Uniforms

I have a bit of a thing about men in military uniform, especially desert and Middle Eastern combat. Guns are obligatory of course. And the bigger, the better. But the most important thing are the boots.

I go swimming once a week and often have the lucky honour to share the hot tub afterwards with a soldier who tells me long stories about terrible things that happened over there, or makes jokes about the fact that his Army issue boots were made of compressed cardboard.

Half of me is entranced by the stories, the other half a little bemused at seeing behind the fantasy. Hearing that soldiers often have to buy their own boots if they want decent ones really does bring it home what they go through. And I don't even want to think about death or being maimed.

But the fantasy persists. I think my Dad is responsible: bringing me up on a diet of black and white post war moves such as Ice Cold in Alex might have perhaps started things off. And then I found david Lean's Lawrence of Arabia, and Desert Fox and I was hooked on my dirty little secret.

In my twenties I made a pilgrimage to Thailand where I visited the Bridge on The River Qwai, travelling to Kanchanaburi on the infamous Burma-Siam 'death railway'. It was perhaps one of the most moving things I have done in my whole life.
Soldiers are probably at the top of my list of people I most admire and respect.

However, there is someone I care for who has expressed an interest on joining the Army. And I hope that he doesn't, although it is purely for selfish reasons.

I still harbour day dreams of being captured and used mercilessly by a combat-clad young man wearing desert boots.