'if it wasn't statistics we got, it was advice. RAF officers coaxed journalists on how to don their gas masks. they advised us to use the "buddy-buddy" system, whereby you helped your fellow scribe to fit the filter onto his mask but ensured your own was fitted first -- while your colleague presumably suffocated to death. the whole wretched business involved "hunkering down" -- a phrase a suspect the military got from the press -- while gallons of saddam's vile cocktail clouded around us. a visit to the french foreign legion -- red wine in the desert seemed a lot more sensible than a british ration of lukewarm water -- convinced me that there were simpler methods of avoiding chemical extinction. a british member of the legion's second infantry regiment from the east end of london told me that his unit -- battle honours included the marne -- had its own unique operational instructions. "basically," he said, "when there's a red gas alert, someone blows a whistle and we all pile on our lorries and drive like fuck out of the area."'
-- robert fisk, the great war for civilisation
-- michelle tea, the chelsea whistle
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