tip. Like, that was going to happen! Food was scarce, although we were befriended by the waiters who came to us first everytime they left the kitchen with plates of skewered jumbo prawns in noodles, spring roll pancakes and the like, but there wasn't enough to do more than tease our appetites. So we left and headed back to AllBarOne.
Venue and function aside, it was a good night; nice to see Jo again and catch up, nice to do something different. We bid one another farewell at Leicester Square station - Jo to head south, me to head north - and I made Kings Cross in time for the obligatory late night Burger King and the 23:36 drunk train home, which was a little more subdued than usual (or maybe it was because I was lost in my iPod). Surprisingly, there was no drunk Kat Slater looky-likey causing trouble this time. Shame. Oh, and I haven't been away - just busy working and devoid of motivation for blogging. I have a busy week ahead of me, and I'm back into London later today with mate Nick for a piano concerto at the Barbican to celebrate Mozart's 250th birthday. That should be followed by some martinis at my favourite London bar and a curry in Brick Lane to finish - a perfect night out. Enjoy your weekends, and expect to see me blogging again from next week.
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SEVEN TIMES SEVEN
I'm feeling typically devoid of inspiration for my blog, just as I have been every January for the past three years. The sword of Damocles hanging over this, and every other blog on 20six by the continued uncertainty and rumours isn't helping, it must be said - it would be nice to know where we stand (and even nicer to be gifted an export function to allow us to back up entries and attendant comments), but in lieu of an announcement, motivation for blogging isn't exactly plentiful.
In addition, Christmas cheer is long since gone, the decorations have come down and all that's left is the usual post-festive hangover of steely grey skies, an absent sun, dreadful television and a dearth of activity on the work front. So, that'll be the first month in the Gregorian calender, then.
Just as well then that I have bloggers like Girl Scientist on my blogroll to feed me with ideas. This one is nicely lightweight as something to kick January off with should be (and if you need further proof of my lame attempts at January blog fare, just check out these entries from January 2004). As I sit here researching an utterly astonishing neurological procedure that melds science fiction with contemporary brain surgery, with potential to find a place as a feature in the broadsheets, I need something to give my brain a rest. And who says watching Grey's Anatomy, the best medical drama on TV (or the *aherm* web) doesn't constitute work? Inspiration for features comes from the most bizzarre places.
All About Me: A candid portrait of me taken 2x7 years ago. So, I'd have been, er...24, then. A City-based investment broker, I drove a Porsche, lived in an interior-designed luxury apartment and had a hairstyle inspired by M-M-M-Max Headroom. I've thoughtfully kept my jacket on so you can't see my braces though, Bobble. ;-)
That said then, I give you this Seven Times Seven 'meme' (God, I hate these but I couldn't escape being tagged by this one.
Seven Things to Do Before I Die:
1. Write my Autobiography.
2. Fly a Eurofighter Typhoon
3. Find inner peace.
4. Spend a week with an eminent neurosurgeon and watch him perform surgery.
5. Understand the success of Atomic Kitten.
6. Visit the South Pacific, and return to South America and South Africa
7. See that Gordon Brown never becomes Prime Minister.
Seven Things I Cannot Do
1. Stop climbing every mountain (metaphorically speaking).
2. Accept my limitations.
3. Take 'No' for an answer.
4. Get enough commissions.
5. Stop buying books, even though I can get them for free.
6. Escape my demons.
7. Learn what's best for me.
Seven Things That Attract Me to Blogging
1. My readers.
2. Its immediacy.
3. The power of the individual
4. The ability to reach and receive feedback from an audience.
5. Its innate simplicity
6. The potential it has to educate, inform and entertain.
7. Seeing it grow in size whilst retaining its original premise.
Seven Things I Say Most Often
1. Fuck (in all its many derivatives).
2. "Can you get back to me by close of business, I'm against a deadline?"
3. "Would you be interested in...?"
4. "What do you mean, no?"
5. Get a life.
6. "Oh God, not another Reality TV program!"
7. Bollocks.
Seven Books That I Love
1. A Short History of Nearly Everything, by Bill Bryson.
2. The Stand (Complete and Uncut) by Stephen King.
3. Anything by David Baldacci or Lee Child.
4. Diaries, by Alan Clark MP
5. Biographies of interesting, unusual or powerful people.
6. Non-fiction titles that inform me.
7. Hardbacks.
Seven Movies That I Watch Over and Over Again
1. Lost in Translation.
2. Someone to Watch Over Me.
3. The Lord of the Rings Trilogy.
4. Schindler's List.
5. The Abyss (Director's Cut).
6. Heat.
7. Any Submarine Movie.
Seven People I Want To Join In Too
1. Pixeldiva, because she thinks in images.
2. Molly Ocean, because it'll be interesting.
3. Flight Buff, because there's more to the man than aviation.
4. WelshChick, because she isn't Charlotte Church, but she is from Wales.
5. Tom in Iraq, because I'm curious.
6. Rawr, because I like the way she writes.
7. Megan, because I like the way she writes, too.
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A PHOTO-JOURNAL: TWELVE MONTHS of THIS LIFE IN PICTURES - 2005
This then, is my year. As in both 2003 and 2004, I've blogged a pictorial retrospective featuring my highlights of the past 52 weeks and how they've impacted my life, changed me and moulded my future. Twelve months' worth of pictures which shine the brightest light on the events that have shaped my personality throughout 2005, the people and things that have touched my life.
