Never in the field of human conflict...

has so much paint been shot at friends and colleagues.

As dawn broke over a town recovering from a torrential rainstorm, a small group of brave and dedicated Gentlemen huddled in a shop doorway. Nervously counting bodies as the number of last minutes deserters grew by the second.

When the battle bus arrived and we had all stowed away our kit, a head count was taken, and our worst fears materialised, we were down to only nine men. But no matter, we had accepted our mission and we were determined to carry it out regardless of the obstacles we would have to overcome.

As the bus left Wrexham, women openly wept at the heroism of this brave band of brothers, lesser men averted their eyes, for in the windows of that vehicle of valour, they could only see their own failings.

The journey to the killing fields started out as a sombre one, which was lifted by a bottle of what is probably the worst whisky ever distilled, to call it paint stripper would be cruel to paint stripper, but none the less it was drank, and by the time anyone had recovered the power of speech we had arrived.

As we disembarked and walked up to the battle ground a air of quietness fell about us as we gazed upon the building we would soon come to know as The Embassy.

This quietness was soon dispelled as we started to get kitted out for the battles ahead. The sight of Stuart, in what looked like a baby's bib, but was in fact the tightest chest protector known to man, reduced several Gentlemen to tears of laughter. Meanwhile,our President, who is a man of such substance, that no chest protector could be found that would encompass his girth.

As the laughter slowly died it was renewed when Mr Carl Higgins put on his head protector, he looked like a medieval warrior priest, as I am sure photograph evidence will prove.

We then collected our faceguards which had attached tapes of either red or silver, these tapes signified which team you where assigned to. We had been joined by three young men out to test their mettle in combat and so the two teams separated and encouraging words such as " I'm going to shoot the arse off you, Shaw" and "zabić ten mężczyźni który pierdolić owca".

Following a briefing on procedures by John, the Rednal man in charge, we entered the arena. As we were issued our guns, John explained their workings and for the next few moments all that could be heard was the whizz bang as paintballs flew through the air to practise targets as we got familiar with our weapons.

We were then given our first mission, the silver team had to defend a fort in which was a rocket launcher, the red team had 10 minutes to get a man to touch the rocket without being shot. The silver team left to take up their defensive positions and as the whistle went with a cry of defiance the red team sprang into action.

It is truly amazing the rush of adrenalin you get when people are shooting at you, your heart rate goes ballistic, your breathing becomes rapid and shallow and your body temperature goes up to the melting point of lead. Everyones' trigger finger was going at the speed of sound and the landscape exploded into orange as God knows how many paintballs were fired in that first few minutes.

It was at this point, that your humble scribe answered the question we had all been asking ourselves, do paintballs hurt when they hit you? And the answer is YES... like a bitch, especially on the thighs.

With only 30 seconds to go Witold saw an opportunity and ran in to claim the first victory for the red team.

As we walked back to the gun rack everyone was surprised at how many paintballs they had used and at how knackered they all were. After a short break to reload and to down copious amounts of water, the teams were reversed with the reds now defending. The whistle went to commence and then it was all over, hardly a shot had been fired when Sebastian ran in and touched the rocket for the silver team, the whole battle had lasted less than 90 seconds.

This was to set a trend for the rest of the day as Sebestian, Witold and Krzysztof were clearly the best players of there. We continued to take on new missions such as raise the flag and find the bomb and between each battle we had breaks that became more and more necessary.

As we ate our rations the three young men who had fought so valiantly left us to be replaced by a couple of school boys whose only interest was not to get shot. It was at this point that Witold left the red team to join the silvers which made the team lineups like this...

SILVER

Witold...young, fit, ex military

Sebastian...young, fit, ex military

Krzysztof..young, fit , very capable

Barry...not too young, ex military

Carl Hughes...young(ish), fit(ish) Capable,(but missing Scott)

Red

Steve...not exactly an athlete

Stuart... couldn't beat Steve in a foot race.

Carl Hughes...Over fifty, but enthusiastic

Mark... pushing fifty, skinny and knackered.

Young boy 1 ...Wants to grow pubic hair before Christmas, scared of getting shot.

Young boy2... Scared of getting shot , doesn't know what pubic hair is.

So as you can see, dear reader, the teams were somewhat unbalanced in favour of silver, but the reds fought on and with considerable courage managed to gain some impressive victories.

Time and space prevent me from reporting every battle that was fought , but I feel I must report two outstanding performances, the first of which was by our President who, in a game of speedball, picked up the ball and ran back to base, for the win, with his gun pointing backwards over his shoulder firing randomly, he then collapsed into a heap gasping for air, saying"oh fuck, oh fuck" . This was an act of courage from which he never truly recovered for the rest of the day.

The other was by Carl Hughes, who defended a corridor single handedly, and almost managed to hold off the attackers until time ran out, he was only beaten with some 20seconds left on the clock.

The final action of the day was a free for all, no holds barred, everyman for himself, skirmish which may well of been the highlight of the day, with more than a few scores settled, and a good many stories will be told of those few minutes in which so much happened.

As we left the field of battle for the last time, thanks were given to John and the rest of the Rednal team who had run an excellent day. As we scraped paint and grime from our battered bodies a new game started, it was called "Compare The Bruise". I will allow you to pick your own favourite from the selction shown with this post.

From Rednal we went to a public house where thirsts that had been earned in combat were quenched with gusto.

Over the next few hours, stories and tales of skill, courage and honour were told, some of them might even be true. But on one thing everyone agreed, it had been an excellent outing, probably the best we have had, and the credit goes to Steve for organising it.

I will leave you now with this thought to those Gentlemen who fought. The bruises will fade, but the memories will not.