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Guards face cold showers and no heating

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Henry Bodkin reports for The Telegraph that there is no hot water or central heating for the Guardsmen on duty at Buckingham Palace.

It’s all in a day’s work for the Queen’s guard and they routinely put up with much worse but it’s symptomatic of the state of disrepair and neglect that is undermining our Armed Forces.

I WAS WOKEN by the alarm on my smart phone which told me it was 6am. The touch screen briefly illuminated my surroundings before I reflexively stabbed the dismiss button and was once again plunged into darkness. I lay on my back, disoriented by sleep, momentarily uncertain of my surroundings. It was bitterly cold and as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I could see my breath condensing above me. I was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep when an enormous bald head came into view. The enormous head was attached to an enormous neck which in turn was attached to an enormous torso and two enormous, heavily tattooed arms. The head spoke, revealing enormous tombstone teeth:

“Sir, you snore like a fucking bastard. If it wasn’t so fucking cold last night I would’ve got up and fucking strangled you.”

I didn’t doubt him for a moment. The man mountain was Glenn Haughton, the Regimental Sergeant Major of the First Battalion Grenadier Guards. Glenn appeared part human part beast, caught in a perpetual semi‑transformative state between Dr Bruce Banner and The Incredible Hulk, at the point where his clothes no longer fit his outsize body but just before his skin turns green. I’d first met Glenn in Canada the year before and I knew he had a temper to match. Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry. I was prepared to go to enormous lengths to avoid antagonising the big man and made a mental note to find alternative lodgings as soon as possible.

It was December 2011. I had driven up from London in freezing fog the night before to the Stanford Training Area in Thetford to join the Grenadiers for the last phase of their collective training. This would be the final OPTAG assessment before the headquarters team, of which I was a part, would deploy to Afghanistan in January 2012. It would also be my first opportunity to meet the new Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel James Maurice Hannan Bowder, MBE.

 

It was gone midnight when I reported to the guardroom at Wretham Camp. From there I was driven to Smokers Hole FOB, a purpose built Forward Operating Base on the training area which housed the battalion operations room and would be my home for the next few days. I was shown to a large tent, already occupied by a dozen or so somnolent figures, and invited to make myself comfortable. Inside the tent it was well below freezing and pitch black. With encouragement from some of the anonymous figures in the dark to shut the fuck up, I did my best to silently extract my sleeping bag from my bergan and find a space to get my head down.

After my encounter with the Sarn’t Major the following morning, sleep was beyond me and so I quickly pulled on my combat trousers and Helly Hanson fleece top in an attempt to conserve body heat. As I fumbled with the laces of my boots with fingers numbed by cold I noted that since my last outing with them the Grenadiers had been issued the new multi‑terrain pattern (MTP) uniforms which were now being worn in Afghanistan. I would not be issued with the new clothing, which was a much lighter shade of green than my own, for another couple of weeks. In the meantime I was going to stand out like a sore thumb, further highlighting my reserve status amongst these full‑time soldiers.

Wash and shave kit in hand I went in search of the Puffing Billy, otherwise known as the M67 Army Liquid Fuel Immersion Heater. This is a genius piece of kit, originally of US design, dating back to 1943. Nicknamed the ‘Kitchen Mortar’ by US troops it consists of an old metal dustbin filled with water to which is clamped a diesel fired drip fed immersion heater with an enormous chimney. The Puffing Billy can produce a good quantity of hot water suitable for washing and shaving purposes, albeit with a greasy slick of diesel on the surface, but it takes a brave man to light one.

The preferred method being to throw a lighted match down the chimney and run like hell.