It's an interesting exercise for me, this. Looking back through my diaries and articles, searching through countless images in my portfolio in an effort to filter twelve months worth of life into a single entry. Viewed through the contorting lens of hindsight, this year looks nothing like it did as I lived it. It's the nature of freelancing, but looking back, I see periods of several weeks' worth of inactivity segueing into months where I was so busy, there weren't enough hours in the day. It's not like that, of course; life never is. What looks like inactivity in retrospect was in reality more like a collection of days spent researching, surfing the web at my desk. And compared with some of the things I feel I've achieved in the last twelve months, that's never going to stand out.
Each year I've spent freelancing has had an event that has come to define it for me; perhaps unsurprisingly, last year it was the time I spent in Baghdad, whereas this year, it's been travel – a little ironic, seeing as how it started, unusually for me, with no trips booked, in hand, planned or even likely. Also, it’s had rather a military and political hue to it, coloured by close contact with the army, navy and Air Force, their ships, submarines, soldiers, transporters and fighter jets, officers and other ranks. That too is unusual, but that’s the way it’s panned out.
In the guise of work, I've once again achieved some of my dreams, struck through a few more items on my life's wishlist. Twelve months ago, I had a diary devoid of assignments and I had no idea of the things, the events that would shape the year for me. Yet just 52 weeks on, I’ve made things happen that I didn't dream possible.
I've been busier than ever before, landed some new commissions, made new contacts. I crossed for the first time both the equator and the international date line. I've flown a Harrier Jump Jet at low level. Met and interviewed Prince Andrew, Paul Boateng and Jack Straw. I've been to sea on an aircraft carrier and spent several days travelling under the ocean in a nuclear attack submarine. And after thinking last December that I'd be lucky to travel anywhere outside of the UK in 2005, I've ratched up over 100,000 miles in the air and spent a total of almost 3 months living overseas whilst visiting amongst other places the USA on four seperate occasions, Ascension Island, the Falkland Islands, Belize, Bermuda, Gibraltar, France, Spain, South Africa, India and Japan.Oh, and I flew to Edinburgh, too!
I feel a great sense of privilege that my work allows me access to some of the people and places it's taken me to. And no little sense of pride that I've created something from nothing with this career. Seven or so years ago when I first started out in journalism, I was an unknown. It was a struggle. And whilst it's still not plain sailing, these days commissions come more often at the request of editors, rather than from me calling them. PRs know who I am, know what I can do, and invite me on trips or send me things. And other people pay for me to travel. Even now, I still have to pinch myself sometimes and tell myself it's really happening to me. I love what I do and feel blessed at some of the events that come my way. And if all I have to do in return is to write about them, take pictures that others might learn, or live vicariously through my adventures - that seems like a small price to pay.
There are 77 pictures here: 77 images, which define the events that I remember most. Some are important, some not so, lying on the periphery of the event that gave rise to their existence. All tell a story and fit with the short narrative that accompanies them. There are rather more than in my previous pictorial rectrospectives, but then I've been busier this year, and my portfolio has grown commensurately larger, too. Each image is an average 55kb in size which on its own is nothing, although collectively, the 77 images here may take a minute or two to load even via a broadband connection. If you can take the time to look, read and comment, please do so - it will be appreciated. If you've stumbled here by accident, my apologies for having slowed your browsing.
As previously, I've made no mention of the major events of the past twelve months that have coloured the news, made an impact on society in general or the world at large except for where they impact or collide with my own experience. This is not a blog about world events, war or the changes which contemporary existence visits on the way we live our lives. This is a blog about Someone Else's Life and the events and people that have shaped it.
DECEMBER 2004
Party Girls - The Definition of December: Last December seemed like one long round of parties, drinks and networking events. Might not sound like it, but it's vital work for the average freelancer - it's the one time of year you can guarantee to meet the numerous PRs, editors and other media types who you deal with throughout the year, each one of whom is vital to your success. Add in the numerous evenings out with friends to celebrate Christmas and it becomes a long month indeed!
Kicked things off with a Christmas lunch with one of my editors; lunch with a girlfriend the following day and on the first Saturday of December, possibly the biggest 20six Blinks to date when over 20 bloggers met at the Old Thameside Inn, SE1. Following Tuesday I had lunch with Torsten, an old colleague and then on the 15th, met my editor at the agency for lunch in London, followed by a night out with Ian, a mate from old who was part of my team when I worked in the City. That set the scene for the rest of the month which saw me out every night in the week leading up to Christmas Day.
