Even as I pack my kitbag for next Sunday's paintball game, the similarities continue to stun me. I will be taking three guns with me; two Autocockers and an Ego (and everyone knows, you can't swing without an ego). When I'm not playing, I have to keep a barrel condom on my guns when I'm in the staging area, also known as the 'safe' zone (condoms? safe? geddit? please yourselves). There's always a selection of sprays, tissues and wipes to clean yourself down after a game and almost every paintballer I've met is obssessed with barrel length and BPS (that's balls per second, my personal best is sixteen). Finally the real link is when I go to settle my bill at the end of the day. When the organiser tells you that there's no money to be made in paintball, takes your cash and drives home in his AMG-tweaked Mercedes-Benz, you know you've been f**ked over
So this brings me onto my plans for this weekend. Do I visit a lovley, professional couple in an exclusive area of Surrey for a drink and whatever else may care to happen, or do I get up at the crack of dawn, drag my own body weight in tactical competition gear across half of Hampshire only to get pummelled seventy nutters with pellets that have muzzle velocity of 280 feet per second? Answers please...