Sadly there was to be no hot water that morning. Not because there was no man brave enough to throw the match amongst these battle hardened soldiers but because it was so cold the diesel had started to wax and would not flow. I resigned myself to a cold shave and wandered over to a bowser where a man was breaking the ice on its surface to get to the water below. We both collected a bowl of frigid water and shared a wooden trestle table to wash and shave in silence. The ground on which we stood was still white with frost but this did not deter my companion from stripping to the waist to complete his ablutions. I felt no desire to follow his example. Keeping my Helly Hanson zipped to the neck, my own administrations were far less thorough. It was only when the stranger beside me pulled on his shirt that I noticed the distinctive Crown and Bath Star rank slide that denoted his status as the Commanding Officer.

It was my new boss.

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the unauthorised, unvarnished and irreverent story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. Of course, all infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

‘The best book by a soldier concerning the Afghan War that I have read’
Frank Ledwidge, bestselling author of Losing Small Wars and Investment in Blood

‘SPIN ZHIRA vividly conveys the disjointed essence of modern warfare and the impossibility of balancing the adrenaline of combat with ‘normal’ life. This book brims with authenticity and dark humour.’
Patrick Hennessey, bestselling author of The Junior Officers’ Reading Club and Kandak

‘If you want to read about political and military success in Afghanistan, this book isn’t for you. If you want a fresh perspective from someone who is not a career officer and who is brave enough to bare his soul, then SPIN ZHIRA is a must read.’
Lt Col Richard Dorney, bestselling author of The Killing Zoneand An Active Service

‘Five stars’
SOLDIER The official magazine of the British Army

‘A journey of love, service and adventure. Excellent.’
Amazon Customer

Ten reasons why you should read SPIN ZHIRA.

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Carl Shadrake, Afghan Veteran, speaks for us all.

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Carl Shadrake

Sgt. Carl Shadrake talks about how the Battle of the Somme is remembered by soldiers serving today in the British Army.

Former Grenadier Guardsman and Afghan veteran, Carl Shadrake is an extraordinary young man who knows the pain and anguish of close quarter battle better than any other living Briton.

On his first tour of Afghanistan in 2007 the vehicle he was travelling in was targeted by a suicide bomber, killing the driver and seriously injuring Carl. After a long recovery Carl returned to his unit, 1st Battalion Grenadier Guards and five years later deployed to Afghanistan for a second time in 2012.

Four months into this tour, whilst on a foot patrol,  a colleague close to him detonated an improvised explosive device, losing both his legs. Badly wounded himself by the blast, Carl’s first concern was getting his wounded comrade to safety. It was only after a rescue helicopter had evacuated them both to Camp Bastion that Carl realised the extent of his own injuries.

Carl was put into a medically induced coma and flown by aeromed to Selly Oak Hospital in Birmingham. It was here, a month later that he learned the tragic news that his younger brother, Jamie, also serving in Afghanistan, had been shot and killed.

Despite everything he and his family have been through he speaks with such modesty and humility when measuring his own sacrifice with those of the 19,240 soldiers who died on the first day of the Somme.

It’s impossible not to contrast the measured tones of this extraordinary man with those of our grasping, self-serving politicians as they jockey for position in the race to lead their respective parties.

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LCpl James Ashworth VC

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LCpl James Ashworth VC, 1st Bn Grenadier Guards was killed in action on this day four years ago in the district of Nahr-E-Saraj, Helmand Province.LanceCorporalAshworth

James Ashworth – Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

LCpl James Ashworth epitomizes the courage and professionalism of all British soldiers whose sacrifice in Helmand has been confounded by incompetence, corruption and deceit.

By tragic coincidence I learned today from a friend in the neighbouring district of Nad Ali that “Nahre Saraj all Taliban. Just Gereshk bazaar government”. This confirms reports from Kabul that much of Helmand Province is either under siege or already in the hands of the Taliban.

In 2013 Catriona Laing, the head of the Helmand PRT earnestly pronounced: “We have presented the people of Helmand with an opportunity. They have grabbed it enthusiastically, confidently… it’s now in their hands for the future.”

I wonder what she would say today?