JANUARY 2005
Hit the ground running this year with a raft of full-length features to write for an immovable deadline at the end of the first week of January, a hangover from a couple of assignments I'd undertaken for the magazine in early Autumn. It's my own fault; I write best when under pressure, so no matter when I do the research, the writing is left until my editor tells me it's required. Once that was done, I relaxed a little, meeting a girlfriend for lunch at her work on three consecutive Fridays according to my diary! Busied myself when not enjoying lunch by coming up with ideas for future stories and planning for assignments later in the year.
Banda Aid: An RAF C-17 Globemaster at Banda Aceh Airport, Indonesia. My life turns on a sixpence; a phone call on the afternoon of Friday 14th put me on warning to travel to Banda Aceh to cover the U.K's response to the Tsunami that devastated so much of Asia on Boxing Day 2004. The trip would have taken me to Penang, via Brindisi, Abu-Dhabi, Colombo and Banda Aceh. As it was, I was stood down just 6 hours before departure when the RAF received additional orders that required further personnel on the mission. Service personnel take precedence over journalists, so I was bumped off the flight and one of my colleagues took my place on the next one available, as I was otherwise engaged.
FEBRUARY 2005
VC-10 - The RAF's Petrol Station: The 2nd February saw me at RAF Brize Norton in Oxfordshire for what would prove to be the first of several visits in 2005. RAF Brize Norton is the Royal Air Force's centre for Air Transportation (AT) and Air Refuelling (AR), being home to the entire RAF strategic AT and AR fleet. Countless aircraft depart daily from its 10,000ft runway on worldwide operations and any world hotspot or crisis will probably see the arrival of an aircraft from RAF Brize Norton. I was on an assignment to accompany 101 Squadron on an air-to-air refuelling sortie in one of the RAF's VC-10 tankers.
Ready to Drink: A Tornado F3 takes on fuel from the VC-10. Air to air refuelling for military aircraft stems from the often limited range of fighter jets and strategic bombers. The Tornado F3, Britain’s primary air defence fighter jet is limited to sorties of one to one and a half hours without refuelling, and its range falls further depending on the nature of the sortie. Its internal fuel capacity of just 5,600 kilograms is one of its greatest limitations. In a normal cruise of 420 knots at low level, the aircraft burns fuel at a rate of 42kg per minute but with the F3’s afterburners engaged on full combat reheat the fighter jet gulps fuel at an astonishing 900kg per minute.
Thirsty: Two F3s form up on the port wing ready to take on fuel. The RAF's VC10 fleet comprises the only examples of this ageing airliner flying anywhere in the world today, and with Concorde's demise, it is the fastest airliner still flying. The aircraft carry up to 70,000kg of fuel and are capable of refuelling 2 aircraft at a time from the wing pods. Although the aircraft themselves are of another age, their flight decks are equipped with a modern flight management system and the necessary avionics for full worldwide operations.
My wife left me on the 8th for a ten day holiday to South Africa with a friend; I spent the rest of the month preparing for a couple of forthcoming overseas assignments, interspersed with some freelanice I.T consulting for local businesses.
MARCH 2005
Ascension: On the ground in the South Atlantic. The 1st March saw me back at Brize Norton with Melanie, a colleague from the magazine. There, we boarded an Air Luxor charter flight bound for the Falkland Islands via Ascension Island, a tiny (just 35 square miles) sub-tropical island situated almost in the dead centre of the South Atlantic. The flight time for the 4,200 mile journey between Brize Norton and Ascension is 8 hours 35 minutes and the 23:00 departure time ex-UK means you leave the aircraft after touch down in Ascension at around 08:00 giving ample time for a night’s sleep in between.
After flying across the Equator and a further thousand or so miles of ocean, there it is, alone, rising from the South Atlantic. Ascension is a product of the mid-Atlantic ridge and completely volcanic in origin - it’s little more than a mountain peak rising out of the sea, the island’s 35 square miles of volcanic rock echoing a Martian landscape. The radar domes which litter the skyline, plethora of antennas and other ephemera of military and broadcasting dominate. Ascension has no indigenous population, the inhabitants of the island comprising the employees and families of the organisations working there. The population is about 1,200 now, mostly Saint Helenians but with about 200 United Kingdom and 150 US citizens. The island is also used as a US Air Force base, RAF refuelling point, BBC World Service transmitter station, and European Space Agency tracking station. Cable and Wireless also have an operation there.
Fighter Escort: Arriving at Mount Pleasant Airport, Falkland Islands at 14:00 on a windy, if sunny and warm afternoon was a little different from the norm, two RAF Tornado F3 fighters intercepting us roughly 200 miles out and escorting us in. It's nothing more than a sign of the times, the MoD having written into the contract for airlines flying its personnel into theatre that their airliners may be used for practice intercepts by our fighter pilots. Think about it - where else are they, and their controllers on the ground going to rehearse the finer points of vectoring a £30m fighter jet alongside a fully loaded commercial airliner? Over London? Can you imagine the panic that might provoke amongst civillain passenegers en-route to Heathrow?
