] This is a deeply shameful admission, but I have almost no
] idea how the war in Iraq is going. I don't read about it
] in the newspapers. I channel-hop with the TV remote to
] avoid seeing any footage. I can cope with the radio a
] little. In the car I switch on for long enough to catch a
] news bulletin ... Please God, the war is over ... It's
] not. I put on some music.
]
] I take no pride in this. In fact, I hate myself for it
] and fully accept that by owning up to it I will probably
] make other people hate me, too. A grown woman wallowing
] in a sea of denial is not a pretty sight but the more I
] try to drag myself out of it, the worse it gets.
]
] I find the anti-war rhetoric every bit as upsetting as
] the Boys Own stuff - even more so if it is juxtaposed
] with images of returning coffins draped in the Union
] flag. I think about what the wives and mothers of those
] young boys must be feeling if people say their deaths
] were pointless and get even more distressed. So I can't
] even describe myself as anti-war. I can't describe myself
] as anything.