Explosion in the quartermaster's stores

It might still be another week and a half until I have to report back for duty, but when I woke up this morning I thought it would be a really good idea to start packing my kit.
After forcing open the door to my spare room, my first thought was to call the police and report a burglary, because the great big pile of desert camouflage-coloured stuff lying all over the place looked exactly like the title of this post, a massive, unfolded, mish-mash of trousers, shirts, combat jackets, boots, string, water bottles and all the other assorted paraphernalia which the British soldier gets thrown at them in the QM's store, rather like those scenes in the films.
After forcing the door shut again, going away, drinking several cups of coffee, reading the paper from cover to cover, going out for a run, having lunch, reading the paper again and generally using all the tactics one employs to avoid having to tackle a big job, I reluctantly returned to the spare room, in the vain hope that in my absence, the magic tidying up elves had done their job.
Alas, they had completely failed to help me, so I am writing this while the European Army Surplus Mountain sits there, staring at me in a challenging sort of way.
Suggestions on a postcard please, as to how I can fit this lot into a rucksack and holdall.

We're all going on a summer holiday

I don't think I've ever had three weeks' holiday from work before! The only problem is that after the intensity of everything that's happened since I mobilised in June, I'm a bit worried that I might get a bit bored... So I'm planning to fill my time with catching up on all those things that I just haven't had the time to do for the last two months (seeing my family being the most important one of them!).
It's also giving me time to reflect on what we've done, what we've achieved and the size of the job ahead of us. The thing is, while I always expected to be involved in operations either in Afghanistan or possibly Iraq when I joined the Territorial Army, I never expected to be involved in the role I've now been given, that of training the Afghan National Army. In some ways, it's one of the most important roles the British Army is performing there, because we can fight the Taliban and charities and aid organisations can hand out food, tools and equipment all day long, but if there is nothing there to take over the security of the country when our work is eventually done, then things could return very quickly to square one.
That sounds like a lot of self-praise! The best bit of news Corunna Company has had is that the powers that be have been very impressed with our efforts over the past few weeks, so it looks like we might get used for some more interesting tasks away from Camp Bastion.
In any case, we're all looking forward to our leave, time to recharge our batteries ahead of a long flight out to Afghanistan and the real beginning of our adventures.

Post-exercise admin

I reckon the vast majority of people would shudder at the thought of wearing the same underwear for days on end, washing out of a bowl of cold water and eating beans with every meal. Well, that's what going on a training exercise is usually like, but this one was different. Right across the Army's massive Salisbury Plain training area, the Royal Engineers had been busy recreating a series of Forward Operating Bases (FOBs) for us to use for our mission rehearsal training.
Now that meant food cooked by Army chefs, solar showers (a bag you hang up in the sun to heat the water) and cot beds, so we had a pretty comfortable time of things. We even had some simulated Afghan National Army soldiers to work with to practice how we're going to mentor them.
But what I wasn't quite prepared for was the sweaty, horrible experience of wearing Osprey body armour. It's bloody good stuff (in that it will hopefully keep me alive when I'm in Afghanistan), but it is basically two large, heavy plates strapped fore and aft. It's bulky, it weighs a lot and it makes you perspire freely. Or sweat like a dog, depending on how you look at it. That's why I'm about half the size I was when I began the exercise.
It's been an interesting two weeks, settling in to my new unit, the 1st Battalion the Rifles, meeting new people and getting used to how they do business. Of course, I've seen assorted members of Corunna Company cutting about the area, and at one point I even caught a fleeting glimpse of one of my North Devon Journal colleagues, Rupert Sims, interviewing a Royal Engineers captain.
Next week should be far less frenetic, as I'm going to be learning Pashtu, the language most commonly spoken in Helmand. Despite only having a week to pick up the basics, it's going to be useful to at least say hello to the locals and inquire after their health, their opinions on the weather and stuff about the pen of my grandfather's aunt (unless language training has come a long way since I left school). "Has anyone seen any Taliban?" may also be a useful phrase. It's pretty difficult really, because the usual foreign lingo picked up by us Brits is something along the lines of "beer and chips please", neither of which we are likely to be using in and around the towns and villages of Southern Afghanistan.
But after that, I've got three weeks' leave, so I'll be travelling around the country visiting relatives and friends, packing my kit and preparing for the off, sometime in mid-September. But complaining about flying RAF is something I'll save for another time.