Mel and I were due to spend a week on the islands, writing about every aspect of the U.K military's work in the South Atlantic, from conservation to live-fire exercises, and everything in between.
Big Sky: Falkalnds Landscape on the drive to Goose Green and San Carlos. The first you notice in the Falklands is the light, or more specifically, the clarity and brightness of it. It is, quite simply, unreal, unlike anything I've ever seen anywhere. Consider the population of the Falkland Islands, and its popultation - covering a geographical area roughly approximate to Wales, the population is just 2,400, with almost 2,000 of those living in the capital, Stanley (which is also the world's southernmost city). In addition, the islands' location - close to Antarctica and some way distant from any major centres of population - contributes. The net result is a graphic illustration of just how polluted the rest of our planet is.
Quite simply, the clarity of light down there is breathtaking. With the atmosphere devoid of dust and pollutants, and occupied by so few people, what you have is pure, perfect vision (the FI also sit directly under the hole in the ozone layer meaning you burn five times quicker than anywhere else). Sparkling night skies, unspoilt by light pollution from major connurbations, the naturally bright nights of the southern hemisphere enhanced and improved beyond measure. The Milky Way is painfully bright, a billion stars shouting out their names to even the most uninterested astronomer. The Southern Cross, Orion's Belt, The Plough - they're all there on a cloudless night, incandescent and alive, ready to entrance and awe the unwary.
Monument: One place I wanted to visit was the spot where Colonel H Jones, VC was killed during the battle for Goose Green. With the sun having dropped below the horizon and a gorgeous array of colours in the dusk sky, I stopped to consider the act which Jones had performed to lead his men to victory, sacrificing himself in the process. Foolhardy or brave, his action had a profound effect on the Argentine forces who held the superior ground and were pinning down 2 Para with machine gun fire. His lone attack galvanised the men under his command and saw the surrender of 1,200 Argentine soldiers who vastly outnumbered the British in the attack.
Reflecting on the Glorious Dead: The entrance to the Argentine Cemetery built by the British near to Goose Green. It's a beautiful place, tranquil and serene, a fitting resting place for soldiers who were killed prosecuting a war they had no desire to fight.
Man at C&A: Mike, one of the Hercules C-130 pilots based in the Falkland Islands whilst I was there, does his best 'Man at C&A' pose to illustrate the clarity of light. Over beer and pizzas in the Officers' Mess one evening, I learned that Mike had been out in Iraq at the same time I was in 2004 and we ascertained that he'd flown me into Baghdad on at least one occasion, even if we didn't know it at the time.
Low Pass Over Falkland Sound: I joined Mike and the crew of MPA's Hercules C-130 on several sorties, including a Martime Reconnaisance Patrol. All fishing within 200 nautical miles of the Falklands is subject to licensing by the Falkland Islands Government, but checks are made on some two-million square miles of ocean comprising the South Atlantic Overseas Territories to keep a check on illegal fishing vessels and maintain a military presence as far south as the South Sandwich Islands and Southern Thule.
The fishery now generates over £20 million per annum in licence fees, roughly half of government revenue and the total cost to the Falkland Islands Government (FIG)of managing and protecting the fishery is approximately £5 million p.a. The Islands have received no economic aid from Britain since 1992 and are now self-sufficient in all areas except defence (a large element of the Falklands defence budget covers salaries which would be payable regardless).
Southern Point: a rock outcrop on Sea Lion Island colonised by Cormorants. On a weekend off, Mel and I blagged a ride on a military helicopter to Sea Lion Island with the resident MoD Conservation Protection Officer. The Falkland Islands are famed for their birdlife and sea mammals, and nowhere is this more apparent than on Sea Lion. In every direction there were penguins, geese, ducks, gulls and moorland birds by the hundreds of thousands, with the beaches full of sealions and huge elephant seals.
One of a Pair: A Striated Carcara, one of the world's rarest birds of prey and a species indigenous to the Falkland Islands. The birds, like most wildlife there, are relatively tame, having no reason to fear the tiny population on the islands.
The Tip of the Iceberg: Ice floes in the South Atlantic near to the South Sandwich Islands, as viewed from the flight deck of the Hercules C-130 which makes regular resupply drops to the islands.
I felt enormously privileged to have been paid to visit the Falkland Islands. The South Atlantic is one of the last great unpoilt areas on earth and is gaining popularity as a tourist destination where tours cost upwards of £5000 per person. We saw whales and dophins, flew in a variety of military aircraft, and saw unique geological phenomena (like rivers of rock) unike those found anywhere else in the world. At MPA, the military has in one place all of the assets which in the UK are spread the length and breadth of the country. I spent a week there, but I could have spent a month and still not covered everything. There's a wonderful sense of esprit de corps amongst the personnel stationed there, and we were embraced by our hosts in the Mess and made to feel extraordinarily welcome.
