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Huddling around a mini stove, face still covered in layers of dirt and clinging to the "wet" for warmth - for those first few minutes of the day the Marines could be anywhere in the world.

The fact they are at war in Iraq, many have said, is a surreal feeling. But to the untrained outsider just the smallest tasks, like washing, cooking and shaving, become major, laborious missions.

Within seconds of washing and dressing there is a layer of fine grit between you and your clothes. It gets in the food, between toothbrush bristles, inside the ears and between the toes.

At the other end of the day, going to bed is almost a chore.

Strict "light discipline" means no torches or any kind of white light can be used after dark.

Before that time the soldiers will have found their spot for the night, cooked some food and gone about digging their beds.

Every night, at a new location, I do the same. For two minutes my shovel breaks through the soil like a knife through hot butter.

I am keen, fast and I can sense rest and sleep so close. The next 45 minutes, however, is sheer, backbreaking hell.

Filling sandbags, stacking them, digging deeper until, finally, there is enough room for a dirty sleeping bag in my trench. I shut my eyes and pray the scorpions stay away.

Every little thing takes a long time and waiting - for the water to boil, for the helicopter to arrive, to find a place we can start to dig - is a constant factor.

But the Marines are patient, knowing the hours of monotony will be dotted with bursts of adrenaline and terror.

Their camaraderie and humour is inspiring.

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