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the unauthorised, unvarnished and irreverent story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. Of course, all infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

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Turn to Starboard Round Britain Challenge

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Steven Price Brown, or PB, called me a ‘fucking cunt, Sir’ when we first met. He was feeling aggrieved as I’d just fallen on him from a great height. I can’t say I blame him. He’s now sailing around Britain in a leaky boat with a dodgy engine and you can follow his progress and that of his shipmates on his blog: Turn to Starboard. Here’s how I described that first encounter:
 
“As soon as Ron and his team arrived I briefed him on the plan and set off back down the bund line towards the river with Ninety, PB and Double A in hot pursuit. I hadn’t had a chance to brief them yet, but they all knew that wherever I was going they were going too. I could hear Delta blazing away behind us while Ron bellowed at them to conserve ammunition and slow their rate of fire.
The berm afforded limited cover which meant we could only run bent double but, despite this, we made quick progress until the bund petered out about ten metres short of the river bank. We would need to break cover and dash these last few metres. Stopping just short of the open ground, I quickly explained to the lads my plan and their individual roles. I could see that Ninety was made up to be joining me for the final assault. Then I explained we should individually make the dash across to the cover of the river bank. PB set off first. As soon as he disappeared Double A followed, then Ninety and I in rapid succession.
The river bank was about six feet above the level of the water and, in my haste to reach cover, I simply launched myself over the edge into thin air. The lads had all done pretty much the same thing and I landed on top of a heap of bodies in the river. Being the first one to cross the open ground, PB was now at the bottom of this pile and from the look on his face he wasn’t particularly enjoying the experience. At 43, PB was probably one of the oldest, if not the oldest, private soldier in the British Army. His paper round as a child must have been a hard one and he wore every single one of those 43 years in the lines on his face. Beneath this craggy exterior was a man of steel; PB was easily fitter than most lads half his age and was basically unbreakable. Providing a soft landing for three fully laden soldiers might not have been at the top of his ‘to do’ list that morning but it still wasn’t a big drama for him.
Given that I’d fallen on him from a great height, I was prepared to overlook the fact that he’d just called me ‘a fucking cunt, Sir’. As far as I was concerned, PB was gleaming.”
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SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is available as an Amazon Kindle e-book

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the unauthorised, unvarnished and irreverent story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. Of course, all infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

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Barclays reaches out to veterans

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Rupert Stevens

Barclays reaches out to veterans moving into civilian world – Coventry Telegraph

It’s good to see Rupert Stevens making the headlines. Rupert was our Adjutant in Afghanistan – a key figurehead in any Regiment and the Commanding Officer’s right hand man. I owe him big because he delayed his own R&R so that I could return to the UK in time for Alfie’s birthday, but it was his very low opinion of the RAF that I remember most:

“I RETURNED TO the barracks to find a group of soldiers standing around their bergans, like so many girls at a school disco, quietly chatting and smoking, their cigarettes glowing in the dark as they patiently waited for the transport to RAF Brize Norton. A voice addressed me from the shadows:

‘Good of you to make it, Chris.’

It was the Adjutant, Captain Rupert Stevens. Rupert had been one of the first Grenadiers I’d met almost two years ago and although he’d always been supportive of my ambition to mobilise with the battalion, that didn’t mean he was averse to a bit of squaddie banter. He informed me that our trooping flight was scheduled for 07.00 the following morning but as this was ‘Crab Air’, army slang for the Royal Air Force, this was not a departure time but a ‘no move before’ time. In his opinion it was anyone’s guess when we might eventually take off.

Rivalry and deep cultural differences between the armed services ensured that Rupert, like all self‑respecting soldiers, did not have a kind word to say about the RAF. Still there was some truth behind his comments. The RAF was trying to maintain a busy air bridge between the UK and Afghanistan using an ageing fleet of Lockheed Tristar aircraft. These had first come into service in 1978 as commercial airliners operated by Pan American Airways who subsequently sold them to the RAF shortly after the Falklands War.

After 34 years of service the Tristar was showing its age and, a bit like myself, was only just about fit for purpose.