Star Spangled Banner: I arrived back in London on the 9th and a week later, flew off to the U.S on first of what turned out to be four seperate trips there in 2005. My parents have a house in Cajun country, Louisiana and I have a brother who lives in Oklahoma. The trip was an opportunity for us to meet up for the first time in 2 years.
Man's Best Friend: Lee, one of my parents' friends, and his dog look out over the water on land owned by Lee and his wife Tina. I attended several 'Crawfish Cookouts' and got a comprehensive education into all things Cajun.
Street Life: Street signs in the Canal Street district of New Orleans on a blisteringly hot day. This was my second visit to New Orleans and it was just as I remembered; a normal, bustling, vibrant city. Sadly, just five months later, the devastated city lay under water, after Hurricane Katrina visited the worst natural disaster in the U.S' history upon it.
Brownstone: Tenement buildings painted in different hues, bordering the French Quater in New Orleans.
Behind the Badge: Unable to go anywhere without my journalists' curiosity rising to the surface, I arranged to spend some time on patrol with the local police department to get an insight into law enforcement, U.S style.
APRIL 2005
I spent the first week of April kicking back and enjoying some quality time with my parents and brother, reunited as a family of four on hoiday for the first time since we were kids. We drank beer, read, ate too much, went on road trips and generally had fun. I almost didn't make it home though, after my Prince Albert set off an alarm at airport security and an over-officious TSA officer refused to let me board the aircraft.
I eventually got home on the 9th, returning to more outstanding commissions that needed writing up and a couple of lunch meetings with editors.
Cat Napped: Katya, one of our two Russian Blues, shows just what I miss most whenever I'm away from home - normality, and all that it encompasses. I love this image for the indignant look on her face and the absurdity of it all; my wife was sat on the sofa beside me reading the day's paper one evening in the week after I returned, when Katya crept underneath it and settled down with just her head peering over. She made herself comfortable and sat like that for about half and hour.
Daughter A had an inset day on the 21st, a gorgeous sunny day, so I cleared the decks of work and took her to The Imperial War Museum, perhaps my most favourite of all of London's museums and galleries. We spent 8 hours there, visited all the exhibitions, inluding the one on Genocide, and came home tired but immensely moved. Finished the month with some more IT consulting.
MAY 2005
A speculative phone call to a news agency editor at the tail end of April saw me in Soho on the 4th for a meeting over lunch. A pleasant lady, we got on well and shook hands at the end having agreed a deal to work with one another. A nice start to the month! An evening spent in a Soho pub with a motley collection of 20six bloggers on the evening of Friday 13th and some more I.T work for a local firm before a marathon couple of assignments mid-month.
Top Gun: a member of the ground crew shields his face from the jet efflux of a departing Harrier aboard the Royal Navy's flagship aircraft carrier, somewhere in the North Sea.On the 24th, I sat back in the luxury of a first class carriage on a GNER express to an RAF base in Yorkshire, from where I was transferred by helicopter to spend three days on assingment aboard HMS Illustrious.
Harrier GR7: An RAF Harrier GR7 parked at the end of Illustrious' newly-refurbished flight deck. I was welcomed aboard the ship's wardroom and given an in-depth look at operations aboard our Royal Navy's newly-refitted flagship. A visit to Flyco on the Bridge saw a look of pure delight etched across my face as I greeted with the words, "Hope you don't mind, I've arranged for you to undertake a sortie in a Harrier from Yeovilton with the Navy's Chief pilot later this year!".
The Finished Article: What happens when the assignment's over, I've consulted my notes, edited my images and submitted them to my editor. The opening pages of my eight page feature as published late this year.
A helicopter from the ship flew me back to Newcastle International Airport where I was met my a naval rating who drove me at high speed to the station just in time for me to catch the last express of the evening to Kings Cross and home. I had to be back in time; the following evening saw me back at RAF Brize Norton for a three day assignment taking in three countries.
Dawn Flight: Boeing’s C-17A Globemaster III strategic heavy-lift transporter is one of the most modern and capable aircraft in the RAF’s inventory. Four have been leased from the U.S, with an end-of-lease purchase option, to provide Britain with a strategic airlift capability until the introduction of the Airbus A400M in 2011. The aircraft is a declared part of the U.K’s Joint Rapid Reaction Force and the RAF is currently the only European force which can offer outsize airlift assets from within its own inventory. The aircraft are flown out of RAF Brize Norton by 99 Squadron.
An 02:00 alarm call saw me roused from my slumber after just two hours sleep and driven to 99 Squadron's crew room . There, I met with 'Spoons' and Ben, the pilots for our forthcoming sortie which I was joining as supernumerary crew.
View from the Bridge: From my seat between the two pilots on the capacious flight deck, I had a perfect vantage point for proceedings, and plumbed in to the aircraft's comms, could couumicate with the crew and air traffic control.
