We crept low through the dried leaves and branches, they were out there moving to towards us, and we toward them… Frank looked over, ‘move left, I’ll flank them to the right’ he whispered. I nodded and checked back for movement ahead.

Nothing.

‘Good luck’ I hissed as he rose to move, as he darted away I sensed something wasn’t right. I saw the scrub shudder before he did but by that time it was too late, a plethora of shots erupted yonder accompanied by a groan a few metres away, Frank had been hit.

Nothing I can do for him now. I think of his mother at home looking out of the kitchen window anxious for news of her boy. Jesus…

As the broken leaves and twigs settled onto the canopy floor there was more movement ahead, and to my horror, something to my left. I have to go, now… I rose slightly bringing my weapon up to my shoulder, a shot is fired at 9 o clock, I spin to face an enemy and take immediate action, he’s hit… move… adrenalin rushes into my blood, a clumsy lurch causes me to lift myself up higher than I intended, I hear the shots before I’m hit 4 times, 3 in the chest and 1 in my already injured leg. Christ, no. I’ve been hit, I’m all fucking covered in yellow paint…

Being hit by a paint ball hurts, though it’s random, the ones that catch you on the side of the back sting like fuckery, I still have bruises from Saturday.

The day had begun early, I met Frank at 7am and we took the train to Chiswick where we were picked up by Sim and taken to a paintballing place near Slough to meet up with some friends, and, of course, the stag. There were other lads there too, borstal boys, all prison tats and shaved heads with a few of gangsta types thrown in for balance and it was with this crowd we would be spending the morning. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so conspicuously middle class in my life.

We were split into 2 random teams, the upshot being that I was expected to actually work with some of these yobbos, bizarrely once the masks are down you can’t tell who is who, one is either yellow or red and that’s that. There is obviously something deeply significant about this of course with regard to us as human beings and the nature of warfare perhaps… but I can’t be pissed to make a big deal out of it.

I found myself working well with these strangers, or friends, due to the camo gear and motocross masks I could only identify Frank and the stag (well he was wearing a pink tutu fairy wings and deely boppers) and that was it. In one game I even managed to capture the enemy flag while my crew kept me covered under fire, I even high fived someone, I don’t do high fives, I’m not a high fiver, it was ridiculously exciting -a bunch of thirtysomethings reduced to 8 year old boys playing war. By the time we left all of us were exhausted, sweating, filthy and grinning from, ear to ear, the yobbos and gangsters were now comrades, they all said goodbye as we exited the site.

Next stop was a waterpark so some if the chaps could indulge in wakeboarding. Frank and I sat this one out, my back had already had a jolly good workout and I didn’t fancy pushing it, I’m glad I didn’t too, it’s not great today. We spent a lazy afternoon by the water watching the remaining stag party going round and round, the stag was still sporting a pink tutu fairy wings and deely boppers…I took some shots of them on the water and smoked cigarettes in the hot afternoon sun.

We left at 5 to go back to London and were dropped in a bustling Camden to begin the evening’s entertainment. By now the eight strong group had bonded into a fully operational drinking machine, after a few in a pub we went to eat Tapas and drink Sangria, mountains of food was served and demolished in minutes, I don’t think any of us appreciated how hungry were. Another bar featured, this time outside on the street drinking Sol before a final few in The Underworld with the stag still grimly bearing his tattered pink tutu fairy wings and deely boppers. A smashing day closed and the tube rolled Frank and I back to south London in measured oblivion.

Last night I arrived in Hackney at 7 to meet IC; we hooked up with Swineshead and his missus to enjoy a few beers in the twilight. It seems that the whole of London has slipped easily into the clement weather; there is a palpable mood of contentment despite the city being governed by a fucking idiot. My journey back from Hackney this morning featured a sea of short-sleeved shirts and summer dresses, the suit seems to have been obliterated from society, it’s rather nice actually –long may it last.