Off The Grid with Luke Coleman - Our man in Iraq
April will mark my seventh anniversary in Iraq, and I’ve been writing this column for five or six of them. As I stand here, white skirt billowing around my kebab belly, pouting and dictating this missive while singing “Crappy Toupee Mr President”, I recognise that I am suffering from the Itch. I can’t be 100% - previous plans have not always been fulfilled – but it’s probably time to draw the curtain on my Iraq adventure at some stage in 2018. I spent December in Stroud, building snowmen with my god children, taking a solid break from my norm, and laying some foundations for a smooth landing back in the UK. I took courses, made a short film to use as a trailer for a project I’m trying to sell, one which will try to throw light on the best of Britain. If I get the backing, I expect my witterings in the June edition of The Ocelot to have a new title, and the content to reflect a more recognisable subject. There are some big ‘ifs’, but I’ve generally had luck in my endeavours. There is one fly in the ointment though: 2018 is year of the dog, if you’re a believer in the Chinese Zodiac. The Tango Toddler was born in the year of the dog, so we should perhaps brace ourselves for him cocking his leg over international and domestic policy some more. I might pop back to protest his UK visit, that could be an idea for a little film.