Santa Gno-‘ome
Ministerial Meandering
Santa Gno-‘ome
I learned to shoot with an air rifle when I was twelve. I was allowed to shoot at tin cans that I set up on our stone sundial at about 25 yards with my .177 rifle. Of course, it was underpowered for a 12 year old. I wanted something that would blow the can to bits, and this only penetrated one side of the can at best. Besides, there few enough cans at home in the 60’s, because my Dad didn’t drink beer, and we kids weren’t allowed pop. So I took to shooting up the plastic Airfix planes I had made instead. That was a lot more fun.
One day, I thought I would test my accuracy over a slightly greater range and a more difficult shot. I hit the bird I was aiming at - and immediately wished I hadn’t. It dropped like a stone - but wasn’t dead, and had fallen into the neighbour’s garden. In shame, I shot around and confessed my deed, and the owner came out and dispatched the bird with a much bigger rifle. I was not proud of myself.
Years later, when Sheila and I lived in Birmingham, in the West Midlands of England, we had a plague of squirrels in the yard, constantly clearing the food off the bird table, to the extent that we never saw a bird on it. I bought a .22 rifle with a scope, and quickly made an impression on the local squirrel population. I only ever took head shots, and I must have inherited my uncle’s marksman skills, as I was very accurate - with the aid of the scope. My uncle had been a team marksman for the Army in his day. I no longer own that rifle; I sold it before we went to South Africa as I wasn’t sure of the regulations for firearms, and it wouldn’t have stopped more than a rabbit anyway.
Recently, I have decided to take up my marksman hobby again. This time aiming for greater distances for target shooting. I wondered what had triggered this desire (pun intended), and decided that two things were responsible. First, we have a neighbour who has a security light - I may have mentioned this before - that shines suddenly and sporadically into our bedroom window in the middle of the night and wakes Sheila up, with the result that she could probably fill the swear-jar overnight, if she voiced her feelings loudly. This light is almost certainly tripped by crepuscular and nocturnal critters who are doing no-one any harm, but the resultant blast of photons into our bedroom is disturbing, to say the least. That is target number one.
The other is, sadly, multiple. These multiple targets are the air-filled monstrosities that now occupy the front gardens of the local block. They vary from Santa Claus to T-Rex, to Mini Mouse, to reindeer. They are all in a state of partial inflation (is that a monetary term?), but in my mind, need to be completely and forever de-flated.
Nowhere do I see a crib or a nativity scene - just limp blow-up dolls overused and partially penetrated. I feel a quick bullet with an accurate rifle would put them all out of their misery.
Before anyone accuses me of being Scrooge-like (heaven forbid!), I am all in favour of having celebratory decorations up for Christmas, but could we not make an effort to remember who and what it is that we are celebrating?
I have no real objection to Santa and his reindeer, but T-Rex and Minnie Mouse might be in for a shock.
Philip+