If you give a fuckwit responsibility and flexibility, before you know it he’ll be running around doing a load of shit that’s not constructive. You might also have to crack the whip if you’re managing manual workers, because the environment they’re working in is so demotivating and most of them won’t feel anything for the company’s mission.
You could, however, flatten out the hierarchy in a sports team, when there are only a few members and individual responsibility and flexibility are keys to success. It amazes me that we haven’t had more sports teams approach our company, because they could learn a lot from the way the Special Forces do things. You often hear it said that great sports teams have an almost telepathic understanding, whether it be the All Blacks in rugby or Manchester City in football. Each player knows exactly where he is meant to be on the field at any given time, and also that his teammates will be where he expects them to be. That unthinking understanding, that sense of absolute trust, only comes from a very high degree of training. And, paradoxically, that very high degree of training means you take that unthinking understanding for granted.
That’s how it is in the Special Forces, except for one key difference. On some missions, a team of four soldiers who barely knew each other might be thrown together in an instant, and they have to hit the ground running. They may never have worked with each other as a team, but there will be an understanding that they are the elite and that each one of them can be trusted.
While I enjoyed running as a kid, I was never interested in team sports. In fact, I was a bit of a loner. People assume that everyone in the Special Forces is a team player, but a Special Forces team would better be described as a group of loners who nevertheless understand the mechanics of teamwork. When I went on missions in the SBS, we didn’t have to like each other, just as the best sports teams will contain players who don’t like each other. There were blokes who had shagged other bloke’s wives, people who hated each other with a passion outside of work. But when it came to doing the work, they were bang on it. Had that not been the case, people would have been killed. A company’s mission statement can’t take into account the fact that some of their staff don’t like each other. But if you set clear objectives, that shouldn’t really matter.
Generally speaking, the larger a company gets, the more a hierarchical system is needed, because the bosses know that not all of their staff will be up to the job and committed to the cause. But a common problem with hierarchies in large companies is that you end up with robotic promotion and managers becoming managers based on nothing apart from the fact that they’ve been there for a long time. That can leave a company with a layer of middle-managers who aren’t particularly good at the job they used to do and a raft of staff below them who don’t have any respect for their abilities.
A good team leader will be highly competent but also understand that someone within their team might be better than them at doing certain jobs. A bad team leader will think, ‘I’m team leader, therefore I must know best about everything.’ You can’t possibly know better about everything than everyone else. A good team leader gives clear direction, motivates and allows other people to take glory for the wins. And a good team leader accommodates talented non-conformists, and people who prefer to operate outside the system, without complaint. There are limits, but if someone can do the job better than anyone else, why would you be bothered about the fact they turn up half an hour late or take an extra half an hour for lunch? But some leaders can’t handle people bending the rules. They see it as a threat to their authority.
When I worked in an office environment, there were these martyrs who’d stay late every night and moan about it very publicly.
The bosses saw them as hard workers and worthy of promotion. But I’d think, ‘These people just can’t handle their workload or manage their time properly.’ It was all about perception rather than actual value. It’s not the hours you do, it’s what you do in those hours. I’d rather have someone come in for five hours and work flat-out than come in for ten hours and be a passenger. Or if someone shows they can produce good work from home, don’t come in at all.
A lot of companies spend all their time looking externally, at the competition. But you need to look inside first. Get that working correctly and the results will flow. If you don’t get that working correctly, when the shit hits the fan, it will be very difficult to pull the team together and refocus. Sometimes people say to me, ‘You worked in the Special Forces, where everyone was brilliant at their job, but I’ve got a load of fuckwits working for me.’ And I tell them that it doesn’t matter if you’re an astronaut, banker or binman, we’re all human. We all tend to make decisions based on emotion, and lessons from a Special Forces perspective carry extra weight, because we make our decisions while under a massive amount of pressure.
Given enough time, most people can be whipped into shape. But there are lost causes. There has to be a will, they’ve got to be motivated to change. And the people who come on Break-Point’s courses are motivated, otherwise they wouldn’t have signed up. They believe that life should be about continual improvement, day in, day out, even if you’re already in a good place.
You’ve got to keep moving and keep progressing. Slowing down or stopping will mean you keep flopping around in that repeat cycle of yesterday, like an old jumper on a slow spin in a washing machine. But if you maintain momentum, you will eventually be thrown out of that cycle. You might have to cross some negative ground to reach your goal, but you will reach your goal eventually. And when that happens, your head will be a more pleasant place.
22
IN CONTROL
In SAS: Who Dares Wins, we orchestrate false endings all the time, to test the mental strength of the recruits. In series three, we ran them up a mountain and back down again, before pointing them in the direction of transport and telling them how well they’d all done. When we started doling out encouragement, anyone in their right mind knew something was up. Sure enough, just as they were about to jump into the transport, it started rolling away. And after the transport had disappeared over the horizon, the recruits were given an extra dose of beasting.
