Recently by Paul Bradley

There is no doubt that the events that unfolded in Birmingham were extremely damaging for the city and its people.

Innocent shoppers locked themselves in cafes and stores for their own safety and New Street, Victoria Square and Bennett's Hill became a battle zone on the busiest shopping day of the week.

Now we are left to unravel the spin that is coming from all parties involved. Unless you were there, and saw every single skirmish, it is very difficult to establish the truth of the matter.

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.

For seven weeks medics from the Kings Heah Field Hospital have been saving lives and limbs at Camp Bastion - the British military base in Helmand Province, Afghanistan.

What makes these men and women so extraordinary is that they are Terrirotial Army reservists, sent out from civvy street.
Normally you would find these hard working, passionate and warm-hearted people working in the NHS.
They are the people who would deliver your baby, operate on you in A&E and nurse you back to health again.

But here in the middle of the desert in Southern Afghanistan, they deal with the most severe trauma patients any doctor or nurse could ever encounter.

They say every week working at the hospital in Camp Bastion is the equivalent of a year at a civilian hospital. That is the scale of the task that faces them.

Spending a week embedded with these Midlanders is humbling. Military patients here tell me they have nothing but their utmost respect for them.

I stood and waited at the front of the hospital with them after we were told that casualties were being flown in from the battlefield.
Amazingly, the hospital is kept up to date with all military movements in the province that may result in an injury.
A complex computer system tickers updates on a widescreen television, with red words indicating an injured soldier.
This time the injuries were only fairly minor but there is always the fear that the worst news is just around the corner.

One patient I saw walked into the Emergency Department from the back of an ambulance, chatting and smiling, but obviously in pain.
I heard doctors muttering something about how lucky he was as they evaluated his injuries and assessed what was to be done with him next.
It was only later, when I bumped into him on the ward, that I found out just how lucky he was.

An insurgent had shot him in the arm but, amazingly, the bullet had passed between all the bones in his shoulder and flown out the other side.
Not only had this patient survived (the bullet only missed his head by a matter of a couple of centimetres) but his injuries were so minor that he did not need surgery.

Medics here have just passed "the hump" this week - they are now more than half way through their three month tour.
I asked Major Kathryn Rickers if she was missing home.
She told me that of course she was but if I offered her a flight home tomorrow she wouldn't take it.
"None of us would," she said.
"We are here for a reason and we want to play our part.
"And we actually quite like it here too."

This evening I was given the rare privilege to stand shoulder to shoulder with soldiers from the 2nd Battalion The Mercian Regiment (Worcesters and Foresters) for the repatriation ceremony of Lance Corporal Kieron Hill at Camp Bastion in Afghanistan.
On May 28 he died, aged 20, as the result of an explosion that happened whilst he was on a patrol near Garmsir in Helmand Province.
Out of respect to his family, and his regiment, the ceremony is not reported in newspapers.
At around midnight, L/Cpl Hill's comrades lined up as his Union Jack-draped coffin was marched into a C17 military aircraft to be flown back to RAF Lyneham in Wiltshire.
It will be received at the miltary base in the morning before being taken through Wootton Basset, where it has now become tradition for townsfolk to line the streets to pay their tributes to fallen soldiers.
The ceremony at Camp Bastion was the army's way of saying a poignant and emotional goodbye to one of their own.
A sIngle bugler played the Last Post before L/Cpl Hill's casket was carried onto the aircraft by his comarades, led by the Padre.
The ceremony was one of the most moving I have ever had the unfortunate duty to report on.
The number of British service personnel who have died in Afghanistan since the start of operations in October 2001 stands at 163. Ten died in May.

This week I have been privileged to have been embedded with the Queen's Royal Hussars in Basra.
I set out to find out just how ready the Iraqis were for the departure of the British army.
So far I have found a huge amount of mutual respect between both sets of soldiers - Iraqi and British.
Brigade Commander Bilal, for the Iraqis, has been mentored by Lt Col Chris Coles from the Hussars.
Bilal, a huge man with a friendly grandfatherly face, has a repuation not to be messed with.
Rockets have become a rarity and roadside bombs are now a lower threat than ever before.
If there is trouble then Bilal moves in in no uncertain terms.
Check points are set up around the area, patrols are sent out, people are questioned, and life in the area is generally made a misery.
It is fair to say Iraqi civilians hate it when Bilal uses this tactic.
But it works.
Not only does it make the area safe post-explosion but it deters terrorists from planting the bombs.
They know that Bilal is so revered that civilians will tip him off about their movements.
The last thing civilians want is Bilal in their back yard making life hell.
But I have been told (by Iraqis) that the job is only 80 percent done.
They know that neighbouring countries are still funding terrorists, providing them with new euipment and helping them cross the border into Iraq.
Stopping these terrorists is a huge task that is vital for the reconstruction of the city.
Ironically, the same countries who fund the terrorists are also the home for companies investing millions of pounds in reconstruction projects.
The country desperately needs these contracts to reach fruition.
But only time will tell if the Iraqi Security Forces can provide the necessary security in the long term.

I'm currently sitting sitting with about 15 British squaddies in a hanger at Kuwait airport.
We are in the US facility waiting to board a one hour direct flight (on a Hercules) to Basra.
What's most interesting is the relaxed attitude of the soldiers.
The work to be done in Basra seems far from their minds as they tap me up for today's football and rugby scores.
As we sit here munching pastrami baguettes and watching Pearl Harbour on a widescreen television, you wouldn't believe we were just about to fly into one of the world's most troubled city's.
Just this month an Iraqi civilian, who was probably working at the base, was killed by a rocket.
But for many of these troops the trip in and out of Basra has been done so many times now that it is hardly worth mentioning.
For many of the others, who are already well into their six month tour, they will only have one more of these journey's left to do before they can concentrate their efforts elsewhere.
Elsewhere, also known as Afghanistan, will be a much longer story though.

Six years on from the 2003 US-led invasion of Iraq, troops from both Britain and America are well into their preparations for their final departure.
Among them are the Queen's Royal Hussars based in Thar Allah in the heart of Basra city.
Many of these soldiers, who have been given the primary task of training the Iraqi Security Forces, are from the West Midlands.
Tomorrow, I will fly out and join them for a week and report on conditions at the cutting edge of the development of this war-torn country.
The key question I will be asking is "Are the US and British Governments leaving the country in a position where it can undergo a stable reconstruction?"
At the heart of this is the condition of the Iraqi Army and Police.
With investors from Japan and America throwing cash at the city, and British Consul General in Basra, Nigel Haywood, claiming it is the next Dubai, there is a lot riding on the strategic withdrawal of troops.
Amazingly, the city is seen as such a potential honeypot in the region that construction companies from Iran are beating Western countries to the contracts on offer.
But are the British-trained Iraqi Security Forces ready to handle the terrorist threat without the guidance of their "occupiers"?