Troops had become resigned to long delays in the journey to and from Afghanistan. It’s also fair to say that the RAF, unlike the aircraft’s original owner, is not a customer focussed organisation and puts little thought into the welfare of its passengers. We would all spend many hours experiencing RAF hospitality and it was never enjoyable. Disparaging comments not only helped to pass the time but also managed expectation.

Some months later a much publicised visit to Afghanistan by James Blunt and Catherine Jenkins was cancelled after the Tristar in which they were travelling was forced to abort and return to Cyprus, not once but twice, with first an air leak and then a problem with the undercarriage. James Blunt, himself a former soldier, was not impressed and wrote an uncomplimentary article in The Telegraph which delighted the rank and file but angered the top brass, who disputed his claims of military incompetence. For Rupert, who had been tasked with organising this visit and who had boasted for days about his self‑appointed role as Catherine Jenkins’ personal assistant, this would only serve to confirm his already very low opinion of the RAF.

Ironically, despite his obvious frustration, the RAF had actually done James a favour. So far as I could tell, Rupert had invested considerable time and effort preparing a detailed and comprehensive visit programme for Catherine in which he intended personally to take care of her every need and desire. By contrast he’d assumed ‘Blunty’ would doss down in the honking transit accommodation and sort himself out.”

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is available as an Amazon Kindle e-book

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the unauthorised, unvarnished and irreverent story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. Of course, all infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

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Seek Out Danger

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ACOG optical weapon sight, Saidan

I discovered James Elroy Flecker’s verse play Hassan (1922) at the weekend. His words ring true, perhaps because they reference snow covered mountains or perhaps because they so perfectly describe my mid life crisis. Ironically, they are also much admired by the Special Air Service, with whom I was mostly at loggerheads throughout my time in Afghanistan.

Go as a pilgrim and seek out danger
far from the comfort
and the well lit avenues of life.

Pit your every soul against the unknown
and seek stimulation in the comfort of the brave.

Experience cold, hunger, heat and thirst
and survive to see another challenge and another dawn.

Only then will you be at peace with yourself
and be able to know and to say;

“I look down the farthest side of the mountain,
fulfilled and understanding all,
and truly content that I lived a full life
and one that was my own choice.”

We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go always a little further;
it may be beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow
across that angry or that glimmering sea.

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is available as an Amazon Kindle e-book

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the unauthorised, unvarnished and irreverent story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. Of course, all infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

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Improvised Explosive Device

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Yesterday, as the Invictus Games were concluding in Orlando,  I joined an email thread between two readers, one in London and the other in Thailand (my only reader in Thailand so you know who you are). They were discussing Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs). It was impossible not to reflect that many of the Invictus competitors are the victims of IEDs and have overcome terrible injuries to compete for their country. In my book I have tried to provide an insight into what all soldiers endured as they patrolled the badlands of Helmand Province:

“As the Grenadiers or fighting Ribs1 of Inkerman Company knew only too well, living with the constant possibility that your every next step may trigger an IED slowly and inevitably degrades the human spirit. It pervades every waking moment and is a constant and exhausting factor. Every breath must be carefully savoured lest it be your last. Every footfall must be critically considered and evaluated before being placed. Each tread is committed with unyielding trepidation. The euphoria of one safe step is immediately replaced by apprehension at the next and so on and so on until …

According to Aristotle, ‘Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.’ Not being as erudite as the great Greek polymath, for me, fear is the ever‑present possibility that my fellow man has carefully concealed a yellow palm oil container packed with a volatile mixture of ammonium nitrate and aluminium in the ground beneath my feet. It is the screaming anticipation that my very next step will initiate this crude mixture and a dark and powerful blast will remove my legs and my manhood and leave me bloodied and broken in the dirt.

As friends and colleagues fall victim to these devices and are forever mutilated or killed in circumstances or locations you have visited yourself, it becomes possible to reflect not that you have been lucky, but that you must be next. It’s a conviction that slowly and inexorably takes hold in the darkest recesses of your exhausted mind and grows like a malignant cancer.

