War correspondents are a peculiar breed.

It was during the Crimean conflict in the 1850s that William Howard Russell, generally regarded as the first, described himself as "the miserable parent of a luckless tribe."

Over the years I have spent covering wars, most of those members of that luckless tribe of reporters I have met on the world's frontlines have, for the most part, been of a pretty dysfunc­tional disposition. Doubtless most would say the same about me.

It being a case of it takes-one-to-know-one, along with the hardships and dangers shared, is why war reporters become such close friends in the first place and creates the unique kind of camaraderie that comes with it.

At the very least most within our ranks would admit also to being congenitally nomadic. We are, in short, the ultimate sufferers of those proverbial itchy feet that leaves us with a constant desire to be on the move and never stuck in one place for too long.

Given this, it's not surprising that the chances of a group reunion with long-time friends and colleagues from within the war hacks ranks tends to be a rare thing. Weddings tend to be the exception. Indeed come to think of it, weddings are the exception in that most of our globetrotting community would, it seems, rather take their chances in the snipers' alley of some embattled city than take the plunge into matrimony.

Seriously though, weddings do tend to bring us together. Once the invitations go out its amazing how quickly the responses come in from far flung places like Cairo, Kabul or Khartoum. Speaking on the phone the other day to a Cairo-based journalist pal to enquire whether he would be transiting through the UK en route to a mutual correspondent friend's wedding in Stockholm, his reluctance to touch down on home turf made me laugh. "I hear the sun is shining all the time, the news is all about the royals and porn is blocked, so the UK has become just another Gulf state", came his sardonic reply.

Weddings aside, one of the few other places where we tend to regularly bump into each other is at the Frontline Club near Paddington Station in London. Born from the Frontline News Television agency (FNTV) that was founded by a group of intrepid freelance war cameramen and women, the club has conflict reporting at its heart and aims to champion independent journalism. Since its inception it has become something of a fixture for foreign and war corres­pondents travelling through London and a rendezvous point to catch a quick drink with colleagues not seen for a long time. The Frontline has also hosted some incredible events and discussions. In its time the club has played host to participants that have included John Simpson, Robert Fisk, Jeremy Bowen, the late Benazir Bhutto and Alexander Litvinenko.

This summer marks the Frontline Club's 10th anniversary and along with some fascinating events there will doubtless be some moving reunions. For now though, it's Stockholm where I hope to catch up with some of my closest friends and colleagues. Over the last few years we have lost a few to the world's war zones. It will be a chance to toast their memory and look to the future. Oh, and celebrate a wedding.