I've been reading a moving first hand account of Iraq by one of those award winning journalists. It's called I Am Iraq and has just been published. It's got loads and loads of pages so I know it's good. Here is one of the most powerful passages:
'Day 17: Another forty dead and it's only 3 pm. Debris everywhere. People are weeping and imploring the heavens. Did this have to happen? Is God really so callous? I feel a wave of nausea crash against my heart and guts. I cover my eyes. I groan. My wife has had enough of seeing me suffer. She reaches for the remote. She turns off the television. She places a hand on my shoulder and smiles gently. Oh Mags, without you I'd never get through this. I walk to the computer. I switch it on. I've got a couple of hours to get my copy in so I better start typing. Emotionally drained, I email the piece straight to the office. Thank God for email. I don't think I could hop in the car and drive to work in this state. Besides, if I had to go all the way to the city centre now I'm not sure I'd make it back by 8pm and we have tickets for the new one by Eve Ensler. Needless to say, I'm not really in the mood for Ensler's strident populist shtick but I promised Mags. It's the least I can do. After all, without her Iraq would've destroyed me days ago.'