Chaos, in-fighting and a scrabble for leads: reporters playing the waiting game in Kuwait

The Ministry of Defence called it a "facility", an opportunity to head out to the desert and meet the young men who could be spearheading the attack against Iraq. Instead, in the sanitised words of one officer, it has turned into something resembling a herd of goats having intercourse.

There was nothing else happening today. The army must have known every lazy hack in town would show up. Perhaps they weren't expecting as many as 70 of us, but who in their right mind would suggest meeting at a sensitive Kuwaiti military check-point?

The result? Chaos. Kuwaiti police shouting at Kuwaiti soldiers. Journalists shouting at Kuwaiti police. Soldiers and guns and frayed tempers. The hot afternoon air is heavy with excited Arabic and the smell of exhaust fumes. When we arrive at the British base the chaos continues. Journalists swarm. Young soldiers look bewildered – more spooked than if they had encountered an Iraqi division. How old are they, we demand? Where are they from, what do they miss most about home, what do they think about US Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, have they ever heard of him?

The soldiers and the tanks go through their paces – we go through ours. Pens and notebooks are drawn quicker than a semi-automatic carbine.

There is a flurry of excitement. This is the regiment with twin brothers. Damn it, there's only one of them here. Where's the other? Why isn't he here today? Damn! And isn't this the battle group that has a father and son among its troops? Where are they? Of course it's up to them if they want to talk to us, we say. No, there'll be no pressure. Just a quick chat and a picture.

So this is it then – pre-war reporting. Some of the 1,500 or so journalists have been here for months, waiting, scrabbling around to try to stay busy. Kuwait is actually an interesting place, there are decent stories. The increasing concessions being made by the supposedly pro-American government to Islamists in the country, for instance, or else the irony of George Bush launching a "war of liberation" from a country where only 14 per cent of citizens – and no women – have the vote.

But we all know Kuwait is not the real story. We are only waiting for the action – for when "our boys" march north, when the bombs start dropping and when America's "war on terror" savages a Third World country where infant mortality at birth already stands at 10 per cent.

We busy ourselves shopping: for jerry cans, provisions, water, goggles for the desert. We dress like army special forces – Arabic headscarves, wrap-around sunglasses, khakis.Oh, and there's no alcohol here. Not that anyone's bothered. Everyone enjoys drinking kiwifruit juice every night. Really. Seldom has a city of journalists had so many early nights.

No wonder there are niggles. Apparently relations between CNN and its rival Fox are especially fraught. There is more – minutiae that in the drawn-out days seems interesting. CBS has printed its own "Kuwait Tour" sweatshirts with a tank on the back. On the roof of the Sheraton – from where the TV teams broadcast live – there is a contest to see who can build the tallest platform.

The list drags on, as do the days – though probably not for much longer. One senses that this waiting game is rapidly drawing to an end.