That kind of psychological messing will break a lot of people. As soon as they see the transport, they’ll switch off mentally. And when they see it driving off into the distance, they’ll abandon all hope. It’s like reaching the top of a mountain and suddenly realising you’ve got to climb another one. It sounds like a cruel trick to play, but our DS had it done to us loads of times and it served a purpose. As a soldier, you don’t get to choose when a battle stops. You have no idea when it’s going to end, unlike a marathon or a rugby match. You might have already emptied yourself, you might be in absolute pieces, but if you get downhearted and lose momentum, that’s dangerous.
The worst thing you can do in a warzone is stand still. The Special Forces are looking for people who stand up when things go wrong, not stand down; they’re looking for people who increase their speed when they see the target, not lose enthusiasm; they’re looking for people who don’t just reach the target but push through it, while understanding that the end won’t come when they want it to and the cycle might continue. This translates to everyday life. When you’re standing at the top of whatever your metaphorical mountain might be, that’s when you’re at your most vulnerable. You’ve reached your goal, you’re mentally drained and your defences are down, which is why so many people who achieve great success in life are quickly toppled from the peak.
My life has been full of false endings. Achieving my goals was always anti-climactic and it was never long before I was having to set a new one. From the age of 14, all I wanted to be was a soldier. But when I became a Royal Marine, it didn’t make me happy. I thought joining the Special Forces would give me the purpose that I craved, but that didn’t happen either. And I certainly didn’t find meaning doing security in the madhouse that was Iraq.
I don’t believe in regrets. It’s a well-worn cliché, but it’s the journey, h
owever uncomfortable, that provides the growth. That’s where the worthwhile stuff happens. Traumatic childhoods, failed relationships, disillusionment with work, all of that tough stuff provides lessons to learn from. That doesn’t necessarily mean life gets easier, but it should get better.
I should reiterate that I’m lucky to have always had an extremely positive disposition. It was that disposition that enabled me to plough through everything that went awry in my childhood, join the Royal Marines and SBS, quickly recover from failed relationships and overcome any traumatic experiences while I was working in Iraq. It was the military that developed my ability to detach myself from bad situations. That ability to switch off and distance yourself, although it has its downsides, makes you more resilient in the face of adversity. In the Special Forces, you’ve got to be able to recover from knocks quickly. Shit happens, life is tough. As bleak as it sounds, it’s entirely possible that more things will go wrong in your life than go right. But if you dwell on the negatives, you’ll end up in a state of mental paralysis.
I’m sometimes asked whether I would have liked to have seen more action during my time in the military. After all, and as I’ve already made clear, that’s what I signed up for. But when you’ve been shot at for real, you don’t really want to be shot at again. I guess it’s like asking an old punch-drunk boxer if he wishes he’d had more wars in the ring. Some would say yes, just as some soldiers tend to glorify the battles they were in. But soldiers who served in ‘great’ battles often end up with severe physical and mental issues, and I don’t believe in short-term wins that don’t establish long-term benefits.
For someone who initially yearned to experience war, now I see how terrible it all is. Like it or not, we have to have a military, because there will always be people out there who want to do us harm. But war certainly doesn’t do its participants much good. I have old friends who have returned to civilian life saddled with problems. Some are missing limbs, but many of the injuries they carry are hidden. In contrast, I came through it relatively unscathed.
I’ve been strong enough to give up the booze, which causes so many problems among veterans, and set up five companies under the Break-Point brand. And I’ve finally discovered what makes me happy. In fact, it wasn’t until I returned to the UK and got Break-Point up and running that I felt fulfilled and content for the first time in my life. I had a taste of it in Thailand, when I was attempting to save children from the sex trade, but even then I was away from the people I loved.
Between the ages of 18, when I joined the military, and 43, when I came home from Australia, I hardly saw Mum. Even now, she’ll phone me after an episode of SAS: Who Dares Wins and say, ‘Wow, that was amazing. I didn’t know you could run down mountain faces and jump out of helicopters. Especially at the age of 48!’ When you’re away for as long as I was, the intimacy fades. It almost becomes more natural not to talk, and I don’t want that to happen again. She deserves better for all that she’s done. And so do I.
My relationship with Luke is great nowadays, although we don’t do much yomping through the countryside or climbing mountains together, as I thought we might when he was born. I recently took him up the Pen y Fan, where I did the Hills Phase during Selection, and it was like he was going to die. The Wi-Fi connection isn’t great up there, and a father depriving his son of Wi-Fi is tantamount to child abuse. To be fair, a lot of teenagers are like that. And I can hardly claim to be surprised that he hasn’t inherited my love of the outdoors, because we’ve spent so much time apart. But we’re getting closer.
It hasn’t been a conventional father-and-son relationship by any means, just as my relationship with my father wasn’t conventional. But after I left Luke, I saw my dad in a different light. He wasn’t happy, so he decided to do something about it. That made no sense to me as a kid, but suddenly it did. His lack of financial support after he left was difficult to forgive and I’ll never be as close to him as I am to my mum. But he’s still my dad.
