Tea, trouble and a twelve-bore

Matt Limb OBE reflects on the kind of day when it seems no matter what you try, it still goes wrong – but against the odds, as the sun sets, it comes right.

From the moment you open your eyes and get out of bed, it all goes wrong. You get out of bed the wrong side; you stub your toe as you walk into the bathroom, then you miss the toothbrush with the toothpaste, which is now smeared in the washbasin, you then cut your chin whilst shaving.

Back in the bedroom, you put your slippers on the wrong feet and hobble downstairs, to find the dog has made a mess in the kitchen. You spill the milk pouring it over your cornflakes and when you finally sit down to eat them, you can taste the milk has gone off. Perfect.

But the worst thing about such days is the harder you try to sort yourself out, the worse the day gets.

Often the best thing is to go back to bed and start again. Sadly, for many of us, that’s not an option; so, we crack on the best we can, grumbling into our tea and muttering about how life is unfair.

Well, I had one such mother of all days recently. It was a day like no other. The morning had purposely started early, as I wanted to tackle a few easy jobs around the house and office. That was mistake number one. When the harder I tried to make sense of the account figures, the worse it got. Was it a faulty calculator or had I simply run out of fingers? I couldn’t decide, or it appears even add up.

Two cups of tea later and I finally made sense of it. Turned out I was looking at the wrong screen on the computer. To be honest, you couldn’t make this up, it was a day that should have come with a government health warning.

The next hour didn’t get any better. The research article that needed a final edit stubbornly refused to play ball, every sentence seemed to trip over the last, then I missed a phone call just as I popped to make another cup of tea. At this point there was only one sensible course of action: leave it, walk away, and pretend none of it had happened.

Best laid plans
I desperately wanted to get these jobs done and dusted, because later that afternoon I had promised to join a friend for an afternoon of pigeon shooting. It had been booked into the diary for a while, one of those outings you look forward to for days and I wasn’t about to let a morning of disasters spoil it.

By late morning, with nothing getting better, I slammed the office door shut, as the dogs shot off in different directions, deciding enough was enough. I blamed the world, the internet connection, the calculator and of course the wife and the dogs, who looked mildly offended, or as offended as a scorned

Surprisingly, getting ready for the pigeon outing went especially well. I found all the decoys, the magnet with its battery, and the net and poles, with only a couple of minor shouts to the good lady wife; it was her fault, naturally, for hiding my stuff – again.

One last cup of tea, just in case, then the kit was stowed in the truck. I whistled my older spaniel, Islay, onto the front seat, grabbed the gun out of the cabinet and we were off.

Even the dog gave me a look that said, “Surely, nothing else can go wrong now?” and I had to agree. What else could possibly happen? Yes, what indeed.

Golden moments
I arrived early, as planned, and took a walk to scout the area. Standing some distance away from the planned location, it looked fantastic. The pigeons were busy, very busy, and to add to the excitement, the local farmer had harvested a couple of widths of the next field, a fresh attraction for the incoming birds and it showed.

It was one of those golden moments when you just know it’s going to be a good afternoon. The sun was shining, absolutely no risk of rain, but a brisk wind was keeping the birds moving beautifully. By now, my friend had arrived, and we exchanged a wide grin, somehow no words needed.

I found a lovely spot tucked deep in the shadow of a hedge. Up went the net, the decoys were laid out carefully, the magnet spun up into life, surprisingly first time. Another quick scan around showed several pigeons sitting up in the trees at the far end of the field, keeping a watchful eye on proceedings. It was all coming together nicely. A final look back from the decoys showed the hide was nicely concealed. It was out of the wind, out of the sun and everything was in place. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could spoil the day now.

I sat back in the hide, feeling content and pulled out a sandwich and a flask of tea, sharing a biscuit with Islay, who was lying loyally by my side. Ahead, the pigeons were starting to move, small flurries at first, but growing by the minute. Then came the sound of a shot in the distance, followed by my radio crackling to life with a muffled squark, my colleague announcing gleefully that he’d just dropped the first pigeon.

This was going to be an afternoon to remember.

Settling in properly, I got myself organised. I lined up the cartridge box to my left, still grinning at the thought of the day ahead. I reached down for the gun-slip and pulled out my gun, ready to load and get going. Only – it wasn’t my gun.

Soldiering on
In my rush and general state of mind, I had managed to pick up the good lady wife’s gun instead. Given the morning I’d had, why on earth was I surprised? Of course I’d picked up the wrong one. It was inevitable. But luckily, she also shoots a twelve bore, so all was not lost. Imagine the disaster if it had been a twenty bore?

Soon I was waving the thing about like a child’s peashooter. As it was, the stock was several inches shorter than my own gun, which made for some awkward mounting and a few very clumsy swings. The balance was completely different too, and way off for me. But by now, after the day I’d had, I wasn’t letting a small thing like that stop me. And so, we soldiered on.

Despite the gun, the day and its comedy of errors, the pigeons kept coming and somehow, I managed to adapt to the gun – I still don’t know how. Islay worked tirelessly, trotting back with each bird and wagging her tail with a look that said, “See? I told you it would be alright.”

By the end of the afternoon, we had both had a worthwhile afternoon with a good few stories to share.

Driving home as the sun dipped low, Islay snoring contentedly on the passenger seat, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself, looking back on the day. Somehow, against all odds, the day had ended on a high note.

Days like that just go to show, however bad a day might seem when it starts, there’s always a chance it’ll come good in the end, with fingers crossed and a fair wind. Especially if there’s a spaniel and an hour or t

But looking and thinking back now, it was surprising, as I am sure I can remember the good lady wife telling me her gun had a fault, as she could not hit a thing with it.

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