This time last year I was still in Afghanistan. We'd made plans, got extra booze in. There were steaks. Around eight that evening, when we were sitting down to eat, we got word to expect incoming wounded. An ambushed convoy. It was bad. I rang in the new year with my hands in some poor lad's intestines. I can't remember his name. It'd be nice, wouldn't it, to say I remember them all? I don't though.
I still have no idea how I ended up here. How their mum found me. I'm grateful she did. Saved my life, I should think.
I meant this post to be about resolutions, but it seems to have got away from me.
Mrs Hudson's back now anyhow, and we're all going to the shops together.
More before midnight if I can manage it. If not, happy New Year to you all.
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