When you’re a kid, you resent being made to do things you don’t like. But your parents better understand the world they’re preparing you for. You’re not a kid forever, and I sometimes wonder if I’d have done the things I did if I’d been brought up soft. I certainly wouldn’t have known how to saw the stock off a shotgun. And all those long walks with the dogs certainly gave me a love of the outdoors. As much as I resented Dad, I’m not sure I would have made it in the military if it wasn’t for what he gave me. A psychiatrist would no doubt tell me that I was always trying to impress him, but never felt I lived up to his expectations. It caused me anguish, but it also put some grit into me. Like it or not, you are your father’s son. I thank Dad for bringing me up with manners and teaching me the benefit of a hard day’s work. I love him and I’ll always be there for him.
Now that I’ve found my niche, which is changing people’s lives through Break-Point, it’s sometimes difficult to remember me as I was. That’s partly because I didn’t even know who I was. I bounced all over the world, was constantly trying to redefine myself. But now that I’ve discovered who I am and what I’m for, I’m more comfortable with my past.
For years, I tried to escape from the military and anything associated with it, but it just kept dragging me back in. And I’m proud to have been part of that big machine and to now be representing it on SAS: Who Dares Wins. Every time I open my mouth on that show, I think about my responsibilities as a veteran. It’s important that I don’t act like an idiot, because people tend to stereotype. If viewers think I am an idiot, they might think everyone in the Special Forces is an idiot, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
I’m not interested in fame. I like being on TV because of the value I see in it, which is as promotion for my business and the charities I support, not because of anything it means to me. In 2018, I was incredibly proud to be made an official ambassador of The Royal Marines Charity. The marines opened their doors for me when I needed it, now it’s my time to repay the debt, helping veterans and their families in whichever way I can. I recently launched a charity called StrongMen with Efrem and Dan from SAS: Who Dares Wins. StrongMen helps people who have developed mental health issues through bereavement, something that is close to both Efrem and Dan’s hearts. Plans are afoot to raise money for StrongMen by climbing Mont Blanc, with Mark Peart, Milo Mackin and his brother Corbin. And I’m sure we’ll have many more adventures beyond that.
I’m also looking at making a TV programme about troubled kids, which will endeavour to show them how lucky they actually are in relation to other kids around the world. The idea stemmed from my time in Thailand, where seeing kids who had been sold into prostitution put my own upbringing into sharp perspective.
I don’t mind being recognised when I’m out and about, but I’m not sure how I’d cope with people constantly pointing at me and shouting, ‘Look! It’s that bloke from that SAS show!’ I hate the city, almost everything about it winds me up. Fortunately, I live in the middle of nowhere.
I need to be isolated from the trivialities of everyday life. The more isolated the better. People frustrate me. I have no patience with small talk or petty gripes. Often, there will be nothing significant going on in someone’s life, so they’ll go hunting for problems. That raises their energy levels in the short term, but people get addicted to problems and end up stuck in a negative cycle. I look around at people on the Tube and they look so miserable. They remind me of zombies. They’re on auto-pilot, going through the motions. And when they get home, they’ll switch on the TV or stare at their phones, poisoning their minds with a relentless cycle of bad news, soap operas and panel shows. That’s a lot of people’s priorities, but I refuse to be sucked in. I don’t watch the news, read newspapers or consume anything that will have a negative effect on my brain.
The above might make me sound like an old curmudgeon, but the fact that I seal myself off from any negativity means I’m not. Whereas now I might get irritated by someone’s driving, before I would have been furio
us. I had anger inside me like you would not believe, but now I’ve found peace.
I’ve got so much passion for what I’m doing and the feeling I get from helping people is like the hit from a drug. For the first time in my life I’m working for myself, so have a feeling of control. People keep telling me about exit plans for the business, building something big and selling it. But I can’t imagine ever wanting to. And I don’t worry about becoming disillusioned, like I’ve become disillusioned with everything else, because I have finally found my calling. Having worked out who I am, the battle is over and I can finally flow.
I sometimes hear people opine that they haven’t stumbled across their calling. But not many people do. You need to want to change. You need to set goals and visualise. That will smooth the path to a better future. Even when I was in my darkest places – addicted to booze and prescription drugs and thinking about ending it all – I managed to create a small window through which to clamber. When I felt that break point approaching, I breathed deeply and recalibrated. I calculated that things might have to get less comfortable before things got better. But the alternative was tapping out and rolling over.
There are long-term benefits in talking about the bad things that happened in your life, whatever horrors it conjures. I still get anxious when I tell the story of the chimp attack. When I close my eyes, I can see the chimp’s face pressed against mine, her eyes ablaze, her teeth dripping with blood. But I also remember making that difficult decision to save my life. No one swooped down and saved me, it was my actions that changed my outcome for the better.
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