Basra handover, no sleep and a broken plane
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Covering the British handover of Basra was always going to be painful after a sleepless night.
Unfortunately I had to wait for my correspondent in the city to file some overnight quotes to me for an on-the-ground piece to run that day. An Internet meltdown at his end meant that this did not happen until 2 o’clock on handover morning and I spent the next three hours writing up the story.
Camped at a US military press centre in Baghdad’s Green Zone where embedded journalists stay when in transit, I gave up any chance of sleep after finishing the work and had a shower instead.
That was when it dawned on me that I had forgotten to pack any form of soap or a towel.
Figuring that water alone was better than nothing, I stepped into one of the plastic shower cubicles in a trailer at the press area before drying myself off with a miniscule flannel, which for some obscure reason I had remembered to bring.
Then my mobile phone rang.
It was 5.30am my time and 2.30am in London where by best friend Louise was calling me from the middle of the dance floor at a rugby club party to let me know that the original version of a classic tune we used to love (Apparently Nothing by The Young Disciples) was being played.
Standing there with my flannel, I sportingly bopped along for a few moments before telling her that I really ought to go as I had a flight to catch.
admin @ February 21, 2008