Yes, I’ve successfully navigated through both Grammy and Oscar season and not posted any stories on them. There are far more important topics out there, such as Corporal Andy Reid and his wife Clair:
They say you never know you’re having the time of your life till it’s too late. I know what they mean, because for me, the autumn of 2009 was about as good as it gets.
I was doing the job I loved among some great blokes. I was in charge of quite a few of them. I was confronting the Queen’s enemies and I was as fit as a butcher’s dog.
I was in love with a great girl in England who I was going home to in ten days’ time. And I was going to buy myself a bloody great motorbike that would have everybody drooling with envy. Life could not have been better.
Then came the day that changed everything: October 13, 2009. The unluckiest 13th ever.
It had started well. With our tour nearly over, I was chuffed to be asked to take the incoming commanding officer on a familiarisation patrol: checking out the terrain, meeting the locals, patrolling the dodgy areas.
My mate Jamie was in charge of our Vallon minesweeper that day, scanning the ground in front of us as we picked our way carefully along a tyre-marked track. I paced slowly and deliberately behind him.
Those were the last conscious steps I ever took on my own two feet.
I don’t even recall feeling that I had trodden on anything. All I remember is that one moment I was following Jamie warily along the dusty ground. The next I was shooting into the air, cart-wheeling like a manic trampolinist and crashing back to the ground with a sickening thud.
A true hero. . .