Bertie’s back in the zone
Ten months ago, when we set out on a house renovation, the idea of my shotguns living away from me never felt like any sort of hardship. In fact, I didn’t give it a second thought.
Stored at work, they still felt within arm’s reach, but I hardly saw them. So much of my shooting, as it turns out, is through stolen moments when stars align, toddlers behave and my wife is feeling particularly kind-hearted. On these occasions, I steal away on the premise of “just popping out for an hour”, to lose a half a day in the wilds. I always know I’ll return to a wagging finger, but my love knows how lost I get in my sport.
Without my guns to hand, running out the
