There's pure and there's accessible. Sometimes you can have both, and that's grand. Sometimes it is worth compromising to have some of both.

The pipie has a right to be dozie and fey. He's seen too much of war; seen his best friends get blown away. Maybe he's been wounded himself. Maybe he's had one too many shells go off too close to his head.

They've all seen too much, these young men, but they won't talk about it. And neither will HH. What he will talk about are the ordinary things and the good times he's had; the girls, the booze-ups.
And how strange it feels not to be ducking shells or being afraid deep down in his guts. He's leaving it...and going somewhere where it will all happen again.