27th May 2017

Since Jamie and I returned from New Zealand, the family have popped round like seagulls spotting a chip. Charlotte was first through the door, swooping in to lay claim to one of the two nearly identical Kiwi necklaces I’d brought back. A couple of days later, Sarah, Lee, and Mia appeared to collect the other. Sue, of course, received the deluxe edition, a slightly larger Kiwi necklace, along with yet another ornament for the already overcrowded mantelpiece.

Sarah’s birthday was officially on the 23rd, but on the 21st, the whole clan mustered early for a surprise present organised by Lee. Sue nobly volunteered to stay behind and entertain Mia and the boys, while the rest of us charged off to Wellingborough for a full day of paintballing mayhem.

Being a Sunday, the place was heaving with eager “weekend warriors”, all desperate to splatter someone else’s overalls. Our lot split into two factions: Sarah and Charlotte joined my side, while the enemy camp was made up of Lee, Suraj, and Jamie. Each side mustered around twenty players, ranging from grizzled adults to a large troop of eleven-year-olds celebrating a birthday, think Lord of the Flies with safety goggles.

We played five scenarios in total, each involving a spell of frenzied attacking followed by weary defending. Half-time brought a welcome breather, though I suspect most of us could have happily stopped there and headed straight to the pub. Inevitably, a few incidents spiced things up. For starters, I was shot at point-blank range by one of my own comrades, and yes, it does sting, and yes, it was Jamie. Meanwhile, the kids occasionally strayed into the open and were cut down without mercy, learning far too early that war is rarely fair.

Players are supposed to stop firing once someone raises their hand to surrender, but teenagers with paintball guns and too much sugar in their system aren’t renowned for restraint. Tears were shed, bruises blossomed, the usual.

In another, more “serious” incident (serious being relative when you’re all dressed like stormtroopers with paint-filled pea-shooters), one teenage recruit was caught committing the cardinal sin of paintball: picking up used, unsplatted ammo. This, as every veteran knows, is a no-no, since fired paintballs swell slightly and can clog your rifle. The marshals immediately declared him “dead”, which he took about as well as a Shakespearean king losing his crown. There was much shouting, wild gesticulation, and threats worthy of an episode of EastEnders. The police were eventually called, at which point our rebel without a clue bolted, dived into his car, and sped away in a budget re-enactment of The Italian Job. It certainly added a bit of extra drama to the day.

The most confusing game, however, was one charmingly titled Zombies. With four birthdays being celebrated, the birthday kids were declared undead and loosed upon the forty-odd living. Anyone hit by a Zombie was instantly converted and joined their ranks. It was unnerving in the extreme, not least because you never quite knew who was friend or foe until they’d pumped a paintball into your ribs.

By midday, we were mercifully resupplied with slices of pizza, the true fuel of modern warfare. On the way home, I treated our ragtag band of mercenaries to some well-earned drinks at a local pub, where tales of bravery, betrayal, and bruises were exchanged with gusto.

The following day, Sue and Charlotte drove to Stamford to meet Sarah, who was trialling a hairdresser in preparation for her wedding in August. Meanwhile, I enjoyed a quieter sort of battle down at the allotments, waging war against weeds and attempting to restore order to the planting beds.

On the 25th, I was on Mia duty. Unfortunately, the heatwave got the better of her, so we stuck to short walks before retreating to shade. The following day turned out to be even hotter, ideal conditions for a BBQ with the Rothwells, but not much fun for rabbits or small children. Jamie and Ashton had wisely escaped to a cottage in Padstow, while poor Sarah was stuck at work and couldn’t join us.

In between all this, I’ve been preparing the house for our next escapade, flying off to meet the Incas on Sunday. The pool is clean, the hedges are clipped, the lawns are mown… all that’s left is the dreaded packing.