So we (the Guernsey Smallbore club) were in Jersey this weekend for the annual match against the Jersey lot. I shot pants (I'm using "pants" as a verb here).
93, 98, 96, 95, 95, 95, 95, 98. Now we all though that the markers were a bit tight, but everybody was marked to the same degree of tightness, so there's no complaints there. End of the day, if it 'ain't in the middle, it 'ain't in the middle.
Did I say we lost? No? well maybe I don't want to talk about it. Anyway, here's the scores
And for no other reason that "I can", a selection of signs from the weekend:
93, 98, 96, 95, 95, 95, 95, 98. Now we all though that the markers were a bit tight, but everybody was marked to the same degree of tightness, so there's no complaints there. End of the day, if it 'ain't in the middle, it 'ain't in the middle.
Did I say we lost? No? well maybe I don't want to talk about it. Anyway, here's the scores
And for no other reason that "I can", a selection of signs from the weekend:
And, naturally, other stuff:
It was, however,a good weekend and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Plus, on a trivial note, I got to take a picture of my rifle. I'm not a big "gun head" and I generally see it as a means to an end, but it would seem a shame not to have at least one or two images of it, seeing as it forms part of my life. I've always been of the opinion that guns are very functional things and even though I can appreciate their aesthetic, I'm much more interested in the therapeutic and generally psychological effects of target shooting and how very closely it is allied with things of a meditative nature. Not to mention the respect you have to treat these weapons with to use them safely and properly.
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