Flight Planning: On the ground in San Antonio, Texas ready for our next sortie to the Central American country of Belize, nestled between Guatemala and Mexico on the Caribbean coast. We'd landed in the U.S at 14:00 local the previous day and had the afternoon and evening at leisure in the city. A late night saw some sore heads the following morning, ready for our next sortie which, after some delays, took us to the Caribbean.
Close Encounters: The cold, air conditioned cargo bay of the C-17 meets the humid air on the ground in Belize later that afternoon. Whilst the crew loaded the aircraft, a car was waiting for Spoons, Ben and myself immediately we left the flight deck, and whisked us off on the short journey to our luxury accommodation.
Men at Work: No, really. This was work! Ben and myself sip cocktails in the pool at the Radisson SAS hotel, Belize just 90 minutes after shutting down the jet's engines. Several cocktails and a couple of hours later, all sense had been discarded and we were laughing like drains as we visited ever more devious practical jokes on one another. The evening was just as much fun! Not so the 06:00 alarm the following morning ready for our nest sortie to Bermuda.
It's not all fun and games for the crew though. The aircraft’s capacity – and its range – means that for the bulk of the time, 99 Squadron’s taskings are for flights into Iraq and Afghanistan. When I joined them, however, they were midway through an upgrade program that meant flying the aircraft to the Boeing Facility at Kelly Field, in San Antonio, Texas. One of the Squadron’s aircraft had completed its upgrade and was awaiting collection from there; the one we were flying was to be left in situ for its upgrade over the next 55 days.
On Finals for Berumda: Ben lines us up for a smooth landing in a crosswind on the sun-kissed island of Bermuda, a few hours after taking off from Belize.
Globemaster: The C-17 on the ground in Bermuda. The guy in the flouresecent jacket at the rear of the aircraft (by the engine) gives some idea of its sheer size, making it the second largest transport aircraft in existence. Our departure from Bermuda was delayed as the aircraft displayed the first of many gremlins, having emerged from its 55day refit. The worst of these occurred mid-way across the Atlantic when I watched a full-scale emergency unfold on the flight deck as a spurious warning told us we had lost all fuel!
Our subsequent later-than-planned return to the U.K saw us back at Brize Norton at 04:00 on Monday 30th. Spoons kindly offered me the guest room at his house in the Oxfordshire countryside so I grabbed a few hours sleep before heading home. Spent the evening with friends Nick and Eva and the girls at a National Trust 'hide' in Tewin, Herftodshire watching badgers feed.
JUNE 2005
Hot Weather: The sun reflects through the glass monument at the National Police Memorial. Record-breaking weather wasn't wasted (bright and sunny all weekend in London and the South East with a high on Sunday 19th of 92deg. F) with P and I taking a train into the city on Saturday 18th. Designed by architect Norman Foster, the National Police Memorial is the brainchild of film director Michael Winner and was unveiled by the Queen in April. The marble and glass column contains a book with the names of 1,600 officers killed since 1900.
The memorial represents the realisation of a dream for Michael Winner who has campaigned tirelessly for a permament reminder of the ultimate sacrifice made by our police ever since the death of WPc Yvonne Fletcher. The project was started by Winner, who donated over £500,000 of his own money to the £2.3m project.
Animals in War: The momument in Park Lane honours all of the animals that have served and suffered in Britain's name through various conflicts and they are all there, depicted in bas relief upon the wall. From the horses, requisitioned from private owners in their millions to die upon continental battlefields, to the mules silenced for the Burmese jungle by having their vocal cords severed. The donkeys that collapsed under the weight of amumintion and the dogs that ripped their paws raw digging for survivors in the Blitz or had half their faces blown off searching for mines - but carried on to find more. They are all remembered - the camels and canaries, the elephants and oxen; the messenger pigeons that flew home bullet riddled and on one wing; and even the glow worms, by whose gentle light the soldiers read their maps in the First World War.
Socrates said that bold actions done without knowledge aren't courageous. That if you don't know the nature of the horrors that face you, you're just foolhardy rather than brave in taking them on. He was wrong; that cool logic can't, doesn't apply to animals. For unlike the British soldiers to whose efforts they were so vital, animals were forced into battle. As the inscription says, they had no choice. They could also bolt at gunfire without fear of court-martial. Few did though. So regardless of whether their actions were foolhardly, or brave, there is no question that they were admirable. I'd been meaning to visit the memorial since it was unveiled late in 2004; we finally did so after visiting the Police Memorial.
A lazy month otherwise, characterised for me by the usual silly season antics. Wimbledon, hot weather. Strawberries, the new series of Dr Who, Big Brother and not much work going on. Perfect.
JULY 2005
Shooting Royalty: HRH Prince Andrew, the Duke of York gets into the driving seat of his Jaguar, RAF Northolt, 5th July. I'd joined 32 (the Royal) Squadron and was accommodated in the Officers' Mess from 4th-8th as I joined them on several sorties. On the morning of the 4th, we flew Prince Andrew to Humberside, returning to London to collect the PM's entourage who we then ferried to Dundee for the G8 summit. Back to Dundee to collect the Prince who we then flew back to London.
