LIBYA BOUND

      Tuesday, 1 March

      Four days earlier, I’m in bed in my home in Dubai, where I have been posted for Sky News as a Special Correspondent and where my family and I now live. A buzz sounds on my phone and wakes me. It’s late and I’m disturbed but that’s all. I had been hoping for this message, and when the text comes I feel a rush of adrenalin.

      ‘Can you go to Libya? John.’

      John Ryley, the head of Sky News, never wastes words (or letters for that matter). But this is all I want to hear from him anyway. Great. We are off. Martin Smith, who is my cameraman, and I have already been on a whirlwind of Arab Spring stories, our feet barely touching the ground as we rush from one revolution to another – Tunisia, Egypt, Bahrain, and Egypt again. Now it’s Libya. And Libya could be the hardest, most brutal regime to be taken on so far. Colonel Gaddafi has been in power for forty-two years. He and his sons run the country like a personal fiefdom and he shows no sign of giving up despite the huge protest demonstrations calling for him to end his rule. Libya is also important to the rest of the world for another, particularly significant, reason. It is one of the world’s top ten energy-producing countries – accounting for nearly 2 per cent of total oil production. The unrest has led to a sharp increase in global oil prices. It is a hugely exciting time to be a journalist, exhilarating to be at the centre of these huge events with big implications for the world. We all want to be there.

      Recently, Martin and I haven’t even had time to unpack before we’re off again – to another country where the regime would rather shoot or arrest us than let us report or film what’s going on.

      This time, though, it’s different. We are going in legitimately. The Libyan government is issuing visas and ‘invitations’ so journalists can travel to the country and ‘see the truth for themselves’. But it is already becoming clear that the regime intends to manipulate the journalists as much as possible. They want to get their message out. And that message is that Colonel Muammar Gaddafi is still popular, still powerful and still very much in control. But, before tackling the Libyan regime, I have to manage my own domestic revolt.

      Telling my four children I am off again and going away from them is definitely the very worst part of my job. My youngest child, Flo, who is 8, is looking up at me and her brown eyes are filling with tears. ‘But for how long, Mum? How long are you going away for? Will you be back in time for my parent–teacher conference?’ I say the same thing every time. ‘I’ll try, baby. I’ll try really hard. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ She’s clinging to me, sobbing into my stomach. I am feeling rotten. ‘Please don’t go, Mum. Pleeeease? Why can’t you be like other mums? If you love me, you wouldn’t go. Will you be back by next week? Will you? Will you?’ I hate having to disappoint them but I know in my mind the revolution probably isn’t going to be all over by next Thursday. That’s not a revolution timetable. But I just can’t find the courage to break her heart by telling her this harsh truth. I hope I’m braver in Libya.

      Florence is not yet in double figures but is more than adept at pulling the heartstrings and deploying a fearsome array of emotional blackmail tactics. ‘You know what would really help when you go away? (pause for effect) … A puppy.’

      ‘Hmmm, let me think about it,’ I say, playing for time.

      Sometimes I don’t even have the chance to say goodbye. They might be at school, on a play-date, or it could be I leave in the middle of the night to catch a flight or make a connection. If I can, I try to leave little notes hidden around their rooms. They don’t say much. Maybe ‘I love you’ or ‘Remember