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Very long ranges indeed

Should guns and drink be mixed? I can certainly think of circumstances where producing a bottle and having a bit of a glug would be frowned upon to say the least. Stickledown, perhaps; the longest rifle range at Bisley which stretches back to 1,200 yards but which is the scene of the final of what is now the King's Prize at a mere 1,000 yards. The highlight of the summer Imperial Meeting. I doubt that anyone takes a pull at the old flask there. Although the club bars do plenty of business once the serious matters of the matches are concluded.

I recall the shooting master when I was at school being cajoled into promising to fill with beer any trophy that we won in the schools' matches. I can't now remember the name of the pot in question but I know that it stood waist high and contained fifty pints by the time the poor man called a halt.

Come to think about it, there may well be a connection between that quantity of beer and my hazy recollection, even if it was a long time ago.

Rifles and Booze

On the whole, I think that rifles and booze do not make for good company. Having said which, I have, on occasion, enjoyed a toast on a highland hill to celebrate the beastie and to stiffen the sinews for the long drag back to the Argo; although that, being after the rifle has been unloaded, is perhaps a different sort of sip.

I can also thoroughly recommend a thermos of hot alcohol-free mulled apple juice as a companion in a high seat during a chilly evening ambush; and I would be remiss if I failed to mention the rare and particular pleasure to be enjoyed from a mug of hot chocolate – with perhaps the merest drop of brandy in it – after the hard work has been finished in the larder.

Shotguns are as deadly as rifles

Shotguns are no more or less lethal than rifles and yet it would be a rare sort of driven day, I venture, where some drink did not make an appearance. I remember – vaguely – some shoots from many years ago where the boozing took up more of the day than the shooting. The follies of mens' youth, eh?

Times change however; or maybe we change as age and experience at first suggest and then, ultimately, dictate. I know that these days, on the shoots which I am lucky enough to attend, the general rule is that we drink less than once we did, but it is fair to say that we drink considerably better. Which is a satisfactory combination.

I am not, therefore, thrilled to be offered a tumbler of sloe gin on arrival, either in a farmyard or on the carriage sweep of some commodious country house, even if it does have my peg number on the bottom. Any mechanism for allotting pegs will serve, as far as I am concerned.

I always enjoy an antique silver box which dispenses numbered ivory balls or the Fabergé cigarette case containing etched golden fags to find my place in the line but I'm happiest with a game card with my pegs for the day and the names of all the other guests into the bargain. That and coffee will do me.

Elevenses, oh elevenses!

On the other hand, let's talk about elevenses.

At this point I do like a glass of something. When shooting early season partridges, however, I sometimes feel that spirits are, to coin a phrase, overkill. It depends on the weather, of course, but if I'm in shirtsleeve order, the richness of sloe gin or damson brandy often seems too much. A bottle of beer, under the circumstances, may be quite enough.

If it's proper warm then a cold and flinty Chablis often fits the bill. Much depends on the snacks. A plate of serrano ham, spicy salamis and a handful of olives is ideally complemented by a cold fino sherry, for example, while venison and quail scotch eggs with a killer dip unquestionably benefit from a glass of Madeira or amontillado. And who can refuse a few oysters with a mug of Black Velvet?

Later and colder

As the season progresses, once we are looking at Bullshot and crispy, hot local sausages, is the time to broach the fruity liqueuers. Sloe gin, certainly. Damsons or raspberries with vodka. Mulberries , if you can find some, with either. Plums and rum, spiced with cinnamon or cloves. The possibilities are almost endless. Orange and ginger. Lemon and coffee. Christmas pudding vodka (all the dry ingredients of a Christmas pud macerated in vodka with sugar) is a sure-fire seasonal hit.

Commercial versions are not – usually – full strength; but some personal confections can be punchy to say the least

To keep consumption under control therefore, I suggest shot glasses. These are widely available on-line or from local kitchen and catering supply shops and contain a very modest measure – in order to maximise profit margins in bars and clubs, obviously – which combined with people trying to manage soup and a sausage and a dog while explaining how they managed to miss that complete sitter, will ensure that they only have the chance to sink a moderate amount.

If there is plenty of water about as well, I venture that the actual consumption of the company will be quite modest; unless there are some hardened topers involved.

Where's lunch?

I know that many shoots – especially in the heart of the season when days are short and light is precious - now like to serve lunch at the end of the day. This has the added advantage, perhaps, of keeping wine consumption down because everyone has to drive home afterwards. Or is that just me being too cynical? It also has the major disadvantage of totally stuffing up – quite literally – dinner arrangements later for those of us who are staying together in the vicinity.

I don't imagine there are many wandering Guns these days who will look for a drink immediately before setting off home at the end of a day. Except those with a driver, of course. If all you need do after lunch is to decant yourself into the back of the Bentley and mutter, “Home, please!” before passing out then the Petrus is probably in for a pasting and no mistake.

On the whole, though, I prefer lunch in the middle of the day. With two or more drives still to come and the prospect of tea and fruit cake later, I am happy to take a glass with it also. Here again though the solution – it seems to me – is to up the quality and reduce the volume. Good claret or fine white Bordeaux in small glasses. And no port. If you want your Guns back on their pegs in good time, the answer is not to surround them with temptations. A groaning cheeseboard with a choice of digestifs is the biggest thief of time there is; even getting it round the table can waste twenty minutes or so.

A singular rarebit

One of my favourite shoots serves a Stilton Welsh Rarebit scarcely bigger than a 50p piece just as the “Five minutes!” call is made. It's a lovely cheese course in one exquisite mouthful to finish on and it requires nothing more to wash it down than what might be lingering in the glass. That's both classy cuisine and clever time management.

It also means that Guns will not be staggering about once the cold air hits them as they set off for their pegs once more.

And with a couple or three hours before needing to get behind the wheel for the journey home I am confident that I am not stretching the boundaries of responsibility there either.

When all is said and done, our relationship with alcohol is always a matter of self awareness and the discipline to stay within certain limits. We all know that safety is central to any shooting endeavour and so anything which jeopardises safety ruins everything for everyone.

That's just rude. And no one likes rude.

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