It's All Foreign to Me: The Right Honourable John 'Jack' Whittaker Straw, MP (left) the UK's Foreign Secretary since 2001. Back at Northolt, the aircraft 'slipped' crews and we were joined by Jack Straw and his entourage who we flew to Strasbourg, France for the night. I interviewed the Foreign Sec in his cabin on the way over, and we then made for our hotel.
The following morning was the 6th and we had the morning at leisure whilst Jack Straw made a speech at the European Parliament. Whilst we were waiting, the announcement was made that London had won the Olympic Games in 2012 and the Foreign Secretary returned to the aircraft beaming. The atmosphere on the flight back was one of sheer joy and celebration.Spent the night with the station's officers decorating the mess for the forthcoming summer ball.
Tony Blair: The following morning, which will be forever known as 7/7, unfolded in a way none of us could have envisaged as London fell victim to four suicide bombers. I found myself in the eye of a storm of military efficiency with the arrival at Northolt of several of those responsible for Britain's response to the terrorists' threat - first, Tony Blair, en-route from the G8 conference, followed by General Sir Michael Walker, the Chief of the Defence Staff . Surrounded as I was by close protection officers, armed police and soldiers - and amidst enough guns and weaponry to start a war, I felt frustratingly detached from events, even though I was there at the heart of the Government's response.
I wasn't due to return until the 8th, but cut short my stay at Northolt to fight my way home. My wife had narrowly missed the train from Kings Cross that was blown up, and had been stuck at the station having missed it. She walked to work and then walked most of the way home that evening as the tranpsport network was shut down.
I was due to fly to Bosnia on the 11th and 12th with the Foreign Secretary, but the security situation in the immediate aftermath of 7/7 put paid to that.
London Stands United: Into central London just a week later on Thursday 14th for the London United vigil which I covered for the agency. As Big Ben struck 12, it was if somebody had pulled the plug on the capital. As noon fell, the city stopped. It takes a lot to stop the traffic at King's Cross. The roads around the London railway station are rarely empty and tailbacks at 2am are not unknown. But yesterday changed that. Drivers got out of their cars and stood in the road. Buses stopped mid-journey. Commuters in the capital's stations stopped where they were, trains halted across the network, and at Heathrow, take offs and landing were suspended; airlines delayed requesting engine starts.
The Queen stood silent and alone in the courtyard at Buckingham Palace, Tony Blair stood in the garden at Number 10 flanked by police officers; Ken Livingstone stood amidst the crowds at Trafalgar Square and right across the city, life came to a halt; the only sound in the centre of the capital was silence. Across Britain, the same scene was played out, and it was the same across the globe; 12000 British troops in Basra stood silent and still; people in cities across Europe joined in unity.
London Fights Back: If the morning was the time for remembering, the evening was when London fought back - over 50,000 people came together in Trafalgar Square to show their defiance of the terrorist attacks in the capital. This was London at its best, Londoners from every culture, every class, every religion and every creed. Mayor Ken Livingstone spoke passionately, his voice breaking in an emotive speech to those assembled. He opened the way for a series of prominent Londoners, drawn from every aspect of the media, the emergency services, politics and religion, to pay tribute to the victims, those who worked so tirelessly to save them, and to London through a series of readings and poems. Leaders of the Sikh, Muslim, Jewish, Hindu and Christian communities stood side by side and London listened.
The atmosphere was electric, the power from the crowd almost physical. Stood in the press pack erected at the front, I could feel the weight of emotion emanating from the tens of thousands of people behind me. But this was no crowd of mourning; this was London at its proud, confident, defiant best. Poet Nii Parkes summed up the mood in one of his poems - "Defiance is a four letter word, spelt with a finger.
We Are Not Afraid: It'll take more than bombs to cow us. Not for us the way of the Spanish, throwing out their government and pulling their troops out of Iraq in the aftermath of the Madrid train bombs. Sure, bombs are indiscriminate, but they are remote - they destroy the lives of those involved, but they serve only to strengthen the resolve of everyone else. While others mourn, we're left to carry on as before, our daily routine serving as our collective defiance. Brave? Those killed weren't brave, they were unlucky. And those of us uninvolved aren't stoic, either - that's just a label that seems to fit. What we want, what we've done, is to carry on, working round the hiccup that the terrorists visited upon us. As trees absorb CO2 and give off oxygen, so the stone walls of London's buildings absorb our collective hysteria and exhale calm. The language of London is understatement. It's what we do best, and it's the complete antithesis of terror. So, that'll be London 1, terrorists nil, then. Again.
Over to Heathrow Airport on the 19th for a lunch meeting with a new PR contact at British Airways to discuss story ideas. A successful meeting with a positive outcome.
