Anyway, I don’t want to start talking about middle-aged men and their band’s replacement drummer. Or their children. Congratulations, by the way, Frank and Jamia. One question: you mentioned daughters. Does this mean that instead of naming one of them Frank, you’ve named one Francesca?
Just a thought.
Right, go-karting photos:
But that’s old news.
Today we went paintballing.
All I can say is, ow. Seriously. I got shot in the neck/ear area, and I think it’s bruising. Plus I got orange paint in my hair, all over the mud-stained overalls, trainers, helmet, gloves, trainers. Between my toes.
I don’t know how many of you have been paintballing, but you basically get an air-filled canister, lots of orange marble paintballs (originally contained in rigid condoms) and an army jumpsuit with crap pockets. Then, in your teams, you have to attack a castle and capture a flag, or get to a bridge or trench without getting shot by the enemy – marked by a different coloured armband – then do the same from the opposite end of the field, or defend the castle. It’s pretty fun when you get into it, but the paint hurts when it hits. The dud ones bounce off, causing little round circular lumps wherever they hit you. My dad has a large one on his forehead, a guy took his shirt off and looked like someone had attacked him with a plunger. Through the protective vest.
Thanks for the belated birthday treat, Michelle and Ross!
Pictures, and the first installment of The Zante Diaries 2010, to come.