During the course of my patrols in the Gap I witnessed young Guardsmen so overcome with fear that they would vomit at the front gates of the base before bravely stepping off on a patrol they have convinced themselves will be their last. I have also seen men so exhausted by constant vigilance that they lose all reason and stumble about blindly, no longer caring if they live or die.

Both are equally distressing to observe. But in this I was not always a mere observer.

On one patrol I was myself so overwhelmed by the certainty that I was about to take my last few steps on this earth that I became rooted to the spot unable to move either forward or back. It took the gentle and patient persuasion of a better man half my age to guide me, temporarily broken and useless, to safety.

I would hear IEDs detonated by other callsigns, sometimes less than a kilometre distant. Or I would join a platoon for a few days, to learn soon afterwards that one of their number had been grievously wounded.

One device claimed the legs of another London Regiment soldier, Lance Corporal John Wilson with whom I’d trained and prepared for deployment, another took the foot of Jay, an SF soldier whom I’d got to know. Jay had postponed his end of tour date when yet more faults on the ageing RAF Tristar fleet had delayed his replacement’s arrival into theatre.

I tried to convince him that he didn’t need to go back out on the ground but he ignored my advice. When the news came through that his patrol had been whacked by an IED and had a serious casualty I instantly feared it must be him, and so it proved to be. Some reckoned he’d been lucky – the device only partially detonated and his injuries could have been much worse – but I knew that Jay’s luck had run out with his chuff chart2”

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is available as an Amazon Kindle e-book

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the unauthorised, unvarnished and irreverent story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. Of course, all infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

Yellow palm oil IED1Ribs/fighting Ribs: Inkerman Company, First Battalion The Grenadier Guards are known as the Ribs or fighting Ribs after their predecessors took part in the Anglo-Dutch Wars (1652-74) as marines, accommodated in the ship’s hold amongst the ribs.

2Chuff Chart: A chart or calendar used by servicemen and woman to count down the days until the end of a tour of duty.

 

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Out manoeuvred, outgunned and out of breath.

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No 2 Coy, Zumbalay

Yesterday I shared War on the Rocks blog, Outnumbered, Outranged and Outgunned. I was more frequently out manoeuvred, out gunned and out of breath in Afghanistan.

“IT’S A LITTLE after 4.30am and I’m already weeping sweat from every pore. This is partly because for some weeks now night-time temperatures have not fallen below 20°C/68°F, and partly because the combined weight of my combat body armour, weapon systems, ammunition, water and other equipment tops the scales at just over 52kilos, 65% of my bodyweight. It’s a burden that stretches sinews and cartilage to breaking point. It’s no wonder the Taliban, who go to war unencumbered by health and safety legislation, call us donkey soldiers. The British seaside donkey code of best practice recommends that donkey loads do not exceed 25% of an animal’s weight. No such guidance exists either for donkeys, or for British soldiers, in Afghanistan.

Fooling around on the lawns at Gooseberry Hall with Harry and Alfie we’d perfected a manoeuvre we called the triple in which Alfie would sit on Harry’s shoulders and Harry would then sit on mine. We would then stagger around the garden for a few minutes before eventually collapsing in a heap of bodies and a fit of giggles. Between them they weighed substantially less than the kit I’ll be wearing for the next eight hours as temperatures soar into the high thirties.

Studies have shown that at 173cm in my socks, I’m the perfect size and build for the modern infantry soldier. Human joints essentially work on a lever principle. The heavier the load and the longer the lever, the weaker the joint and the more prone it is to failure. So‑called short‑arses like me have an advantage over our taller and longer boned colleagues, but in my case I reckon these advantages are well past their sell‑by date. I’m not the only one who thinks so. Shortly after we arrived in MOB Price an anonymous colleague procured a Zimmer frame from somewhere and kindly placed this beside my desk in the J9 cell. I was touched by their concern for my welfare and mobility needs.”

