“Very well,” Mrs. Greenberg grumbled, “you can go around the house. The tools are in the shed. Make sure you don’t carry dirt onto the veranda... and wait for me to return before you pack up. I’ll be home around four.” “Sure, Mrs. Greenberg.” I sent her another dishonest smile and trudged around the huge house. The garden was lavish, and I groaned silently when I spotted all the weeds sticking out in the flower beds and under the hedges after a month of neglect due to Pablo’s sudden cancellation.. Once a week I paraded at Slough Drill Hall with Bravo Company of the 8th Battalion of the Wessex Regiment, a Territorial Army unit. I thought the military atmosphere and camaraderie/ comradeship would have staved off any onset of PTSD, which I imagined these nightmares/flashbacks to be. Of course the TA is not the regular army, and I only spent one evening a week and a couple of weekends a month with them.I did some instructing, and held the rank of a sergeant, and latterly the rank, and post,. More

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