OK you have to understand something – this is totally raw and emotional so forgive me.
My friend of 20 years Alex Crawford has been f**king lucky and I have been chasing and working harder. For six months I have been chasing – actually my whole life. It is all about timing and Alex was bang on it. It is hot; I am f**ked and my team is f**ked but I AM heading to Bab al Aziziya. Two days, no sleep – determined. When the first tank round came OUT of the compound and flew over our heads I shouted: “Keep f**king driving man – this is a f**king good day – they missed!” It’s total war. Impossible to describe. Keep up. It WAR. Proper war.
I meet my mate Miles Amore (Sunday Times): “Stu, it’s f**king amazing, man, get in – where you been man – f**k!” “F**king Ibiza – what up with your lid?” (helmet) it has a tear. His body armour is ropey. “Hit man – knocked to ground – f**k,” he said. “F**king right. Thank fuck you had it on,” I replied. Most of my newspaper mates wear nothing. I go nowhere without. “Now f**k off and live – go.” We met two days later and he asked to borrow a hat!