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the true story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. of course, all infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is available as an Amazon Kindle e-book

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The Queen’s bodyguard

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Queen and Grenadiers

As the Queen’s turns 90 today I recall the first time I met her bodyguard.

“As we walked along Petty France, James gave me a potted history of the men I was about to meet. The Grenadier Guards is the most senior of the five regiments of Foot Guards and one of the oldest regiments in the British Army. Formed in Bruges in 1656 as the Royal Regiment of Guards to protect the exiled King Charles II, it has gone on to serve ten kings and four queens, including the current Queen Elizabeth II.

The Regiment was renamed the “First Grenadier Regiment of Foot Guards” in 1815, in recognition of its part in the defeat of the French Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard at the Battle of Waterloo, and has been so named ever since.

For the last decade or more my lunch had been a sandwich and a bag of cheese and onion, hastily eaten at my desk while simultaneously trying to stay on top of my email inbox. As James explained, this is not how the officers of the Queen’s bodyguard choose to conduct themselves. As befits one of the most esteemed regiments in the British Army, officers assemble in the anteroom from 12.30pm and then at 1pm sharp process through to the dining room where they are served a three course lunch by the Officers’ Mess Colour Sergeant and his staff. Once lunch is complete they take coffee in the anteroom before resuming their work schedule at 2pm on the dot.

I suspect it’s a routine that has changed little since those early days in Bruges when Henry Wilmot, First Earl of Rochester commanded the battalion, except perhaps in one regard. Henry Wilmot was a popular commander who liked a drink and according to contemporary commentators ‘drank hard, and had a great power over all who did so, which was a great people’. The modern Grenadiers may not have succumbed to the vulgarity of a sandwich lunch, but in a concession to progress, there was no hard drink to be had.

James and I presented our MoD 90’s – our British Army photo identity cards – at the barracks guardroom and were duly escorted through a maze of subterranean passageways to the mess. Despite its historic location in the heart of London, it’s an ugly concrete building of little, if any, architectural merit that conceals a rich history. Within the drab exterior the Grenadiers have decorated the walls with paintings and portraits chronicling their glorious past. Severe looking senior officers dressed in black frock coats lined the walls, alongside enormous oil paintings recording magnificent, hard-won victories from a bygone age.

One such painting struck my eye.

A little smaller than the rest it seemed oddly out of place, although like so many others it depicted a fierce and violent battle. A small group of about eight or ten Grenadiers can be seen taking cover behind a low wall. As those in the background fix bayonets, perhaps preparing to fend off an imminent assault, those in the foreground are engaged in a furious firefight. Men can be seen standing dangerously exposed above the parapet firing their belt-fed machine guns at an unseen enemy, while their comrades work furiously to keep them resupplied with ammunition. The air is thick with cordite and dust, their situation looks pretty desperate. I can feel the heat of the battle, hear the crack and thump of rounds passing perilously close, smell the sweat and blood of these men as they stand firm on their position, fighting for their lives.

What made this picture so different from the others was that the paint was hardly dry. The scene it depicted was a battle, not from a previous century, but from the Grenadiers’ last tour of duty less than 12 months before. Standing transfixed by the painting I was once more reminded of the dangerous business I was getting myself into. I was about to sit down to lunch with veterans of this scene, or ones just like it, and wondered if I had what it took to stand shoulder to shoulder with them on the field of battle, as James had done. I didn’t know the answer to that one but I did know that, if this picture was anything to go by, they’d earned the right to their anachronistic lunches.”

SPIN ZHIRA: Old Man in Helmand is the true story of one man’s midlife crisis on the front line of the most dangerous district in Afghanistan where the locals haven’t forgiven the British for the occupation of 1842 or for the Russian Invasion of 1979. All infidels look the same so you can’t really tell them apart.

Now available on Amazon Kindle for the special pre-order price of £1.99.