The trouble with paintballing is you're the target

In a sexist kind of way, decided that eldest brother’s birthday bash should involve shooting stuff, so went for arrows and paintballs.

Archery was fantastic, and much better for de-stressing than fishwife impersonations at the children.  Suppose it's good to know that I stand a chance of procuring a meal, as long as it stands stock still, doesn’t mind waiting for five minutes and is about the size of a car door.

Sharp contrast to paintballing where I was the receiving end. 

Should have sussed when the bloke collecting our dosh told me to get each kid to complete a registration form.  Guess that female forty somethings only turn up as taxi-mums, and didn’t tell him that I was one of our younger "kids".

Any hopes for leniency died with the 50 or so squaddies stripping down and into combats (the good bit of the day…).  Amazed that paintballing could be part of their training, until the first session when you instantly discover how real this feels.  Adrenalin rips your breath away and trying to keep covered whilst shooting at the enemy and moving forward is a bit like patting your head and rubbing your stomach whilst doing a cartwheel.

The map of the Maldives now peppered over my left leg is testament to how useless I was – though prefer to think that as the only woman present, I was target practice.  Still, at least I haven’t got a bruise impersonating a hickey on my neck like my husband. 

However, this all feels uncomfortably similar to Sarah Palin's horrible hobbies.  So when my 50^th comes around, perhaps I'll suggest a spot of stamp collecting.  On a passport.