Let’s face it. War is hell. War is stupid. It’s also the best excuse for drinking ever invented. Having passed most of the Bosnian war in a blur of Jack Daniels and slivovitz , I can confirm that some things in life – performing a three point turn in the middle of a minefield, speeding down Sarajevo¹s sniper alley – are best done with a drink close at hand. But at least journalists and soldiers are on the same wavelength: the young, male and stupid wavelength, that is. No front line trench in Bosnia was complete without its own drinks cabinet. And no front line tour was complete, alas, without an enforced swig of home-made plum brandy. If you managed to avoid Uncle Slobodan’s finest, then there was always a Hungarian

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