AFTER five days in Camp Bastion I am finally starting to get a feel for life here.
Dozens of journalists from all nations and all platforms are currently passing through the huge base looking for their own unique story.
I have been here to tell the tale of the Territorial Army's Kings Heath 202 Field Hospital who are currently running the medical unit at the British base in Helmand Province.
Their story is incredible, and I have already given an insight into the work done by these warm hearted and truly expert professionals in my stories about baby Hamdia and the treatment of seriously wounded soldiers in the Emergency Department.
But there is much more to life here that people at home rarely hear about.
Since my arrival in the country on Sunday morning, three British soldier's have died and many more have been seriously injured.
Flags are constantly at half mast and vigils and repatriation ceremonies are becoming common-place.
Operation minimise, where all communications are cut off with the outside world until an injured (or deceased) serviceman's family have been notified, is now in effect so often that soldiers lose track of who it is for.
So how do these brave young men and women keep themselves going?
There's no alcohol to take the edge off the strain.
Exercise is a hobby that reminds them they are in an inescapable military world.
And family and friends are thousands of miles away at home, oblivious to the true extent of the roller-coaster ride that is life in Afghanistan.
From what I have seen so far, passion and belief is the glue that holds Bastion together.
Today I had five minutes with 28-year old Sergeant Andrew McNulty from Two Mercian.
Exhausted to the point of tears, this lion-heart of a man could barely gather the strength tell me about his past two days.
His company had battled with insurgents seven times in 24 hours.
The Afghan army, who were supporting them, were hit by three roadside bombs, killing one and seriously injuring five more.
But his company carried on, determined to completed their mission of providing vital supplies to forward operating bases in key strategic positions.
Two things struck me about Sgt McNulty.
His complete workman-like. no-nonsense attitude was summed up when he told me that the way they prepared to return back to camp after the mission, which would involve more dangerous battles with the Taliban, was by playing rounders.
A simple playground game was their only escape from the world of war that could, at any point, put an end to their fledgling lives.
Secondly, I was struck by his modesty.
As a dad who had to leave Britain just two days after seeing the birth of his first child, he showed little anger at being ordered to do such dangerous tasks so far from home.
How many of us would have snapped, broken down, or capitulated?
I for one know I would not have the mental strength to continue in these incomprehensible circumstances for anywhere near the six months that is demanded of these men and women.
So as I returned to my air-conditioned tent I reflected that writing about my personal experiences so far was not quite appropriate.
Indeed, there is the serious danger for all journalists that a week in Helmand may be treated like a week in the Med.
We bounce round the exciting and dangerous battles, meet the heroes and angels, and bounce back to our comfortable lives in civvy street.
But this is serious business, with families' lives at risk, and the temptation to glamorize war must be averted.
So be under no illusion, no matter how sexy reporters' articles like mine may look on your computer screens and in your morning paper, war is exhausting, filthy, heartbreaking and often without reward.