Picnic in the Park: Nick's wife, Eva and myself enjoying a glass of wine and a picnic in the garden at Shaw's Corner. Had a most idyllic day on the 23rd when the four of us drove to the Hertfordshire village of Ayot St. Lawrence. We loaded the car with a picnic consisting of wine, complete with glasses, food, blankets and nibbles, together with four camping chairs and headed off to Shaw's Corner, the Edwardian villa that was home to George Bernard Shaw from 1906 until his death in 1950, picnic and chairs in-hand. The reason for our visit was an open air performance in the villa's grounds of Shaw's play, Misalliance. We made ourselves comfortable in the garden and spread our food out in front of us, as us, and about 250 others poured ourselves wine, Champagne, or whatever else took our fancy.
AUGUST 2005
Red Cap: On the 2nd, I caught a train to Upavon in Wiltshire where I was met by this woman - Major Nadine Heron, RMP, MBE, 37. She's great fun, with a wicked sense of humour and is clearly destined for great things in the Army. I was there to interview her for a feature I'd been commissioned to write by one of the womens' magazines about women in the armed forces.
Nadine was commissioned to the Royal Military Police and in 2003 was awarded MBE for her role in regenerating the Iraqi Police force in Basra during Operation Telic. With just 67 men under her command, and working with minimal infrastructure, she became Basra's Chief of Police overnight and within six weeks, had overseen the building of six new police stations, the appointment and training of locally-recruited police officers and the drawing up of a new legal and judicial structure including prisons and judges.
General Orders: Brigadier Jean Dowson pictured at the MoD in Whitehall where I interviewed her on Friday 5th. Until recently, Jean was the most senior female officer in any of Britain's services - her rank is equivalent to that of a one-star general. Her's is a tri-service appointment encompassing responsibility for pay and conditions across the Army, Royal Navy and Royal Air Force and as you might expect, she's a sharp, capable and immensely likeable woman.
Flying High: Later in the month, I also interviewed Flight Lieutenant Kat Ferris (right), a Weapons System Officer with the RAF flying Tornado F3s.
Wednesday August 10th is one I'll remember for a while; I collapsed in pain and was rushed to hospital by ambulance after an utterly debilitating attack of sciatica which had me laid up for most of the month. Once back home, I was unable to move for over a week and recall little except frustration, pain and boredom. My 2nd blog anniversary on the 12th hardly seems worth mentioning. To add insult to injury, I had a motorcycle delivered for review by BMW on that day that I was unable to even think about riding until the 30th of the month.
Space Age Space: The entrance foyer at the all-new five star Cumberland Hotel, newly reopened after a £95million refit. P and I spent the weekend of the 27th there and I have to admit, my first impressions were favourable. They were soon replaced though after scratching more than skin deep revealed a litany of errors, disasters and rude or unacceptable service. Not somewhere I would reccommend; I gave it a negative review in all aspects except aestethics.
If It Had Wings, It'd Fly: BMW's £10,500 all-singing, all-dancing K1200RT sports tourer, which had sat idel outside my door since the 12th. The 30th proved something of a red letter day for me, being my first time back on two wheels for almost two years. I don't know why I was worried, though - it's like they say, it was just like riding a bike!
Down and Dirty Fun: I was supposed to have one of these delivered at the end of August too, but given I'd only just ridden the R1200RT, there was little point, so I arranged to defer this one until 2006 and kept the R12 until 12th September. Both bikes have the same engine and suspension; both designed for utterly different roles, though. As an all-rounder, this one's predecessor was all but unbeatable.
SEPTEMBER 2005
Possibly one of my busiest months this year; it had been hanging over me whilst I was laid up with sciatica like the sword of damocles; three major assignments all of which I needed to be fit for. Somehow, I was and so, on Sunday 11th, my friend and photographer Nick drove down to me and we set off together for RNAS Yeovilton and my date with a Harrier. Spent the first week writing solidy for the new news agency contract and on a gorgeous sunny friday (8th), had a memorable ride into London on the R1200 to pick up preview copies of the magazine from my editor.
Top Gun II - The Sequel: Ready for action, dressed in flight suit and standing proudly beside the Sea Harrier T8 with Commander Henry Mitchell, RN - a man more colloquially known as Commander SHAR (SeaHARrier).
Nick and I booked into the wardroom at HMS Heron, Yeovilton on the evening of Sunday 11th and had a quiet night. I was silently fighting my demons and fearing the forthcoming Harrier sortie, which was to be my third in a fast jet. With the previous two leaving me feeling decidedly ill, I was under no illusions!
Positive Rate of Climb: The Harrier T8 leaves the runway at Yeovilton in a vertical climb. The heat haze from the 21,500lbs of thrust generated by the single Pegasus engine is clearly visible.
Fast and Low: Self portrait at low level somewhere over Devon. Flying a loop in the Tornado F3 was a buzz; so was riding shotgun at low level over the Lake District in a Hawk. This though, is a buzz on a different level because whilst I've flown low level in fast jets before, it's been as a passenger - this is flying by my own hand, at 450 knots, just 250 feet above the valley floor which rises and falls beneath me. It take immense concentration, with no margin for error, but the feeling is indescribable. I feel like I'm in the zone, my mind focused on the&nb |