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People ask me what the Falklands are like.

So I will tell you.

Imagine the Outer Hebrides had been scattered in the South Atlantic, all grass covered, eroded, wind-blown. Home to hundreds of thousands of sheep. And mines.

Most of us had not heard of the Falklands until 1982 when Argentina invaded them, despite the Government having been warned the invasion was coming. So, an armada was formed and a task force sent, and over the course of four months the islands were taken back by force.

Since the war, the old Port Stanley airfield had closed and a new airport built about a 45 minute's drive away. That is Mount Pleasant.

RAF Mount Pleasant.

MPA.

A base had been built around it.

It was grim.

And yet, was modern, heated and we had one satellite channel, which broadcast live, not two weeks behind any more. And there was a radio station, which was shared by local radio and BFBS.

Some 2,000 islanders were protected by approx 2400 servicemen and women, and was one of the few places where members of the three forces served side by side. All on a detachment that last 124 days, or four months It was an interesting mix.

Most of us lived in a long low accommodation block, 12 Facility (well, at the RAF and Navy end, the other end of a mile long corridor was the Army end. Something like 35 Facility, and like the Bronx. The Army end had a cinema, so once that finished you had to be careful on the long walk back, as ambshes and robbery were not unknown.

The islands are thousands of miles away from England, and you get there on a trooper flight. A fleet of ancient and overwork Tri-stars ferry two rotations a week, 364 days a year, taking off from RAF Brize Norton, going via Ascension Island to refuel before heading south of the equator to the Falklands.

Life at home was already difficult, so the chance of four months away was attractive, so myself a couple others from Lyneham were making fun in the departure "lounge" at Brize while everyone else was miserable.

Once the door close, you are no classed as soldiers, in that you are not trusted with anything else than cans of beer and boxes of wine Spirits were unavailable to junior ranks for the duration of your tour, as apparently, you could not be trusted. The RAF had taken on a batch of mini DVD players, so we had something to watch during the flight before the only stop at Ascension Island, Or Assi.

Assi is the top part of an old volcano formed by the mid-atlantic ridge. A massive runway had been built on the high plateau, as well as a radio and communications relay station. There is nothing, no land for thousands of miles around. So, on final approach, the plane is skipping over the wave tops until suddenly there are rocks, a cliff and you are down. as we were to be down the Falklands in winter, we were all dressed up in our winter woolies. Assi is on the equator and as warm as you would think.

Although every flight stops there, planes are almost never delayed there and the pilots would always try to press on. We stopped and whilst the plane was refueled and restocked with food, there was time for a round or two at the bar down by the "beach". After an hour we were called back, and as the plane taxied, I saw a pool of fluid underneath one of the engines. It was spotted and the plane stopped and engines powered down.

We were taken off and told to go back to the bar.

Which we did.

Hours later we were told the plane could not be fixed and we were to spend the night on Assi, we had to go and sign bedding find where we were to sleep. Our barracks were like holiday chalets, looked really cute. I went into one, turned the light on and the floor moved. Dozens of cockroaches went for cover.

Oh, this was great.

We went back to the and drank it dry. As you do, then went back to the chalet and made our beds and tried to sleep. Darkness had come suddenly, and we were so tired.

Next day we boarded the plane and all was fine, so we carried on south for hour upon hour.

Landing at MPA is always fun; there is always a side wind, just the strength is different. People come out to watch it land, because on that is not only a couple of hundreds servicemen and women, but a week's mail, newspapers and magazines as well as supplies for the NAAFI shop.

Once the plane has taxied to the terminal, the passengers have to then listen to a mine brief, and dangers of mines, not to remove or deface mine signs. Then the happiest person in the whole world is there to meet you, as you are their replacement. He takes you in a landrover to one facility or the other, then up the the four man room where he has given up his bed, got you a clean duvet and sheets. You are tired disoriented, and this is your first night of 124, and you are taken to one of the many bars and drink, hoping you can find your way back to your bed. If you're unlucky there might be an initiation to go through, nothing bad, just a little humiliation and more drinking. The next morning, the person you replaced, who slept on an armchair will catch his flight home.

You are now the FNG; the Falklands New Guy, and the butt of all jokes and japes, have to make brews and clean, and will do so until the next FNG arrives, when he will take your place.

In every section, there is a chuff chart; a board with 124 pins on it, and each pin marks a day, and first think each morning, the first person in moves the talleys you have to make in your first week forward one day. Not only does the chuff chark mark off the days to do, but also the milestones, and as time passes your ranking among your colleagues go up until you become an FOG; Falklands Old Guy.

I worked in Coates Armoury, looking after the thousands of weapons that we would use to defend the island in the event of another invasion. Every three months there was an exercise during which we would issue weapons to all service personal, then we would lock the door to the armoury and sit through the fun and games, listening to the radio or watching videos, for 12 hours until the guy doing the other 12 hour shift to take over and you go to bed.

Tis was the exciting bit.

The rest was mundane stuff, just maintaining weapons, showing people how to clean their rifles if they'd been fired, charging them s a box of tea bags of a box of fruit case slices to do it for them. So the days and weeks flew by.

Off shift, there was two things to do down there, either keep fit or drink. Some did both. I kept fit, building up what I did week on week until by the final month I was doing double boxercise twice a week, two hours four other days a week and a sports afternoon on Friday. I became a lean and mean guy and was really as fit as I have ever been before or certainly since.

Halfway along the corridor was Weavers, run by the WVRS, and offered tea, coffee, cakes and an oasis of non military stuff. That was a fine way to spend a Sunday, reading last week's apapers with a slice of date and walnut cake a a cup of fresh coffee.

The other pass time was shadying.

Shadying was the creation of souvenirs made out of scrap metal, coins and shells that people would buy off you. Each section would trade parts with each other so we could make more money. Only FOGs could shady, so you waited until one guy got posted and you took your turn, learning as you went to cut brass maps of the islands, shining them up and glueing then to wooden plaques. In a good week you could make £100, and as beer was a pund a can, really live the high life. Or you could buy phone cards to call home, at fifteen quid for ten minutes.

Ao, as the weeks went buy I worked, trained in the gym and shadied all the hours I could. As I worked near to the library, I was the room's entertainment officer, and got videos to watch each night on the room video and portable TV while we sipped brews and munch custard creams. At weekends, there would be transport into Port Stanley down the dirt track main road for an afternoon spent looking through the sparse gift shop of going to one of the bars where they would serve beers in a GLASS.

Many of the places we heard during the war were in fact just a collection of houses, sometimes as few as three, these had battles named after them, but now were all quiet again, some farms offering bed and breakfast for us to use when we had our four days R&R. We could take this whenever we wanted, and I took mine right at the end of my tour, so had four days off, one day back then fly home. Perfect.

My other hobby was taking part in the regular quizzes on the radio. BFBS held them, that went on for weeks, asking questions of what is this noise, or stuff like that, but sometimes trivia questions, which I would take part in. I won a load of stuff in my time, including on the last day when I get back from R&R, I was in work to just clear and sort out some loose ends, and the new question came up: What was the first thing Maralyn Monroe advertised?

I knew.

I said I knew but would not phone in as I had cleared and was now a non FOG. So, one of the others called in, Jelly knows they said to the DJ. SO, I was friends with the DJ, and he said put me on the phone. I went on.

So, what's the answer he asked.

Bearing in mind previous answers had been diamonds, silk dresses and so on.

Potatoes I said. For the Idaho Potato Company. It was a calendar.

Bing.

Bing.

Bing.

Bugger he said, this usually lasts weeks.

I got another bag of swag to take back home.