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There’s something very reassuring about working with the military. Having just returned from another week in which I’ve been putting senior personnel through their paces in front of the TV cameras, I’m reminded of what’s missing when I walk down the street in London. Firstly, there’s the eye contact. Unnerving, perhaps, when scurrying in and out of the tube and trying to negotiate a clear line through hordes of commuters. Let’s face it, if you encounter the constant, steady gaze of a fellow traveller, you’re probably within your rights to assume that their thought process is slightly at odds with your own. At best, they’ve merely entered the zone of the
100 metre stare, but you can never be sure if their intention is more suspicious. So, walking down a long corridor at an Officers training centre, with several uniformed men and women fixing their gaze on you as they pass smartly in the opposite direction, could be reason enough to slide past with your eyes glued to their buffed and shiny boots. But instead, something quite wonderful happens when you meet their eyes with a confident smile. The words: “Good morning” and “Hello” slip easily from your lips, and a connection is made which restores a little faith in the belief that we’re only a small gesture, or utterance, away from acknowledging someone else’s right to exist. Quite different on a crowded tube train, of course. In that environment, we should all be provided with our own secluded, sterile quarters in which to read the newspaper in peace!
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