A bright day, yesterday, followed on from a few days of chucking it down. I'd shot through a hedge at a rabbit in another field and - when it did the leaping back flip that signified a shot gone home - I ran and jumped over a fence to go and get it as quickly as possible. In my excitement, I didn't look to see what I going to be jumping into - and found myself in a wide liquid expanse of mingled mud and cow poo.
I got the dried muck off my gun this morning and then gave it a swab down with linseed oil.
Much better. Maybe not spotless, and certainly not scratchless - but better.
These will probably get a hasty lash with a damp rag.
I
might get round to having a shower myself. Later on. Probably.
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Much better. Maybe not spotless, and certainly not scratchless - but better.
These will probably get a hasty lash with a damp rag.
I might get round to having a shower myself. Later on. Probably.
Just douse yourself in Boiled Linseed Oil. That'll do it!
ReplyDeleteMungo
I do like the smell of the stuff (but perhaps not quite that much!).
ReplyDeleteI have been consciously copying the style of your always-lovely blog of late, Mungo, I hope you'll take this as a homage!
HH
Scars on the wood and mud on the boots are just like tattoos on a gal. There's usually a very good story behnd every one!
ReplyDeleteIndeed, hodegman,
ReplyDeleteI remember a homily by the Dominican friar Timothy Radcliffe where he spoke of someone being examined at the pearly gates by the Angel Gabriel who, on finding that they had no scars on them, asked: "In your time on Earth, did you not think anything to be worth fighting for?"
Guns have scratches, hunters have stories.